Harry Potter sat up in bed with a start, clutching his right hand to
his stomach and his left hand to his forehead. Pain surged through the
latter, as a queasy feeling sloshed around in the former. He glanced at his
alarm clock; it was half-past three in the morning. The light snores from
Ron and the not-so-light ones from Neville floated up from below him. Harry
felt as thought he might be the only one who was awake in Hogwarts School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even the Quidditch players in Ron's Chudley
Cannons poster were asleep on the ground, wrapped up in sleeping bags,
their brooms beside them.
Harry squinted and tried to remember his dream, or perhaps, his
nightmare. He thought back, eyes shut tight, until his head began to hurt
even more than before. He could recall nothing but a voice, a pretty female
voice, a voice that whispered his name. "Harry Potter," it called to him
still, "Over here, Harry," and "Hello there, Harry!" But that was all.
He strove to attach a face, a figure to the alluring voice, but found
none in his memory. It was a woman, he knew. She had a very pleasant voice
to listen to, but oh how he wished he could see her as well. He lay back on
his pillow and stared at the ceiling as the enchanting voice echoed in his
head. "Harry!" it said, "Come here, Harry!"
~*~
"Harry! Over here, Harry!" Suddenly, Harry snapped out of his reverie and found himself in the Great Hall, looking wildly around for whoever was calling his name. It was Hermione, gesturing for him to come and sit down between her and Ron. He rushed over and took a seat, just a whirlwind of feathers and cold air flew into the breakfast hall. Owls, tawny, grey, snowy, white, or spotted, skimmed over the students' heads, landing to take breakfast with their proper owners. The owls carried parcels, postcards, and letters of all sorts. Many owls brought with them a copy of The Daily Prophet, a wizard newspaper. Harry sighed as his owl, Hedwig, landed lightly on his shoulder. She dropped a small postcard onto his plate of eggs and bacon. He turned it over quickly and read through the grease stains:
Mr. Potter: As you may know, Mr. Oliver Wood graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last year with honors. As we are sure you know, Mr. Wood was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for several years before his graduation, and during the year thereof. We would like to formally request that you take his place as Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House. If you would like to accept, please send me a message as quickly as you can. Report to the Quidditch field on Wednesday, September the twelfth, at seven-o-clock. Best Regards; Albus Dumbledore (Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)
Ron read the postcard quickly over Harry's shoulder. "Blimey! Quidditch Captain? In Fifth year!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Charlie was once, I don't remember what year, they're all so fantastic anyway..." He began to pout slightly at the very thought of his high-achieving brothers. "Oh, shut up, Ron. You don't even play Quidditch. But I think it's more fun to watch it than play it anyhow," said Hermione, shoveling fried potatoes into her mouth as she skimmed the pages of a Potions textbook. "Do you suppose I should accept?" Harry wondered out loud. "I don't know if I can, you know, keep a whole team -" "I know you can. You'll be fine," interuppted Hermione, talking into her book. She lifted her head up very fast and gave Harry a motherly look. "Now go on, eat! You won't be able to play Quidditch at all if you don't eat! Have some of these potatoes, they're delicious."
A sudden loud cheer rose from across the hall. Harry turned around to see dozens of Slytherins clapping and whistling around their table. Draco Malfoy was still sitting, and with a very smug look on his face. He held a postcard in his hand, and he was being pat on the back by many of his classmates. From across the room, he caught Harry's eye and gave him a superior look.
As everyone was finishing their meal, Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, rose and clinked his spoon against his goblet. He ran through the usual start-of-year announcements, reminding everyone that the Forbidden Forest was still, indeed, forbidden, and that first years should be sure to listen to the prefects. The gleaming golden plates vanished from the long tables, and everyone dispersed to their classes.
Ugh, thought Harry, Double Herbology with Slytherin. What a way to start the year.
~*~
"Harry! Over here, Harry!" Suddenly, Harry snapped out of his reverie and found himself in the Great Hall, looking wildly around for whoever was calling his name. It was Hermione, gesturing for him to come and sit down between her and Ron. He rushed over and took a seat, just a whirlwind of feathers and cold air flew into the breakfast hall. Owls, tawny, grey, snowy, white, or spotted, skimmed over the students' heads, landing to take breakfast with their proper owners. The owls carried parcels, postcards, and letters of all sorts. Many owls brought with them a copy of The Daily Prophet, a wizard newspaper. Harry sighed as his owl, Hedwig, landed lightly on his shoulder. She dropped a small postcard onto his plate of eggs and bacon. He turned it over quickly and read through the grease stains:
Mr. Potter: As you may know, Mr. Oliver Wood graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last year with honors. As we are sure you know, Mr. Wood was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for several years before his graduation, and during the year thereof. We would like to formally request that you take his place as Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House. If you would like to accept, please send me a message as quickly as you can. Report to the Quidditch field on Wednesday, September the twelfth, at seven-o-clock. Best Regards; Albus Dumbledore (Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)
Ron read the postcard quickly over Harry's shoulder. "Blimey! Quidditch Captain? In Fifth year!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Charlie was once, I don't remember what year, they're all so fantastic anyway..." He began to pout slightly at the very thought of his high-achieving brothers. "Oh, shut up, Ron. You don't even play Quidditch. But I think it's more fun to watch it than play it anyhow," said Hermione, shoveling fried potatoes into her mouth as she skimmed the pages of a Potions textbook. "Do you suppose I should accept?" Harry wondered out loud. "I don't know if I can, you know, keep a whole team -" "I know you can. You'll be fine," interuppted Hermione, talking into her book. She lifted her head up very fast and gave Harry a motherly look. "Now go on, eat! You won't be able to play Quidditch at all if you don't eat! Have some of these potatoes, they're delicious."
A sudden loud cheer rose from across the hall. Harry turned around to see dozens of Slytherins clapping and whistling around their table. Draco Malfoy was still sitting, and with a very smug look on his face. He held a postcard in his hand, and he was being pat on the back by many of his classmates. From across the room, he caught Harry's eye and gave him a superior look.
As everyone was finishing their meal, Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, rose and clinked his spoon against his goblet. He ran through the usual start-of-year announcements, reminding everyone that the Forbidden Forest was still, indeed, forbidden, and that first years should be sure to listen to the prefects. The gleaming golden plates vanished from the long tables, and everyone dispersed to their classes.
Ugh, thought Harry, Double Herbology with Slytherin. What a way to start the year.