Harry and Hermione stayed in the Griffyndor common room, waiting for the positive update that they both knew might never come. By midnight, there was no sign of anyone-not a student, prefect (except for Hermione, but at the moment she didn't count), or even a professor.
Both Harry and Hermione were nearly asleep come 1 0'clock, and they both agreed that even if something did happen, Dumbledore or whomever wasn't going to march up to them in the dead of night to report it.
Ending that first night with the thought of where Ron was now, Hermione made her way to her dormitory and Harry to his.
* * *
Harry woke just as the sun was rising; merely a strip of orange light over the lake that had seemingly swallowed Ron the previous night. His scar was burning more than ever. This time, his pain was just not white-hot. It was much worse. Harry pressed his forehead against the icy cold window; it helped, but it hardly relieved him.
It was a bit confusing how much his scar seared...he had not just dreamed anything, he was not sweaty, the pain didn't make him hiss or make his eyes water. The pain was just there. Harry wondered what this could mean...did Voldemort, as he had feared just a few hours before, come to Hogwarts to destroy Harry? Or was Voldemort hundreds of miles away; and Harry safe?
Harry dressed and headed to the common room, hoping to find someone else there to take his mind off of it.
Not surprisingly, no one was there. The fireplace merely held a pile of cold ashes; the house elves obviously had not been by yet to make the fire. Harry settled himself into an armchair and tried to think of anything except Voldemort.
Harry succeeded at this for a while. He had a good discussion with himself over who he thought the new Defense Against the Dark Arts could be. He had a nice long fight over what the strangest flavor Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean he had ever tasted. He talked to himself...he fought with himself...but as he was still all alone after a half hour, he remembered the reason he was changing his own subject was so he could forget about the disturbing subject of Voldemort.
Just as he thought that it would be best to return to bed for a while, a small cluster of students went through the portrait hole to breakfast. This was a sign to Harry that it was okay to leave.
Harry shuffled slowly down the steps and through the corridors, hoping to see Dumbledore, or Hermione, or best of all, Ron. But Harry got not even a glimpse of any of these people.
Harry found himself, almost regretfully, at the doors to the Great Hall. Harry even considered turning back, but he realized that he would probably miss all of the people he wanted to see if he went back to bed now.
A little hastily, Harry pushed open the doors, and found, to his horror, black banners hung behind the staff table.
Both Harry and Hermione were nearly asleep come 1 0'clock, and they both agreed that even if something did happen, Dumbledore or whomever wasn't going to march up to them in the dead of night to report it.
Ending that first night with the thought of where Ron was now, Hermione made her way to her dormitory and Harry to his.
* * *
Harry woke just as the sun was rising; merely a strip of orange light over the lake that had seemingly swallowed Ron the previous night. His scar was burning more than ever. This time, his pain was just not white-hot. It was much worse. Harry pressed his forehead against the icy cold window; it helped, but it hardly relieved him.
It was a bit confusing how much his scar seared...he had not just dreamed anything, he was not sweaty, the pain didn't make him hiss or make his eyes water. The pain was just there. Harry wondered what this could mean...did Voldemort, as he had feared just a few hours before, come to Hogwarts to destroy Harry? Or was Voldemort hundreds of miles away; and Harry safe?
Harry dressed and headed to the common room, hoping to find someone else there to take his mind off of it.
Not surprisingly, no one was there. The fireplace merely held a pile of cold ashes; the house elves obviously had not been by yet to make the fire. Harry settled himself into an armchair and tried to think of anything except Voldemort.
Harry succeeded at this for a while. He had a good discussion with himself over who he thought the new Defense Against the Dark Arts could be. He had a nice long fight over what the strangest flavor Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean he had ever tasted. He talked to himself...he fought with himself...but as he was still all alone after a half hour, he remembered the reason he was changing his own subject was so he could forget about the disturbing subject of Voldemort.
Just as he thought that it would be best to return to bed for a while, a small cluster of students went through the portrait hole to breakfast. This was a sign to Harry that it was okay to leave.
Harry shuffled slowly down the steps and through the corridors, hoping to see Dumbledore, or Hermione, or best of all, Ron. But Harry got not even a glimpse of any of these people.
Harry found himself, almost regretfully, at the doors to the Great Hall. Harry even considered turning back, but he realized that he would probably miss all of the people he wanted to see if he went back to bed now.
A little hastily, Harry pushed open the doors, and found, to his horror, black banners hung behind the staff table.