Chapter 3

A blood-curdling scream sounded throughout Gryffindor tower. Oliver awoke with a jolt, along with everyone else in his dormitory. Percy Weasley's eyes were wide and frightened, his dignity momentarily forgotten. "That sounded like Ron!" he yelped, jumping out of bed.

Oliver yawned. "Well, what's he think he's doing, waking us all up?"

Percy wasn't listening—he had thrown open the door and was thundering down the stairs. Oliver rolled over, determined to ignore everything and go back to sleep, but the babble of voices outside kept growing louder and louder. Finally, he sighed in exasperation and dragged himself to the door.

"Sirius Black!" was the first thing he heard, in a loud, terrified voice. "Sirius Black was in my room! Over my bed! Tried to kill me!"

Oliver furrowed his brow and made his way towards the voice, which did sound like Ron. He ended up in the Common Room, where a small, but quickly growing circle surrounded the youngest Weasley boy. Fred and George were there, right next to Ron, along with Harry and Percy. As Oliver pushed his way past gawkers, he met up with Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley, who both gave him looks of utter confusion. "What's he screaming about?" Hermione questioned.

With a shrug, he replied, "Sirius Black tried to kill him? Got me."

"He was after Harry!" Ginny shrieked, then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Harry, who was looking mildly queasy. "Someone went to get McGonagall," he said, his voice coming out as something of a squeak. "You can all probably go back to bed."

"Don't be a twit, Harry," Fred said with a grin, though he was obviously forcing it and looked slightly nervous himself.

"We're not going anywhere with a crazed, escaped murderer on the loose," George added.

"And of course we want to protect you," Fred concluded, attempting to lighten the situation. He didn't seem to think his own joke was particularly funny, though, and only a couple people smiled weakly.

"Ron, what happened?" Hermione demanded.

Ron was shaking and was white as a sheet. "I woke up…and…and Sirius Black was there…with a knife…I thought I was dead, and then I thought that he was going to kill Harry…"

At that moment, McGonagall strode in and demanded to know what happened. When the story was told in its entirety and Sir Cadogan questioned, McGonagall asked in a tight voice, "Which person—which abysmally foolish person wrote down the week's passwords and left them laying around for anyone to find?"

A small, chubby boy who Oliver had seen but didn't know the name of squeaked in fear and raised a shaking hand into the air. McGonagall looked ready to kill somebody as she marched over to the boy and grabbed his shoulder. "I want everyone to sleep in the Common Room tonight until this matter has been resolved. Percy, make sure everyone is accounted for." She strode out of the tower, trailing the chubby and terrified boy behind her. Everyone began dispersing as sleeping bags appeared in the Common Room, but Oliver made his way over to Fred and George.

When they saw him coming and the determine expression on his face, they groaned, and Fred began in a despairing tone, "It's too late for Quidditch, Wood."

"We just want to sleep," George agreed. "Remember? We just won a game. We don't need to practice until tomorrow night."

"This isn't about practicing," Oliver said in a low tone. The twins looked shocked, and he continued, "I want you to watch Harry."

"Er…why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Fred started edging behind his brother in mock fear. "He's gone nutters."

Oliver gave them a frustrated look. "I can't lose Harry as a Seeker! We'll never win the Cup without him! Why didn't anyone tell me that Sirius Black was after him? Everyone else seems to know."

"Not exactly," George mumbled.

"The point is, I want you two to make sure he's safe. At all times. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Wood, we have classes! Harry's got other friends!"

There was a slightly maniacal gleam in Oliver's eyes. "I'm telling you two to do it."

"And what if Sirius Black comes after us?" Fred questioned. "Then you'll lose your Seeker and your Beaters."

"No," George told him. "You do it if you're so concerned."

"I have other things on my mind."

"Yeah, Quidditch."

"Not just Quidditch."

"Yeah, you've really improved as a liar, Wood."

The conversation was abruptly cut off as Percy came around ordering everyone to bed. Oliver did have other things on his mind, and those, on top of the Sirius Black fiasco, kept him awake all night. He could hear muted voices and whispers every so often from all around the room, so he knew that no one else slept, either.

The following morning at breakfast, Oliver spent the majority of the time staring blearily at his bacon. The thought of going to bed was enough to make him want to find a small hole somewhere and curl up in it. The rest of the Gryffindors had similar expressions on their faces—that is, the ones who had bothered getting up.

"Hey," a voice said from above him.

He slowly turned to look at the speaker. "Oh. Hello, Sam."

Plopping down next to him, she asked, "Get any sleep?"

"No. Doesn't look like you did, either."

Sam sighed. "Everyone who was scared didn't want to admit it, so half of us sat in silence last night while the other half listened to Malfoy go on about how he'd join in and help Black kill Potter. All he had to do was ask, Malfoy kept saying. Blah, blah, blah. He looked like he was sick, though, he was so pale. Something finally scared the prat."

"And you?"

She gave him a strange look. "What do you mean?"

"Were you scared?"

"Were you?"

"He was terrified," Angelina said from the other side of the table, a wan smile on her face.

"Cried himself to sleep," Fred agreed.

Laughing half-heartedly, Sam said, "I bet. Um." She cleared her throat and stared at her feet. "You think I can talk to you for a minute, Oliver?"

Her subdued manner surprised him a little. Usually she blurted out everything in front of everyone. "Sure." He rose from the table and followed her out of the Great Hall to a dark niche in the corridor. As he leaned against the wall, he questioned, "What's wrong?"

"A lot."

"I can tell."

"You want to talk about it?"

Without looking at him, she replied, "I don't know how much I can even talk about. I…" She broke off and sighed in frustration. "I caught them together last night."

Even though he thought he already knew, he asked, "Caught who?"

"Marcus and Bletchley." She bit her lip. "I mean—I—I've thought there was something between them for awhile now. But…well, Melissa and I have always gotten along--"

"You have?" Oliver asked with a raised eyebrow. "It never sounded that way to me."

"We have." Sam sighed again. "So I didn't really want to believe that she'd do something like that. Marcus, I'd expect it from, but not Melissa."

There was a short silence between them for a second before Oliver asked, "So what are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"You'll stop dating him, won't you?" he prodded.

She gave him a shocked look. "No."

"No?" Oliver took her shoulders, which seemed to startle her. "Sam, why? He makes you miserable!"

"He does not!" she objected. "You don't know what he's really like…"

Giving her a direct look, Oliver said, "You didn't use to be like this. He used to make you happy, I think. But--"

"Oliver, don't give me advice on my love life." She smiled bitterly. "Anyway, I gave her a black eye."

This gave Oliver pause. In all the time he'd known her, Sam had never raised a hand (or wand) against anyone. She had never been the violent type. In fact, he could recall at least one occasion when seeing a brawl in the hallways had put her in the foulest of moods, and he hadn't been able to talk to her normally for the rest of the day. So, in his typical fashion, he asked only, "Why?"

Shrugging, Sam replied, "Because she's a bloody tart and she deserved it." She paused, then added, "Snape gave me detention."

Here was one thing he could safely comment on, at least. "Blighter."

"Not really. He's a good Head of House. Things could have been a lot worse last night if not for him."

Comparatively speaking, these were glowing words. "And should I ask why?"

"He doesn't assign detentions without finding out exactly what happened." When Oliver snorted, she clarified, "Well, at least not to Slytherins. And I suppose I looked distraught. Anyway, he talked to me. Actually, he said basically the same things that you did."

"And?"

"And I think that may be what really got me detention--I said the exact same thing to him."

"Telling Snape to mind his own business isn't a good idea."

"Believe me, after seven years, I've figured that out. Anyway." She sighed. "Thanks for letting me dump all this on you."

Oliver gave her a pat on the shoulder. "As long as it makes you feel better."

An attempt at a smile hovered on her lips for a moment, though it looked more like a grimace. "Yeah. It didn't, but…" Before he had a chance to respond, she turned and walked off, calling over her shoulder. "I've got class. See you around."

He watched her go, feeling as though he should have said something else. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it should have been.