Detention was at 7 o'clock. Harry Potter was well-prepared to hate detention with Professor McGonagall. Perhaps she'd have them doing something stupidly demeaning, like making matchlike needles. Over and over again, for no point. and then reverting them to silvery matches. For hours.
He hadn't expected her to simply turn over the detention to Argus Filch. Harry wouldn't have minded some cleaning - maybe a trophy case or two? Bloody hell, the Great Hall, they had enough students here that they could get it done by Monday. "No food until it's cleaned - not for you or any of the students neither!" Harry wanted to smile at that thought.
But Harry was in the Forbidden Forest. He was with Hagrid and Hermione, as Hagrid, in his fractured wisdom, had sent Ron, Draco and Fang off together. Everyone else had gotten the clue that it would be a bad idea.
The Forbidden Forest, it turned out, looked a lot like a normal forest. It was dark, and creepy and at night there were many unexplained sojunds. Was that a tiger? Harry thought, then began to silently laugh at himself.
Still, they ventured in, Hagrid explaining that they were looking for unicorn's blood, to determine why someone's stealing it and using it for personal consumption.
Now, in the movies, there's all sorts of avian sounds in the middle of the night in a forest.
This was not a movie, however, and so the sounds were skittery things, the swoosh of leaves and the breaking of sticks.
The Breaking of Sticks.
Harry whirled, his wand in his hand, trying to see what it was.
Nothing - at least nothing he could see. Hermione was also looking back, and Harry looked at her, hissing, "Keep sight of Hagrid."
Hermione, of course, asked, "What did you see?"
"Nothing, so far as I know." Harry said. He swore he saw yellow eyes glittering out of the darkness, but then just chalked it up to an overactive imagination.
The rustly quiet of the forest was suddenly rent with a scream; someone hollered for help like the entire Wild Hunt was bearing down on him alone.
[a/n: Well, I tried to make it better than the books. Because you know what happens, at least. Reviews, as always, make me write more.]