Author's Notes: I'm starting to not like the first chapter (Summer In 4229 Words, as I like to call it) , so don't be surprised if there's editing in the not-so-near future. I've got pretty much the whole next chapter already written out on paper, so it should be updated soon. If I can decipher my own handwriting, that is. Meanwhile, Happy Holidays, everyone! I highly recommend Delicious Charlie Weasley gingerbread cookies.
*Ack! Fanfiction.net problems! It won't let my update. Why, why, why? (sobs)
Chapter 2 – Welcome to Hogwarts
Less than two weeks later Harry Potter was once again sitting on the Hogwarts Express with his two best friends Ron and Hermione. Outside the cozy compartment rain poured from the sky. Again.
"Did you get the chocolate we sent you for your birthday?" Ron asked finally. His friends hadn't really known what to say to him after the usual greetings and hugs had been exchanged. 'Did you have a nice summer?' really didn't seem appropriate.
"Yeah, thanks, Ron," Harry smiled, "and thanks for taking care of Hedwig, Hermione."
They passed another minute in semi-uncomfortable silence. Hermione stroked the big ball of ginger fur that was Crookshanks, purring contentedly in her lap. "So…" Harry said finally, "What did you two do all summer?" It was a stupid question, really. He knew already; they'd written to him all about.
"I visited some of my Mom's family in Poland," Hermione said obligingly. "It was nice, but, you know…"
"I played unwilling guinea pig for Fred and George's new products," said Ron with a crooked grin. "You should see some of the stuff they've come up with now that they can work on it full-time. Umbridge would have gone bonkers in a week if we had those Sizzling Snot Sprayers last year."
"Yeah, I know," said Harry wistfully, caught up in the happy image of Umbridge covered from head to foot in pulsating green slime. "They sent me a sample. Aunt Petunia was pretty mad when she saw the stuff all over the carpet."
"Did they send you the Bouncing Bogie Balls?" Harry shook his head. "They haven't found a way to control where they bounce yet. The idea was to have them go after a single person, but they tested out a bunch at home and it scattered all over the house. It was hilarious. Mum was livid. She threatened to kick them out if they didn't stop fooling around with the stuff, and they threatened her right back to get their own flat. And, you know, after Percy…" Ron's grin faded somewhat.
"How is Percy?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Percy's a prat," Ron declared decisively, all traces of a smile gone from his face. "He knows he was wrong, but he's not willing to admit it. I don't know what he's waiting for! That whole business with Crouch was bad enough, and then he had to make a fool of himself last year. We'll see how he likes being Junior Assistant to the Minister with Fudge in all the trouble that he's in after that attack in Diagon Alley, right after he denied the second Azkaban breakout and announced that everything was secure and everyone was safe. The great, bloody git." Ron let out a colorful string of expletives that Hermione listened to with interest for a moment before remembering herself and frowning disapprovingly.
"Ron!" she exclaimed suddenly.
"What?" Hermione motioned at the door of the compartment, which opened to reveal two small figures already in their black Hogwarts robes. One of them broke into a wide smile when he caught sight of Harry. "I didn't know you went to the same Magic School as me!"
Harry stared at the boy for a moment. It was strange and a little disturbing seeing the little kid he'd seen aground Privet Drive during his summers with the Dursleys in full wizard's robes and on the Hogwarts Express, almost as disturbing as seeing the Dementors in the Muggle neighborhood last summer had been. The two worlds weren't supposed to mix like that. Finally he smiled weakly at the first-year boy and motioned him inside. "This is Mark Evans," he said to his friends. "Mark, this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." Mark shook hands with Ron and Hermione very formally, trying to keep a straight face but breaking out into wide smiles all the same. "Who's your friend?" Harry asked, nodding at the little blond-haired girl who was standing shyly behind Mark.
"This is Phoebe Zabini." Mark announced, reaching out behind him and pulling the girl into the compartment. She shook hands with Ron and Hermione without looking up at them. Then, when Mark introduced Harry Potter, she gaped at him for a few seconds before seemingly realizing what she was doing and hiding behind Mark again. Right, Harry thought, she wasn't Muggle-born, then.
"Zabini," Ron said thoughtfully. "I've heard that name before..." Hermione snorted.
"She has a brother that goes to this school," Mark added helpfully, and plopped down in the seat beside Harry. Anita quickly scooted into the seat next to him.
"Really? How do you know?" Harry asked, wondering, somewhat stupidly, if the girl talked at all.
"She told me," Mark said simply.
"What year is he in?" Ron asked with interest.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ron, you've had two classes with him since third year. Blaise Zabini? I work with him sometimes in Ancient Runes."
"Isn't he in Slytherin?" Harry asked, amazed that someone so painfully shy could be related to a Slytherin, the whole lot of whom were notoriously arrogant prats. Harry glanced at his friends; Ron looked equally as bewildered as Harry felt, but Hermione just shrugged.
"Hey Mark," she asked suddenly. "I thought Muggle-borns were staying at Hogwarts over the summer?"
Mark beamed and nodded at her. "I did. We used the fireplace to get from Hogwarts to the station so we could go on the train with all the other kids. And yesterday we floo'ed to Diago-nilly," he said, standing up and rummaging through his robe pockets, "And I got books and a cauldron and - my own wand." He pulled it out with a flourish and waved it under their noses. "It's ten inches long, and it's made of mahogany - which is a type of wood - and there's a unicorn hair in it," he recited happily.
"Nice," Ron acknowledged dutifully.
Mark smiled down at his wand adoringly. Phoebe got up off her seat and timidly tugged at the back of his robes. "We have to go find Phoebe's brother," Mark declared without taking his eyes off his wand and without the slightest change of expression. Finally he looked up and said his goodbyes to the three Gryffindors, grabbed Phoebe by the arm, his wand still in his hand, and pulled her back out of the compartment, shutting the door behind the two of them.
"Were first years always that mental?" Ron asked after they had left. Harry shrugged, and Hermione rolled her eyes again. "So that was the kid who nearly got beat up by your cousin?"
"Yeah, Tonks stopped it. Well," Harry frowned, "at least I think it was Tonks. I didn't actually see her, you know."
"So you still have invisible Order members following you around?"
"I guess so, yeah."
Hermione frowned. "I'd have thought Dumbledore would have come up with something better by now. It didn't work too well last year, did it? How did you get to King's Cross Station?"
"My uncle drove me, but I know there were at least two other cars following us. Plus, I think Mad-Eye Moody was actually in the car with me." Harry shuddered. "You don't know how creepy that was."
Ron looked sympathetic. "I can imagine, mate. Moody's creepy enough when he's visible. How did you know it was him?"
"Easy. You know that wooden leg he has? Well, it was sticking out from beneath the cloak."
"So much for 'constant vigilance,'" Hermione muttered. Neither of the others had anything to say to that.
Ron watched the rain splatter against the window for a few moments. "I really wish you could have stayed with us, Harry," he said suddenly, still staring at the glass.
Harry tried not to let the gloom show on his face, but he couldn't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. "Yeah, well," he said, "It was either the Dursleys or Grimmauld Place, and I don't think I'm quite ready to face Kreacher yet."
Ron didn't give up. "But you could have come to the Burrow with us! Our house was warded too. Dumbledore came to help set them up himself. And we had Aurors there and everything, and they wouldn't even let Mum leave the house alone! There is no way you could have been safer at the Dursleys."
"Ron," Hermione began in a very patronizing tone, but Harry cut her off. "Look, can we talk about something else, please? It's over, it doesn't matter anymore, there's nothing we can do about it." Harry got a particularly strained look on his face, and Hermione got the distinct feeling that he wasn't really thinking about the Dursleys anymore. "Let's talk about something else – let's talk about Quidditch."
Ron perked up a bit at this. "They're bound to let you back on the team, Harry, now that Umbridge's gone. We can make Ginny a Chaser or something," Ron waved his hand dismissively as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. Hermione glared at him, but Ron continued undeterred. "We'll still be at a disadvantage, though, what with Alicia and Angelina leaving the team, and us still having Kirke and Sloper for beaters…"
What followed was a rather pleasant discussion of the Gryffindor team's prospects in the upcoming tournament, the differences between N.E.W.T. level and O.W.L. level classes, and possibilities of what the new Defense teacher would be like. In the end, all three of them agreed that no matter who it was, they couldn't be worse than Umbridge.
Soon after the lunch trolley arrived Ginny and Luna joined them, claiming to have just come back from the new prefects' meeting, the one that both Ron and Hermione had elected to skip in favor of sitting with Harry. Harry couldn't help feeling a little guilty upon learning of this, but he was glad at his friends' company all the same.
The rest of the train ride passed rather uneventfully. Over the course of the trip they were visited by various classmates and former fellow DA members, and played exploding Snap with whoever happened to be in the compartment. Harry received an endless stream of apologies from those who, like Seamus Finnegan, had doubted his sanity the previous year, expressions of loyalty from those who had believed him, and a late birthday present in the form of an Algerian Singing Cactus from Neville Longbottom.
By the time they reached Hogsmeade, however, Harry had a strange feeling that something was missing, that he'd forgotten something and wasn't quite ready to get to Hogwarts yet, as if he'd skipped an important rite of passage. But he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was… He had Ron and Hermione with him, Hedwig was safe in her cage, he had his trunk, and he was wearing his Hogwarts robes. So what was wrong?
Harry puzzled over this as they exited the train for the rain-soaked platform of Hogsmeade Station, but it wasn't until Hermione mentioned Malfoy that he realized said Slytherin had skipped their traditional start-of-year meeting on the Hogwarts Express. Now Malfoy was standing farther down the platform, unperturbed by the light drizzle that still fell from the pitch-black sky and by the milling crowds of underclassmen pushing past the platform. He was staring with apparent revulsion at the thestral-driven carriages. "I wonder what Malfoy's up to," Hermione was saying. "He didn't show up on the train. He usually likes to start bothering you early, Harry."
Ron scoffed. "You don't think he's finally learned his lesson and decided to leave us well enough alone? His cronies aren't with him; maybe they got chucked out of school for failing all their OWLs and Malfoy was scared to leave his compartment alone," he added, scanning the platform for any sign of Crabbe or Goyle.
Harry, however, was more interested in what Malfoy was looking at. "Since when can Malfoy see Thestrals?"
Hermione followed Harry's line of sight. "It sure looks like he can, doesn't it?" she said thoughtfully. "I don't know who he could have seen die… he definitely wouldn't have been in Diagon Alley, and his father has been in Azkaban for most of the summer, so it's not likely it had anything to do with him. Do you think his mother is a Death Eater as well? I would have thought the Ministry would have kept a closer watch on the Malfoys after Lucius went to Azkaban."
"You remember his mum from the World Cup? She's as evil as the rest of them. But if you ask me, the better question to ask is who did the little git kill himself."
A hard, cold feeling of anger and dread settled in the pit of Harry's stomach, and it had nothing to do with the resurging gust of cold wind and rain that swept the platform, and everything to do with the his least favorite classmate. "He's younger than any of the other Death Eaters, but judging by how old Snape and some of the others must have been the first time around, Voldemort recruits pretty young."
But as they followed the crowd they saw that Malfoy was certainly not the only student who could suddenly see what was pulling the previously horseless carriages. Here and there students, Muggle-borns mostly, would stop and stare in various states of astonishment at the dark, skeletal forms of the thestrals, and none of them looked happy about it.
The chatter of the crowd in the Great Hall had a somewhat subdued and morose quality to it, and not without reason. Voldemort's recent increase in activity was taking its toll on everyone. The Diagon Alley attack had finally hit home to many of them the seriousness and the reality of what they were facing. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed more subdued than usual, although he smiled as brightly as ever. The sorting hat's song had been uncharacteristically dull and unenthusiastic, although it refrained from trying to encourage unity within the school, as it had done the previous year. This in itself strangely disturbed Harry; had the hat given up on them? Even McGonagall called out the names of the new students with a little less than her usual vigor.
Harry clapped when the other Gryffindors clapped, but he hadn't really been paying attention since "Abbot, Abigail," had joined her sister in Hufflepuff, so it was with no small amount of shock that he realized, after Hermione elbowed him in the stomach, that "Evans, Mark," had just been sorted into Slytherin.
"But he's Muggle-born," she hissed. "How can he be in Slytherin?"
"I knew there was something wrong with that kid. No offence, Harry, but you could tell. And hanging around with that Zabini girl…"
"Ron, I bet you Phoebe won't even go there. And anyway, being a Slytherin doesn't automatically make you evil. All of them can't be evil, that would be one fourth of the school! Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, remember? And Mark isn't likely to start going off about how killing Muggle-borns is good seeing as he's one himself. "
Harry, however, was thinking about his own sorting and how close he himself had com to being made a Slytherin. "We should have warned him against that house. Zabini probably convinced him that Slytherin was the best. Now let's just hope Malfoy doesn't poison him in his sleep."
"Maybe Dumbledore will let him transfer…"
The Headmaster was sitting in his usual spot at the center of the head table, his head propped up on his hands, smiling benignly at the newly-sorted first years. To his right was McGonagall's empty chair, followed by Snape, who was wearing his customary scowl. To Dumbledore's left sat a fairly pretty dark-haired woman who could only be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Harry watched her intently for a few moments; she seemed to be absorbed in the sorting, until, as if sensing his gaze, she turned to look directly at Harry. She looked even prettier from the front, her eyes a soft, pale gray. She held his gaze for a few more seconds, before giving his a small smile, a wink, and turning back to the first years. "Looks like Dumbledore found a new Defense teacher," Harry said finally.
Ron followed Harry's gaze. "She's definitely better looking than Umbridge. Or any of the others, for that matter."
"As if that's such an achievement; Umbridge was a cow. Besides," Hermione added diplomatically. "Lupin was good-looking."
"And Lockhart," Harry added snidely.
Hermione blushed. "Right. So you see that it doesn't mean anything."
"Sure it does," Ron contradicted. "I like her better already."
"Ron, you don't even know her name. She could be as bad as Umbridge. I'd say worse but I think we agreed that that's physically impossible."
"No, she can't."
Hermione frowned "Ron, would you seriously have liked Umbridge better if she were pretty?"
Ron thought about this for a moment, "Yes." Hermione glared, so Ron continued. "And she can't be as bad as Umbridge, anyway. It's impossible. Quirrel had You-Know-Who growing out of the back of his head and he was better than Umbridge. How many Umbridge's do you think the world can hold?"
"I don't think Dumbledore's stupid enough to hire another Death Eater," Harry added. "And he would sooner let Snape have the job than hire another Ministry employee, so we probably have nothing to worry about as far as the new teacher's concerned. Even if she's totally incompetent, it'll still be better than last year."
"We sure are optimistic, aren't we?" Hermione laughed suddenly. "Maybe she's a really good teacher; there's no way to know."
"Well, they don't exactly have a good track record, do they? I reckon it's best to be prepared for the worst," said Harry, but he grinned nonetheless.
"If it really is that bad we can always restart the DA again, right Harry? We wouldn't have to hide it anymore or anything."
Harry's smile faded somewhat. "That didn't exactly end well last year, did it?" The Defense club reminded Harry too much of the one and only opportunity they had had to put their skills to use: the misguided rescue mission to the Department of Mysteries that was directly responsible for Sirius' death. Hermione looked like she was about to respond to the strained look on Harry's face, so he quickly cast around for a change of subject. "Look, that Zabini girl's getting sorted," he said, successfully redirecting Hermione's attention.
Phoebe Zabini sat huddled up on the three legged stool, looking like she would like nothing better than for the Sorting Hat, which already covered her down to her chin, to swallow the rest of her up as well and hide her from the staring eyes of the crowd. "Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted, and Phoebe got up shakily to join her new classmates.
"Told you," Hermione declared as she clapped her hands along with the Ravenclaws. Ron ignored her.
After "Zercho, Maria," became a Hufflepuff, Dumbledore got to his feet, spread his arms wide and addressed the school in considerably less than his usual exuberant manner. "Welcome, and welcome back," he said. What students had let their attention wander during the sorting immediately fell silent and every eye in the hall fixed itself on the headmaster. "I would have liked to say that I hoped you all had a pleasant summer, but, alas, I know that for many of you that is not the case. It pains me to start off the year on such a somber note, but Voldemort is unfortunately an issue that needs to be addressed. Some of us have already lost loved ones in this war, because as I have said before, it is a war, and all of us are involved, whether we like it or not. The attack on Diagon Alley was a deliberate attempt on Voldemort's part to demoralize and intimidate the Wizarding World. Three of your classmates and eighteen others lost their lives last weekend for no bigger crime than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their absence from our midst will be felt, and their memories will be honored in all we do here." Dumbledore paused and swept his eyes around the Hall. Nobody so much as murmured. "But, if we let our grief and our fear destabilize our world and control our lives, Voldemort will already have won. We cannot let him destroy the trust we have in our family and our friends, and we cannot let him stop us from making new ones. So with that in mind, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our new arrival, Professor Dofton, who has very kindly agreed to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."
The school clapped enthusiastically, mostly celebrating the downfall of Umbridge, but also the hope of a superior alternative in the form of the more sympathetic-looking Professor Dofton, who stood, smiled, and bowed slightly at the warm applause, before sitting back down calmly. Dumbledore remained standing. "All that remains now is to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, as the name suggests. Be warned that anyone straying outside the grounds is liable to be punished particularly severely this year. Unfortunately, all Hogsmeade weekends are discontinued until further notice, but I know some of the teachers are already planning some very entertaining in-school alternatives. I'll let you wonder what those are on your own. But now," Dumbledore smiled and clapped his hands once, apparently signaling to the house-elves to send up the food. "Let's eat."
After a summer of living off of nothing but leftovers the feast seemed particularly appealing to Harry, and he cheered up considerably as he piled some kind of steak goulash onto his potatoes. No matter what was wrong with the outside world you could always count on the Hogwarts house-elves to provide a good feast. That's the way it should be. The familiar rumble of talk gradually drowned out the clinks and clunks of knives and forks as the freshly returned Hogwarts students chatted about classes and grades and what they did during the break… Harry felt himself fully relax for the first time since last June. This was familiar. This was safe. He let the noise and the warmth and the pleasant smell of food wash over him and he could almost pretend that everything was all right again…
"Harry," Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow, effectively breaking him out of his daze. She looked worried, and her tone of voice, concerned and hesitant, suggested that he was not going to like the upcoming conversation. "I know you don't really like to talk about these things, but I've been worried about you - we've all been worried - and I guess what I'm asking is: how are you? How have you been?"
"I'm fine."
Even Ron stopped stuffing his face for long enough to look skeptical. "That's what you always say."
Hermione nodded her head in agreement. "How are you, really?"
Harry tried to keep his frustration from showing as he replied. He knew they meant well, but he didn't need to be interrogated. "I'm okay, Hermione. Really. I'm not the one who died." Yet. Harry almost winced, the prophecy weighing heavily on his mind. There was a very good chance that he would die. He suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore, but he forced himself to continue eating, mostly for Hermione's benefit.
She, however, didn't look convinced. "How have the Dursleys been?"
"Better than usual."
"Did you finish all your summer work?"
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes."
"Have you been sleeping well?" she pressed.
"Fine."
"Do you still get nightmares?"
Harry put down his fork and gave up all pretense of an appetite. "Hermione," he said, and the tired, exasperated tone of his voice was all the answer his friends needed.
Even Ron put his fork down now. "But you don't - you haven't gotten any more visions, have you?"
Harry shook his head, relieved to have something positive to report. "I still get flashes of his emotions, sometimes, if I'm not careful, but I haven't actually seen anything so far. I guess those Occlumency lessons are finally paying off. Or maybe Voldemort's stopping it; I don't know. Or else he just hasn't done anything vision-worthy recently."
"I read up on Occlumency and Legilimency this summer," Hermione offered. "You have to be really careful, Harry. The way it usually works you have to actually be in the same room as the person whose memories you're trying to access, and unless you know them really well you have to have eye-contact as well. It's easiest to do when the subject is in a state of emotional uproar, and it's not done at all when the subject is sleeping, since you're emotional response is usually severely limited when you're asleep. And that's not the way it is with you at all! There's no historical precedent for this. Occlumency might not work with you the way it normally does. Voldemort could be reading your thoughts right now and we wouldn't even know!"
Ron looked more than a little horrified. "And how long have you been keeping this to yourself" You never said anything about this in your letters!"
Hermione shifted guiltily. "I didn't really think it was the sort of thing you could write in a letter...." she muttered "Besides, Occlumency is actually a quite extensive and fascinating subject, and I wanted to make sure I had all my facts straight."
"So you were double-checking facts while Harry could have had his thoughts read?" Ron asked incredulously, throwing his hands up in frustration. "What kind of a friend are you?"
Hermione glared back at him. "Well, it's not like we could have done anything about it even if he was!" she snapped back.
Harry frowned. "Has Voldemort ever actually read my mind? I've seen stuff that he's seen, but I don't think most of it was intentional, up until... up until the last time." He paused for a moment, desperately trying to think of something else. "And Lucius Malfoy didn't know I didn't know about the prophecy..."
"Maybe You-Know-Who never told him? I don't care how important of a Death Eater Malfoy thinks his father is, but You-Know-Who didn't exactly hurry to get the git out of Azkaban, did he?"
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I would have expected the breakout to occur much sooner. Maybe we should take it as a sign that Voldemort isn't as powerful as he makes himself out to be?" She looked to Harry for a response, but he only shook his head with a kind of doubtful melancholy.
Just then Ginny Weasley slipped into the seat besides Ron, and Harry gratefully took the opportunity to turn the conversation once more onto Quidditch.
The next morning Harry woke up with a headache. In retrospect, he supposed he should have recognized the ill omen in that and stayed in bed.
It all started while Harry was munching toast and some particularly tangy scrambled eggs at breakfast and Hermione passed him his new sixth-year schedule. He nearly choked.
Ron slapped him on the back a few times. "What's the problem, mate?" he asked, peering over Harry's shoulder at his schedule. "I thought you weren't taking Potions?"
"I'm not," Harry agreed, once he regained the use of his throat. "McGonagall must have made a mistake."
Hermione frowned. "Harry, you got an 'Outstanding' on your Potions O.W.L. You qualify. You should take the class."
"I was tempted to take it just to piss Snape off, but then I remembered that if I did I would have to spend the next two years with him. So no, I'm not taking it."
"I thought you wanted to be an Auror."
"I do, but Potions isn't required to be an Auror, just recommended. And Ron's not taking Potions either."
"The only reason Ron isn't taking it is because he only got an 'Acceptable' and Snape wouldn't let him in the class."
"And I'm glad I only got an 'A.' Mum would have force me to take it if I'd qualified. You tried too hard, Harry. Should have thought ahead like I did."
Hermione snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah, right, Ron. I've sat with you in that class for five years, remember? I know the kind of potions you make. And now you're saying you deliberately threw the exam?"
Ron's ears went pink. "Well, I was aiming for an 'E'…"
"Anyway," Hermione waved him off and turned back to Harry. "Ron's taking Herbology instead, which is almost as good as Potions. And Potions is a very highly recommended prerequisite for Aurorship."
"Ah, come on, Hermione, they're going to hire him whether he takes the class or not. He's Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake! He could probably fail half his classes and they'd still hire him. And besides, it's taught by Snape. You remember him? Tall, greasy git with the crooked nose? Thinks all Gryffindors are trash and Harry is the spawn of Satan?"
Hermione looked a bit flustered. "Well, yes, but Potions is a very important subject."
"It can't be that important if hardly anyone takes it," Harry said reasonably. "If I ever need to make any kind of potion, I'll just ask you. I'll just get McGonagall to straighten this out." Harry looked around the Great Hall but Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be seen. "I'll have to catch her before her first class."
"But, Harry!" Hermione sounded nearly hysterical now. "I don't want to take Potions alone!"
Harry blinked. "So don't take it," he said, taken aback slightly. "You dropped Divinations, drop Potions too. You already know it all, anyway."
"But I don't!"
"Sure you do," Ron contradicted. "You brewed Polyjuice potion in second year, remember? And that's a N.E.W.T. standard level potion."
Before Hermione could respond, Harry spotted McGonagall enter through the doors by the High Table, and got up to go talk to her. He hardly left his seat, however, before he was overcome by a slightly dizzy sensation and his vision got a bit blurry. He was no longer certain where he was going, and why he had gotten up in the first place. He barely registered Hermione's last desperate pleas as the Great Hall turned into a blur of color and noise, swirling around him, pressing in on all sides, suffocating him… until finally that, too, was consumed by a wave of darkness. Someone screamed. Harry managed to stagger two more steps before he passed out.
Author's Notes: My first cliffhanger! Bwah, ha, ha, ha… Okay, so it's not that good, but whatever.