Disclaimer: I don't own anything of or related to Harry Potter.
A/N: This is my first fanfic, and I apologize for the brevity of this
chapter. I'm hoping the later chapters will be longer.
A boy with glasses and jet-black hair sat at a small table with his back to the fire. He stared aimlessly at the dancing shadows on the opposite wall. An elbow shifted and an empty bottle fell on its side. The boy glanced briefly from side to side before spinning the bottle on the table. Flecks of butterbeer darkened on sheets of parchment that were spread out before the boy.
"Harry!" An annoyed sigh from across the table caused Harry Potter to tear his attention away from the bottle. The girl, his friend, put on her best I'm-trying-to-work-and-you're-not-helping face.
"Sorry, Hermione," Harry gave her a lopsided smile, and her face softened. She waved a hand, dismissing the matter.
"No problem, but you really should finish your homework, you know."
"Yeah." Harry trailed off, before glancing at the table again. This time, he focused on the star charts he had drawn. Divination was his least favorite class, but he only had to take one more year. His thoughts traveled momentarily to the mysterious teacher, who had made a rather morbid habit of predicting Harry's death. So far, none of her predictions had come true, except. He shook his head, displacing the dark images.
Hermione looked concerned.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," he said again, absently.
"Well, you shouldn't be!"
Harry looked up sharply. Another boy had just entered the room. The newcomer was tall, with locks of fiery red hair that fell over his eyes. He ambled over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting and plopped down into a chair.
"You can't be feeling well if you're doing your Divination homework on a Friday night."
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione murmured. "Just because you procrastinate, doesn't mean everyone else has to."
Ron shot her a sidelong glance, then looked back at Harry, and pulled a goofy face. "You don't want to end up like her do you?" He jerked his thumb towards a scowling Hermione.
She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry interrupted.
"You're right," Harry agreed, and packed up his things with a flourish. He had been waiting for any kind of excuse to put off his homework, and there was none better than a good-natured jab at Hermione's tireless study habits. "I've been meaning to visit Hagrid, anyway." Rising from his chair, he stretched, and scratched his back. Ron followed him to the door, but turned around at the last minute.
"You coming?" The question was directed at Hermione. She shook her head without taking her eyes off of her homework.
"Got loads to do. You go ahead. I might come down later."
Harry had pushed open the door (which was actually a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress), and was now watching Ron's back, mentally urging the taller boy to hurry up. As Ron turned around, however, he caught sight of something over Harry's left shoulder. His face suddenly went ashen, and his mouth opened and closed, like a fish that had been snatched out of its bowl. Harry was puzzled.
"What are you--?"
But when he spun around, all he perceived was a pair of slanted crimson eyes, and ghostly pale skin. Like a bolt of lightning, something struck Harry between the eyes, and his unconscious body fell to the floor with a thud as a scream echoed in the background.
A boy with glasses and jet-black hair sat at a small table with his back to the fire. He stared aimlessly at the dancing shadows on the opposite wall. An elbow shifted and an empty bottle fell on its side. The boy glanced briefly from side to side before spinning the bottle on the table. Flecks of butterbeer darkened on sheets of parchment that were spread out before the boy.
"Harry!" An annoyed sigh from across the table caused Harry Potter to tear his attention away from the bottle. The girl, his friend, put on her best I'm-trying-to-work-and-you're-not-helping face.
"Sorry, Hermione," Harry gave her a lopsided smile, and her face softened. She waved a hand, dismissing the matter.
"No problem, but you really should finish your homework, you know."
"Yeah." Harry trailed off, before glancing at the table again. This time, he focused on the star charts he had drawn. Divination was his least favorite class, but he only had to take one more year. His thoughts traveled momentarily to the mysterious teacher, who had made a rather morbid habit of predicting Harry's death. So far, none of her predictions had come true, except. He shook his head, displacing the dark images.
Hermione looked concerned.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," he said again, absently.
"Well, you shouldn't be!"
Harry looked up sharply. Another boy had just entered the room. The newcomer was tall, with locks of fiery red hair that fell over his eyes. He ambled over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting and plopped down into a chair.
"You can't be feeling well if you're doing your Divination homework on a Friday night."
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione murmured. "Just because you procrastinate, doesn't mean everyone else has to."
Ron shot her a sidelong glance, then looked back at Harry, and pulled a goofy face. "You don't want to end up like her do you?" He jerked his thumb towards a scowling Hermione.
She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry interrupted.
"You're right," Harry agreed, and packed up his things with a flourish. He had been waiting for any kind of excuse to put off his homework, and there was none better than a good-natured jab at Hermione's tireless study habits. "I've been meaning to visit Hagrid, anyway." Rising from his chair, he stretched, and scratched his back. Ron followed him to the door, but turned around at the last minute.
"You coming?" The question was directed at Hermione. She shook her head without taking her eyes off of her homework.
"Got loads to do. You go ahead. I might come down later."
Harry had pushed open the door (which was actually a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress), and was now watching Ron's back, mentally urging the taller boy to hurry up. As Ron turned around, however, he caught sight of something over Harry's left shoulder. His face suddenly went ashen, and his mouth opened and closed, like a fish that had been snatched out of its bowl. Harry was puzzled.
"What are you--?"
But when he spun around, all he perceived was a pair of slanted crimson eyes, and ghostly pale skin. Like a bolt of lightning, something struck Harry between the eyes, and his unconscious body fell to the floor with a thud as a scream echoed in the background.