Chapter 9: Hagrid's Gift

The cold draft and morning chill that fall had promised seemed to have been overlooked by Harry, absorbed not only by his immense quantities of homework, but also in evading Snape. Ever since their unplanned escapade in the Charms hallway, he had been subject to fierce grilling interrogation; he couldn't shake the cursed man off of his trial. Harry wondered if their conversation alone with Irenes hadn't been as secret as they wished it to be, that Snape had stolen a few words for himself. It sure seemed that way, as he continued to harp at both Ron and Harry, rudely emerging into the hallways in front of them as they walked to their classes, his leering, and black eyes bright with genuine bitterness.

Perhaps it was the massive amount of snowfall that one fine, crisp December morning that finally triggered Harry's attention, drew him to the fact that his 5th year in school was nearly half way complete, and unfortunately, that the O.W.L's were just one step closer to arriving. "You've really got to start studying…I'd hope you'd already made your note cards" Hermoine would ramble on about their improper educational habits, reminding them over and over again about how they would surely receive the poorest marks a wizard could if they didn't shape up. Harry knew this well enough; he didn't need Hermoine rattling on like a baby sitter. But he also knew that she only meant well, and therefore underwent her continual tutelage.

But even so, just the site of large, waffle-like flakes, falling like stars from heaven onto the castle grounds that made Harry's heart leap with excitement. He relished being away from home most during the Christmas season, when he could really compare just how inferior like with the Dursley's was, and just how much he cherished being a Hogwart's student. Moreover, Harry would never forget how he received his Invisibility Cloak during his first Christmas here. It was surely a moment to remember, as it led to many fond, fertile memories; one of them had been just this year, in fact.

"Harry, do you really think its okay staying here alone?" Ron protested defiantly, stuffing a loose sock into his rag-tag suitcase, the corner tips battered and the nametag worn. Many different emblems were posted on the outer covering, and they were all enchanted to show several shots of the members of his favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons.

"I mean, its not like you've anything to worry about…'cept for 'ol Snape, that is."

"Don't worry, Ron…s'not like the whole castle's going to be empty; I'll have Hedwig, and most of the teachers, and of course, Dumbledore will be staying this Christmas!" said Harry, helping Ron pack his things. Since the Dursley's refused to have him return during the holiday breaks, and Harry really couldn't complain much, his only choice was to either remain at Hogwarts, or live with the Weasley's.

On any other day, perhaps Harry would have chosen the latter option, for he did love Ron's family and their home, and had been yearning to smell the sweat scent of baked goods since summer respite. But he knew, he felt he had to remain in school…it was a secret demand lodged in his mind, and Harry, despite all his pondering, couldn't figure why. On many occasions, he speculated that it was because of his desire for excitement in the wondrous palace, but what escapades were in store for him? What quest was he planning on charting?

Am I just biding my time before Voldemort appears? Harry had asked himself just the other night, alone in his bed, safe the softly hooting Hedwig, faithful to the last ounce of feather and beak. It was true, however. Voldemort had returned from the dead, his resurrection fortified by his union of fearful Death Eaters, an order of the Dark side. Since last year's tournament, Harry could only dream of how many followers had flocked to their master's side, begging for requiem, kissing the hems of his blood stained cloak.

"And anyway, it might do me some good to study a bit more, don't you suppose? It might even keep Hermoine off my tail!" he said with a chortle, and saw that Ron still wasn't pleased with his decision.

"Harry, I want you to promise me…please tell me if you run into trouble; said so yourself that it'll come looking for you…" voice a little too wary for Harry's liking, Ron stood with his eyes affixed to his scar, that one, powerful symbol of the boy's mysterious background. Harry didn't like the way he was gawking at him, not in the way he had the first time they had crossed paths, but with so much more care, and dread.

"I'll send an owl…" Harry stopped to break the burning gaze between their eyes, then looked back again, ears pounding, "…I promise."

He was short on words, being confronted by his best friend like this, trapped between idle frustration and a stubborn for the unknown. Knowing that he had to say, Harry gave an extra nod for comfort, picking up his books.

"I promise you'll be the first to know, Ron," said Harry, his disheveled black hair drifting as Hedwig flew onto his shoulder. Her talons barely penetrated the fabric of his robes, but he winced, half surprised that the snowy owl had suddenly flown up to him. It wasn't until she affectionately nipped his cheek that Harry noticed that she had a small scrap of parchment tied quite carefully onto her left leg. The letters looked as if they had been written rather hastily, scrawled all over the page in loose, languid handwriting.

"It's from Hagrid," Harry prophesized, and Ron soon was peering over his shoulder, his suitcase left unlatched on his bed, "He say's "Please come to the hut-Hagrid"…not much to go on, I wonder what he needs."

"Fred and George are probably already in the Great Hall…I suppose I should go to…" Ron trailed off aimlessly, probably because he wanted to visit the colossal Hagrid before leaving Hogwarts, "I'll make sure to send you your present, and my mum will send you some sweets too!"

Relieved that Ron's heart was lifting a little, Harry gave a grin of delight; he could almost taste the rich, sugary chocolate and taffy on his tongue. Helping Ron pack the rest of his clothes and books (all the teachers assigned homework over the breaks, especially McGonagall and Snape), shoving the brief memo into his pocket, Harry was soon standing in the Great Hall himself, next to the Weasley's.

Ginny was looking especially spirited and flushed, dressed in her winter robes, a small beret sitting atop flaming red hair. Cheeks aglow with her interest in Harry, the young girl had apparently lost the ability to speak as both Ron and he came trudging into the large, overtly vacant room.

"Oh, hallo there Ginny," Harry said congenially, trying his best not to set the girl on fire with embarrassment, "Excited about Christmas?"

"U-um…yea..." the girl managed to squeak out just barely, before her two twin brothers picked up the rest for her.

"What she's trying to say is that she really can't wait to go home and ogle over her "Harry Potter photo collection" aalll day…" Fred gibed, a large grin spread across his lively face.

"…And then dream of you aalll night long!" George then finished, stamping his foot and his double began to slap his knee, the both of them bursting out with laughter.

"Shut up, both of you!" face ruby to match her hair's color, Ginny pushed Fred and George into one of the tables, and they tripped onto the floor, only causing them to engage in more guffawing, legs kicking up into the air. Harry didn't know what to say, or whether or not to laugh along with Ron and his brothers. It wasn't that he didn't like Ginny, she was a very nice girl, but he just couldn't push away his hopes to become better acquainted with the dazzling Cho Chang, although he hadn't had much luck. They hadn't met in the hallways since the Naga had attacked, and since she was older than he, it wasn't like they shared any classes.

"Don't worry, Ginny, I know they're only joking," sighed Harry, he couldn't help but distinguish a certain look of dismay on the girl's face as he said this. It was becoming increasingly difficult to retain a structured conversation with the ever-anxious girl, not with Cho's pretty face bathing in his mind's eye. The mental images were so engrossing, that he barely had a chance to notice the Hermione had slipped up behind him, placing a hand onto his shoulder. The gentle touch was like a bolt of lightning and he gave a quick start as if it had electrocuted him.

"Cripes!" Harry said, hair standing on end as he turned around quickly, green eyes wide with shock. Hermoine looked just as flabbergasted, skipping back a few feet.

"Hermione! I didn't see you there!"

"Well, that was apparent, you prat!" snubbing Harry's reaction, Hermione sulked in place, both hands perched on her developing hips, a rosy red tint flooding into her face, "I guess I'll skip the formalities…it's about time that we all should leave…why aren't your things packed to go to the Weasley's?"

"Because he's not coming…" Ron answered shortly, words underlined with steel, a bit of irritation rearing its ugly face. A pang of guilt shot into Harry's heart, and it took a great deal of energy to keep himself from second-guessing his decision to remain behind. He told himself over and over again…he had to stay…he had to stay…

"What!" said Hermione, obviously more than a bit perturbed, and Ginny as well wore a look of horror on her pale face, the freckles themselves waning in color, eyes loosing their shine.

"How can you stand to stay here, all by yourself? I swear, Harry Potter, if you're planning anything—"

"Don't even start…I've already had to promise Ron that I wouldn't…" Harry said with a little too much impatience riding on his tone; he promptly changed his attitude, "Look…I don't want to exclude you or Ron from anything I do…I swear to you, Hermoine…"

Harry suddenly dropped the volume of his voice to a low whisper.

"…I promise you most of all…"

He didn't quite understand what had come over him; it just seemed like the right thing to say…to do. But the inquisitive gaze the brown-haired girl was now emitting at him made him doubt that this was so. Her knees were shaking, and Harry suddenly felt very nasty indeed, like he had said far too much, and he felt his stomach crinkle in on itself, double over with fear.

When a smile finally crept up on Hermione's face, Harry felt his lungs exhale peacefully, the natural color returning to her cheeks as she gave him a quick hug, fetching her two suitcases.

"Harry…I know you'll be safe…" she said with a grin, one that, to Harry at least, seemed to drive away the darkest of hexes and the most horrible of plagues…just like Ron, he knew he could always count on the trust of his friends. Ginny, however, was in complete unease with the whole situation, fidgeting and shuffling her mary-jane shoes.

"Don't worry…he'll make sure to send you an owl for Christmas, right Harry?"

And with a nod Harry was soon standing alone, waving to the disappearing forms of Hermione and the Weasley's, standing alone save his own lonely shadow, always there even when he did not appreciate it. The huge, oaken doors of he Great Hall soon came together, and the loud echo thundered throughout the vicinity, and Harry's feeling of solitude only increased as even the figures in the hall portraits started to leave their framed abodes. Giving a rather drawn out sigh, he crossed himself silently, starting to regret his irrational and otherwise idiotic resolution; Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, and his fingers touched the crumpled note.

"That's right…Hagrid wanted to see me…" mumbling to himself, taking his time as he, too, exited the illustrious dining hall of grand proportions, although he was one of the few that would do so without carrying a box or bag.

For the first time since he first came to live with the Dursley's, Harry truly felt…alone.

A blast of frosty air stung Harry in the face the moment he had exited Hogwarts castle, and he bundled himself tighter into his cloak and scarf, chattering his teeth like a chipmunk. Before he knew what had come over him he was making a bee line across the frost coated lawn, pumping his arms furiously. His breath was visible and he could feel his nose becoming numb just as he launched himself up the wooden and stone steps up to Hagrid's hut, pounding on the door with his unfeeling fists, balled and shivering.

"Now jus' wait 'er secon'!" a gruff, low voice bellowed out, muffled by the straw thatched door, the glass panes ice-covered, the edges speckled white with crystalline water. With a mighty push, the door swung open, and there stood Hagrid, as friendly looking as ever to see Harry, his merry, black eyes twinkling like onyx pebbles, and although his ragged beard hid almost his entire face, Harry knew a broad smile lay well out of sight from underneath the mass of fur-like hair.

"Harry! I was wonderin' when ya might be comin' ta see me…come righ' in!"

Not needing the invitation to know that he was welcome inside the well heated home, Harry however returned the favor with a rushed "thanks" in between icy panting, sprinting towards the roaring fire that was crackling and spreading its warmth all across the one floor cabin.

It looked just as cheery as it had at the beginning of he year, when Ron and Hermione had been there to observe Professor Zelbess' strange sickness, and when they had first learned of her bizarre medical condition, one Harry was always on the look out for, watching closely to see if any of the symptoms happened to appear. She had since then not developed any unhealthy ailments, although Harry often wondered if this was due to her current, budding fiasco with the unruly Snape. A pang of ire surged in his brain at the mere thought that the hook-nosed teacher could attempt to harm Irenes' by any means possible; he pushed the troublesome inkling out of consideration.

"You're lookin' rather dazed, Harry, is somethin' on your mind?" said Hagrid, handing Harry a spare knit blanket of dull gray material, and Harry could then feel the half-giant's hefty palm paddling his back rather roughly. He lead him over to his redwood tree table, the surface decorated with papers Hagrid had forgotten to grade during the Christmas time splendor.

"Don' tell me your still on about Snape…again…"

"I wonder how you guessed, Hagrid, but when am I not on about Snape lately…when am I not on about anything that could throw me out of Hogwarts faster then you can say "expelled"?" shrugging his shoulders, Harry saw a thoughtful expression fall over the bulky man's face, his bulbous nose tinted red from the cold outside.

"I just can't figure out why I'm always the one to seek out trouble like this…why do I always seem to find myself stumbling upon some death-defying adventure…

"Except now there is no adventure this time…this year doesn't seem to be planning anything exciting for me, Hagrid…shouldn't I be content to know that I'm not in any immediate danger, shouldn't I?"

The man seated across from Harry at the large center table was apparently giving his question a large amount of thought, chin folding as he pressed it against his chest, grunting a little. Fang, an enormous, but ironically gutless, dog came up beside Harry, nudging the hand that was dangling over the arm of his chair, so that Harry would pet him. He tapped the dog's wet nose, and the animal started to lick his fingers, lapping at the salty surface greedily; Harry gave a diminished laugh, still wrought over his current dilemma.

"Well, I guess all I ca' say is that sometimes you jus' got to do what your 'eart says…and not care what your mind tellsya…" Hagrid said finally after much contemplation, and as Harry let this soak into his own well of thoughts, ponder this for a few specks of time, he continued.

"I know life hasn't been all that easy for ya at Hogwarts…always havin' to worry 'bout…well…You-know-who…an' I guess Snape can getta bit creepy…an' on top of this ya got studyin' and learnin'. I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that now that is seems like things 'er finally coolin' down, and you just have to wonder…are things really coolin' down…

"Maybe that's what yer goin' through righ' now, Harry, but I can't see why you're waitin' for sommat bad hoopla to happn'!"

"Hagrid…I never knew you could say something so simple sound so…so…" Harry scrambled for the words, dancing on the tip of his tongue like jumping beans, "…right…"

"Well, isn't it?"

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to…I guess that's why I stayed behind: to see if something would happen…like I'm expecting something to just pop up and explode in my face like a ticking time bomb…" sighing again (Harry never remembered ever sighing so much in his entire life.), he suddenly remembered just why he had been called here, as he saw Fang playing with the small, balled up piece of paper.

"Hagrid…you said you had something to tell me…I'm sorry we got so off topic…"

Face looking a little baffled, Hagrid soon realized that he as well had lost his train of thought, eyes brightening as if a candle was being lit behind each of his eyelids. His lips crinkled into an all-knowing grin, his beard contorting as well, and Harry couldn't even begin to guess what was swimming around in his friend's mind; he had a habit of surprising him with the most obscenely extraordinary artifacts and animals around.

"I'm glad ya asked, Harry…come 'ere…I wanna show ya something'" he rose from his chair steadily, Fang climbing onto his four, long legs, tromping up to his mole-coated side. Clambering up to his feet nervously, Harry's feeling of apprehension was proved indisputable as Hagrid turned around from his worktable, a large box. It was not moving or shaking in any way, but Harry still could not simply turn down the largely unavoidable odds that whatever lay in the small, dingy box was at least at one time alive.

Judging by Hagrid's advancing gesticulations, Harry presumed that he was in fact offering him the contents; he gave a small gulp, grasping it carefully, noticing with relief that their were no air holes cut out along the sides of the container. A pet or animal of some sort wouldn't have been bad, if it had been offered to Harry by anyone other then Hagrid, he thought drearily to himself, as the brutish man wouldn't forfeit the opportunity to own some snarling creature with scales and dozens of rows of razor-sharp incisors, namely a dragon or something of the like.

"Well…don' just look at it!" Harry gave a start as Hagrid chortled out loud, rushing up to his side, hands rubbing together in bouts of excitement. Gulping, a bead of sweat trailing down between his shoulder blades from beneath his sweater and robes, Harry slowly tore of the lid of the box, and found another package, rolled in several layers of tissue paper.

"I thought you might like somethin' for Christmas…somethin' extra since I know Ron 'n Hermione won' be 'ere!"

Warily plunging his hand into the mess of crinkled paper, Harry felt something quite solid inside the carton, and he carefully wrapped his fingers about it, just waiting for the instant in which a set of jaws would clamp down upon his skin. Strengthening his grip, Harry began to pull the object out of the box, holding his breath, and then let the empty container fall onto the ground with a deadened clunk, staring rather precariously at the strange relic Hagrid had deemed him worthy of.

At first it looked like a poorly constructed teapot, for it did have a gnarled handle affixed to what Harry considered to be the back of the artifact. But upon closer inspection, he suddenly realized that it was a small, green clay turtle, molded into the shape of a spouted cup. It's scales were the color of mold, with yellow splotches, as were the teeth in the animal's mouth, and instead of being smooth and shiny, the cup's "shell" was spiked and hunched. But most odd was the shape of the turtle's head, for although it appeared much like an actual terrapin's, there was a gaping orifice on top of the beast's head, which Harry deduced served as the beaker's spigot.

"Um…well…thanks for…the…uh…" Harry said stupidly, not sure what to say about the "gift", for it was unlike anything he had ever been given, even from someone as unusual as Hagrid, "…just what is this thing?"

"You like it? I found that in Diagon Alley a few days ago…thought you might find it interestin' enough…" Hagrid said in proud voice, taking the mutated mug into his own, beefy hands, fondling it as if it were alive, which Harry was quite relieved that it wasn't.

"It's a Kappa…strange creatures, fascinatin' though…would like to see one fer myself! But I'm 'fraid that they've all died out…or driven to the most unpleasant spots on th' globe…

"Legend has it that they would attack ya by jumpin' out from un'erneath a bridge, and the only way ta escape was to bow…"

"Bow? What would that do?" Harry spoke with curiosity beneath fear, as he gazed as the earthenware animal's menacing fangs and sickle-like claws; it sure didn't look like something that would enjoy proper manners, and seemed more likely to shred you into pieces without due respect.

"'Though they're nasty little critters, some say that it might be foolish 'n tilt its head to, just ta tease…but then the water'll tip out of this hole…and then has to go back into ta water, it needs it to survive!" Hagrid explained with great enthusiasm, handing the Kappa-glass back to Harry, although he seemed reluctant to take it into the castle, as the eyes seemed to be glaring back at him from it's hollow sockets, beady and fierce. Nerves a bit rattled, Harry finally forced himself to smile graciously and quickly placed the cup back into its box; it was just as distasteful as a real kappa might have been.

"I 'xpect you'll be wantin' to get back to th' castle now…things ta do I suppose…" helping Harry to the door, as to not allow him to drop the box while gliding down the slippery steps, Hagrid began buttoning his coat, its ratty surface torn at several corners. As they neared the exit of his hut, Harry noticed that his friend was now fetching his large, stone ax.

"As for myself, I oughta be cuttin' down the trees for th' castle! I'm tellin' ya, Harry, it's gonna be a beaut this year! The tallest tree'll be standing right behind the faculty seats and Professor Flitwick's planning on decking all of Hogwarts…"

As Hagrid, teeming with anticipation and rambling on about decorations and festivities, walked along with Harry to the castle grounds, Fang bounding along in the white, ashen hills, Harry couldn't help that he'd been giving something very important, but he had yet to grasp why. He could still hear the repulsive turtle rolling about inside the decrepit box, and its rattling sent chills down his spine.

Harry couldn't recall a time in which the Gryffindor common rooms had ever looked so desolate and barren. Not even Nearly-Headless-Nick was to be seen patrolling the tapestry-laden room, it's lustrous walls decorated with romantic portraits, and Hedwig was most likely outside hunting for a mouse or small bird; everything was so silent. A sigh issuing from his mouth, the young boy slumped into a vacant, dusty chair covered with red crushed velvet, the cushion depressing under his weight.

What was I thinking for God's sake…he scorned himself, wishing with every bone in his body that he were in the Burrow with the Weasley's, laying next to the hearth, laughing with both Ron and Hermione…no…he was stuck here, forlorn without any friends even close to his age. The blustering gales of winter begin to rattle the windowpanes, snow sweeping up against the glass, threatening to burst through. Not even the elements seemed to want his company, another torrent smacked the bay window.

Reaching into the frayed and worn box once more, Harry pulled out the strange pitcher, looking at it's horrendously detailed skin; it looked slimy to the touch, but was amazingly smooth as he ran one of his pale fingers along its face. He knew that if it had been alive, the turtle would surely smell mephitic and putrid, its face filled with anger…he wondered what had come over Hagrid, what had gripped him to buy him this abhorrent thing, for lack of a better word?

The yellow eyes gleamed up towards him, glistening pumice and glaze twinkling. They sadly reminded Harry of the harrowing eyes of the Naga, and his heart suddenly clenched up; a vice coiled around him and squeezed tightly, his breaths becoming grated and chafed. Why was it that he could barely remember the things he wanted to; the face of his father, the voice of his mother serenading him to sleep, and yet he was able to freakishly visualize the images he detested so much? Why were those eyes, hard and cruel, haunting him like a nightmare, even now, months after the surprise ambush in the library?

He tried with all his energy to purge them out of his mind, dispose of that horrible day, that frightful prediction the leader of the snake-people had foretold…but it was to no avail, and the seam-splitting eyeballs remained in the front of his mind.

To avert his attention, Harry flew up from his spot in the soft chair, the cup falling onto the carpeted ground, lolling about stupidly as he ran up to the nearest mirror, peering earnestly into his own reflection, only to realize how afraid he looked.

"Don't let it bother you…Harry, just ignore it…" he chanted out, almost in a trance, the color drained from his face, eyes red as tears began to swell, clustering balls of water quivering off of his lashes. How ironic, to be once again faced against his own mirror-image; it was like he was almost experiencing déjà vu, and he waited for the moment in which the glass would crack and break like expanding ice.

"Where is your courage now…where is it!"

Voice deep and throaty, he could hear the jeers ringing in his ears, the laughing of Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins, ridiculing him for his unbearable weakness, a weakness he could not throw off, this eternal feeling of helplessness, being hexed by an evil from the past. The tears sprang from his face like fountains in a courtyard. His hands were shuddering now, his head buzzed. Would he ever escape this torture, just having to wait for the next time he would be destined to face Voldemort…Voldemort, the man…no…the monster that had killed his own parents?

Could he ever surmount this daunting fear? Or would he eventually succumb to it like many had before him, accepted his fate and thrown himself in front of his enemy's feet, lay down his weapon and guard for the last time? Harry's head was now spinning, tossed down to the floorboards, glasses slipping over his ears, hanging by the last bend of his frames. He didn't even feel them falling from his face. Actually, all Harry could sense was an immense pain, building slowly in the middle of his forehead, all centered on his scar; he wouldn't have been surprised if it were blazing, alight with an evil power.

Squinting his effulgent, emerald eyes, a driblet of perspiration trickling along the side of his chin, Harry registered a new presence in the room, one that brought with it an eerie chill, seeming to drive out the previous air of stuffiness, mugginess. He shivered, shook his head once or twice, his jet, black bangs swishing a little despite all the sweat that was accumulating in his scalp. Taking a step back from the gloomy mirror, and its despairing simulacrum, Harry focused his senses, brandished his wand like a sword.

"Who's there?" he shouted aloud, voice quaky, something that came as quite a shock. How had he allowed himself to become so indistinct and fuzzy-headed in a time that he could be attacked once again, when he was prone and defenseless without the aid of his friends: the cunning of Hermione and Ron's unarguable bravery.

"Come out!"

Shoring up his back, Harry flicked the wand in front of him, a hum running along the holly rod infused with the power of a single, phoenix feather, coincidentally from the very same bird Dumbledore owned…and the very same bird who gave one of his pinions to the wand Voldemort wielded. Face astute, and hand unwavering, Harry readied himself.

He stood, facing the dark entryway to the common rooms, shadowed by the cavernous stone archway above it. Not knowing what to expect, gulping, a little excitement, although a bit more afraid, Harry chanced a step forward, feet sliding quietly, listening ever so carefully. He swore he could hear the sound of low, breathing…it sounded labored…whatever was there was either hurt…or struggling to move…

A scratching sound began to resonate. Harry saw a short glimpse of movement crawling along in the downcast shade, an advancing silhouette drawing nearer. Heart racing, eyes straining to stay open, he forced himself to breath slowly and calmly, although this was much easier said than accomplished, as Harry was about to faint by now.

Suddenly, the figure in the dark gave a quick start, a jagged stirring that triggered the burgeoning wizard into action, and Harry raised his wand above his head so hastily, and his palms were so clammy and damp, that is was almost tossed out of his grip.

"Stupefy!" the spell escaped from his lips finally, his face pale but determined, as a crackle of yellow lightning zipped out of his wand, out into the blinding obscurity, hoping that his magic would find its mark. As the enchantment ended, a short bark, or what Harry heeded to be a weakened roar, chirped out, and the sound of a small body falling onto the floor. Eyes fixed on the benumbed object laying slumped on the floor, Harry did not bring his arm to his side, but held it high, ready to cast another spell at the drop of a dime. His legs were like iron poles, stiff and awkward with this ascending panic as he strode towards the portal.

But his vision was not adjusting fast enough; he was still hindered by the ghostly nightshade around him, toiling to see what lay in front of him, and it didn't help that his glasses were still placed on the ground next to the common room mirror.

"Lumos…" he spoke softer then a crooning dove, and the tip of his wand sparked like a low, crimson flare, brightening the stony walls built over and around him.

The ridge of his shoe touched something small and huddled against the wall, and for a moment, all Harry could see was the long, scaled tail of some beast. Drawing his wand overhead, now struck with absolute terror, a gasp was all Harry's vocal cords could establish as he had his first well-lit view of the creature…