Portended Prophecies by WiCeBa

“He must have something up his sleeve,” Cormac said when Harry failed to respond. “Some moves, a spell, something? You can’t get where he is without utilizing a successful pattern.”

“How would you know?” Hermione asked with a disagreeable look.

“I happen to have family in the Ministry.” Cormac said. “They have valuable—”

“I’m not sure if they’re as helpful as you think, not when the Ministry failed to stop him the first time and failed to see him coming this time.” Luna said. “I think it’s less likely he has useful tricks, and more likely he just knows more magic than you. He’s had more time than you and knows more basics.”

Cormac flushed. “You don’t get to be a Dark Lord with basics—”

“No, I think Luna’s right.” Cho said. “I mean, Ced—it’s a lot of what Ced—” She choked and sniffled as a misty apologetic look spilled across her face.

Cho’s tall friend gave her a consoling nod and mouthed the name, ‘Cedric’, with a pointed look toward Harry.

Guilt poured over Harry as he shrank deeper into his chair. The snitch he’d been attempting to chase after dissipated into thin air as scattered memories of the graveyard and Cedric’s body flickered through his thoughts.

Humiliation wove itself into the sticky, muddled mess of emotions.

He blindly stepped past his terror that night in order to try remembering what Cedric’s final words had been, but he couldn’t think of much beyond the frightening sound of Voldemort’s voice and the thundering heart in his chest.

Voldemort’s high laugh echoed in his ears at the memories, making Harry tense, but the uncomfortable anger he often associated with it didn’t appear. Maybe Voldemort couldn’t appear unless Harry was angry? He’d certainly been angry the last few times Voldemort appeared, but he didn’t think Voldemort had ever appeared otherwise.

Hermione hummed from somewhere nearby, but Harry struggled to focus on it.

A thick grey fog trickled from behind the bookshelves and began wrapping around tombstones. The burnt ozone Harry had been trying to ignore ignited around the table and caused him to drop his gaze to the floor.

He jolted backwards after spying Cedric’s pale, lifeless form, lying beneath his chair. His glassy, blank eyes stared through Harry and his lips were split open in permanent shock. No matter how Harry tried to hide, Cedric’s last quiet gasp of breath found him, and pounded in his ears.

The high laugh paused and gave a soft, almost comforting sound as it silenced the gasp for Harry. Despite the horrible laugh, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved that it helped him. It seemed to feel as if Harry had an issue with death though, rather than Cedric.

Sweat dripped down his back as he quickly tore his eyes from Cedric’s body to stare forward.

He couldn’t say if he agreed with the feeling, and instead found his thoughts far more occupied with grief, and what Cedric’s life could’ve had, if he hadn’t been murdered. He couldn’t remember, now that he thought of it, what had happened to Cedric between Voldemort’s rebirth and Harry’s escape.

Perhaps the Death Eaters had left his body alone?

Maybe they hadn’t desecrated Cedric’s body because Voldemort didn’t allow them to humiliate the dead until he’d begun the act himself?

Voldemort didn’t seem to care about dead enemies though, not that Harry knew of, but he clearly enjoyed toying with living ones. Much like a snake, Voldemort relished circling his prey when they were vulnerable and suffocating them with terror until they burst from the inside out.

He hadn’t bothered with any of that behaviour for Cedric. Cedric had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A thick, pained feeling crawled along Harry’s windpipe at just how quickly his murder had happened.

Chance had been the largest factor in Cedric’s death. If he hadn’t stayed with Harry after they landed, or if he hadn’t agreed for them to grab the cup together, or even if he hadn’t made it to the end of the maze, he may have lived.

Cedric had been far more skilled in magic than Harry, and Harry wasn’t pigheaded enough to deny it. He’d had more years of schooling, and his family clearly cared for him. They’d likely helped Cedric with anything he needed, and he’d hardly stood a chance against Voldemort when it came down to it because he simply had no time to react.

Harry suddenly couldn’t help feeling as if a study group was a useless, horribly misguided way to prepare anyone for Voldemort.

Maybe it would be better if everyone just ran screaming at the sight of him?

Running and screaming had never helped Harry during Dudley’s hunts. They’d always caught up to him eventually. If they hadn’t caught him by Monday, they’d find him on Tuesday, or Wednesday. They’d hunt him down all week if they had to.

They’d often thought of their belated attacks as retribution.

‘Why d’you bother running?’ Dudley once asked, after cornering Harry in the back garden. `We live in the same house; I always catch you eventually.’

Harry carefully sidestepped Cedric in his memory as he clung closer to the tidy, power washed walls. ‘You also catch the flu every year Dud,’ He had snapped, thinking it was the cleverest retort at the time. ‘This isn’t really something I’d be proud of.’

He scrunched his eyes closed as the memory of the bloody nose he received ached over his face.

Dudley had been right.

Running, when someone would eventually catch you, wasn’t a long-term plan.

So, what could someone do if they couldn’t run?

His cupboard slammed into the forefront of his mind with bone rattling force, and every horrid day he’d spent inside landed alongside it. A hissing, miserable bitterness curled past the small, scratched doorknob and reminded Harry of how ‘hiding’ and ‘trapped’ were almost synonymous in his mind.

When he’d been younger, he liked to imagine his cupboard as having been somewhat safe, but he knew how easily Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could reach in and drag him out, and while Dudley hadn’t ever gone inside of it, he’d slammed on the door or bounded up and down the stairs with the intent of making it as hostile as he could. It had never been safe, no matter how much Harry wished it could be.

He realized quite quickly what the only route to success was, if he could stomach calling it that. Fighting back felt as unlikely to work as running or hiding, but at least it offered him the chance to live, if he managed to hit back hard enough.

Besides, if no one tried to stop Voldemort, then he’d already won.

Life would be much easier if they did give in to him though. The idea of peace and quiet soothed the taut muscles that felt ever tight in his back. He wondered if he could smell the small market near Ms Eileen’s house, and the flowers and snacks that were often sold there.

They smelled strange, or maybe Harry had spent too much time in Hogwarts to remember them clearly.

The pungent, wild honeysuckle trees that grew along the road to the market were too pungent to forget, yet they were oddly absent from his memory.

“I can’t believe you kept that.” Hermione said loudly, shaking Harry from his confusion.

“It was one of the best things I’d ever seen,” Ron answered back as he shook his head. “I wanted to make it into a get-well card for Lockhart afterwards, or at least keep it as a memento.”

“Kept what?” Harry asked. He shrank even lower in his chair after more eyes landed on him and he very nearly managed to choke out an apology for having forgotten to listen, but Ron spoke too quickly.

“The flyer from Snape and Lockhart’s Dueling Club.” Ron said.

Harry blinked confusedly. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“How could you?” Fred asked.

“It was bloody brilliant, watching Lockhart get his arse handed to him!” George said.

“Speak for yourself,” Justin muttered. “Some of us remember it a bit differently—”

“Right, well,” Hermione said with a cough. A flush rushed over her cheeks as she looked over the collection of students. Harry idly wondered if she still felt embarrassed over the massive crush she’d had on Lockhart, even though she’d admitted, however belatedly, how awful of a person he was. “My point, again, is that it wouldn’t be so strange for a professor to help us with skills and a place to practice. Professor Lupin doesn’t exactly have easy access to the school.”

Something bright rushed through Harry’s chest as he asked, “You think Snape would still offer to help us?”

“I doubt it.” Cormac said with an arrogant sniff. “And he’s not exactly my first pick—”

“Well, rumor has it, he’s always wanted the Defense position.” Lavender said. “Umbridge might have something to say about it though.”

Harry couldn’t guess how Snape would react, but he knew how Dumbledore would. Ms Eileen mentioned his preferring Snape to stay on Umbridge’s good side, as had Snape himself, regardless of how that alliance reflected on his character.

“It’s not as if Snape likes her.” Hermione gave Harry a curious look.

“It’s not as if we like Snape.” Seamus said darkly.

“I’d take Snape over Umbridge.” Harry muttered with a snide look toward Seamus.

Several eyes widened at that statement, but no one felt it odd enough to comment on. Harry supposed they hated Umbridge as much as he did, though he hoped none of them had been poisoned or cursed like he had been.

He sat straighter in his chair as his worry over answering questions about Voldemort drifted. The tombstones no longer poked out from behind anything, and though he couldn’t bring himself to check, he hoped Cedric no longer laid beneath his chair. He swallowed heavily and tried to push him from his mind. Cedric wasn’t here, despite how present he seemed to be. Mr Diggory had buried him, and it would’ve been difficult for Cedric to pull himself from the earth and make it all the way into the library on his own if that were the case.

He’d thought before about how little Snape minded teaching Harry when they were one on one. He often enjoyed it even, especially when Harry had been able to point out reasons why a potion wouldn’t work or the theory behind certain spells.

Bright, happy memories of the small proud smile that curled across Snape’s lips whenever Harry succeeded flickered in his thoughts.

“How do we know he’s even qualified?” Cormac asked as he wrinkled his nose. “Professor Lupin would be more appropriate, despite his,” He coughed slightly around the word ‘affliction’. “Besides, I thought we’d already agreed on Lupin, and all Snape’s ever done is moan about wanting the position, and aside from a demonstration at an old Dueling Club—”

A serious look crossed Ron’s face as his eyes met Harry’s. “I’m pretty sure the Dueling Club qualifies as proof of skill.”

“He’s not willing to help with everything though, is he?” Dean asked quietly. “He also doesn’t love us, no offense,” He added with a cursory glance over the crowd, though his eyes lingered over Neville and Harry. “And he’s not exactly the easiest bloke to listen to.”

“We should ask before we make judgements,” Luna said with a smile. “In the right moment, I’ve found that he’s rather helpful.”

Harry wondered quite suddenly when Snape and Luna spoke to one another. He supposed she could have easily asked questions pertaining to Potions, but he hoped she hadn’t. Harry didn’t want to put Snape in positions that would make him uncomfortable, but he did want him to feel calm enough to speak with Harry’s friends

“That still doesn’t help us with fighting You-Know-Who,” Neville said. “Not that I want to bring, er, bring him back up, but,” He looked nervously toward Harry for a moment. “Would Snape be willing to help,” He loosely gestured toward the group. “Us, against him?”

“Snape is the reason I know ‘expelliarmus’,” Harry said with a quick nod. “He couldn’t have known how much I’d need it when he’d shown it to us, but maybe that’s the case with him and a lot of spells?”

An uncomfortable vulnerability washed over him, but he tried to ignore it as he watched Neville.

He hoped Neville understood his meaning, even if he struggled to understand it himself. Neville was right to be worried, given how everyone in Gryffindor house felt Snape was a Death Eater and they weren’t wrong, but Snape didn’t need to out himself as a spy in order to help students learn basic self-defense. He just needed to perform a few spells, much like he had with Lockhart.

“You used a disarming charm?” Zacharias Smith asked with a bitter huff of laughter. “You tried to disarm You-Know-Who?”

Ribbons slipped over Harry’s lips with a faint electrical charge, making him swallow again as he rolled his shoulders against trickling annoyance.

“Would you rather he has his wand?” Hermione asked hotly.

“Well,” Zacharias said with a flush. “Of course not, that’s—no one would—”

“Why are you questioning it then?” Hermione hummed as she crossed her arms.

“I’m not!”

“Clearly you are!”

“I’m just saying, it’s not very useful in the grand scheme of things, is it?”

“It is if you aim it correctly.” Harry snapped. “He’s not exactly expecting opposition.”

“And why would he?!” Zacharias asked. “I’m just saying, fighting back isn’t really an option for all of us, is it?!”

“Yes, it is!” Harry hissed as the uncomfortable anger bubbled in the back of his mind with a feeling that almost bordered on pleasure. It didn’t feel entirely uncomfortable this time though, rather, it seemed as if it felt necessary, or reasonable what with Harry’s current treatment. “He—” He inhaled heavily as the snitch hummed to life and he chased after it with a confused fervor. He didn’t like the anger, but he couldn’t help but feel justified in the moment. He wished he’d thought more about helping with Hermione’s study group earlier, if he had, he’d at least have thought more on how to fight against Voldemort’s methods without going into intimate detail on his character.

The anger twisted around the snitch and sang a high, proud sound.

“He wants to show you,” Harry said with a foggy feeling. “He wants you to know why he’s the best and if you try to fight, you’ll see—”

“If we try to fight?” Ginny asked with a squint.

The anger cracked as something vile spilled forth into Harry at having been thoughtlessly cut off, but he forced the snitch back to the front of his thoughts in another attempt to subdue it.

Hermione’s voice echoed around him again and laid out expectations for the group, but Harry found himself struggling to pay attention to her as the snitch blinked in and out of his mind’s eye. Snape believed the snitch could keep him safe from Voldemort and Harry believed him, despite how he felt sometimes. He knew they shouldn’t engage with the feeling in Harry’s head, but he somehow wished they would. Ginny had given a clear reason for why they shouldn’t, and Harry knew now why Snape was fearful of engaging so blatantly with the cruel figure in Harry’s thoughts.

He couldn’t deny his urge to speak with it though.

If just for a moment.

The fuzzy feeling quite agreed. If they did speak with it, they might be able to figure out how Voldemort was casting magic, or if it even was Voldemort.

If it was him, he showed Harry odd memories.

Snape hadn’t yet mentioned if Ms Eileen had written to him with help on whether or not the memories Harry saw were true, but Harry wondered if that had more to do with Ms Eileen needing to go over her own life experiences. He supposed it would be difficult to remember events from so long ago, especially if those events were tied to frightening memories.

He didn’t know enough about Ms Eileen’s childhood, and he couldn’t bring himself to push her with letters if it had been frightening.

“So, we agree then,” Hermione said with a nod. She tossed a cautious look over the crowd before pulling out a small roll of parchment. “From now on, we keep this from Umbridge. We’ll copy down the spells we’re looking to learn, write Professor Lupin, and if he’s open to it, speak with Snape, and look into a place to practice.” She laid the parchment out and gestured for everyone around them to begin signing it.

Harry quickly signed his name and slipped nervously from his chair before sneaking away from the buzzing crowd. He couldn’t spy Cedric’s prone form lying anywhere, but he wasn’t sure if that was a sure sign of his being gone or not.

Rain cracked over the glass and dulled the chatter behind him.

He rubbed his nails over his wrists and wondered how Snape would feel if the three of them turned up at his office, begging him to help them. Lupin mentioned Snape’s ability to help, but again, Snape hadn’t been the most—

“Are you alright?” Ginny whispered.

Harry jolted.

“You looked,” Ginny started before tossing a careful glance toward the group. “Well,” She whispered. “They’re not always the kindest, are they?”

The anger Harry had been poorly ignoring burned in his chest again. He couldn’t think of a reason to be angry with Ginny though, not when she’d taken the attention away from him once and was clearly trying to help again.

“They’re,” Harry started softly. “I dunno.”

“Nosy.” Ginny nodded. “Unwilling to take no for an answer.” She added as she crossed her arms. “I’m not sure if I’m hopeful for them to ever understand or not.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s probably better they don’t.” He scratched his nails over his wrists once more and tried to remain focused on the snitch in his imagination. It swooped downward, allowing distant pines to crop up below Harry and remind him of Ms Eileen’s happy home.

The anger didn’t seem bothered by the pines, or at least, it didn’t set them on fire this time. It almost felt content, and as if it didn’t mind Harry ignoring it for the moment.

“Well,” Hermione huffed as she appeared to Harry’s right. She stuffed the parchment into her bag, along with quills and a few books. “I’m surprised about how well that went.” She said with a smile.

“Well?” Ginny repeated incredulously. “They were vultures!”

Ron frowned and threw his hands in the air. “We’re trying to help them and that’s how they react.”

“They were curious, rudely so, I admit.” Hermione whispered. “But they agreed to a secret, and even more so, to Snape potentially helping us.”

“But they didn’t love that idea.” Harry said beneath his breath.

“Who would though?” Hermione asked just as quietly. She twisted to cover the open gap in their small group and herded them closer to the rain-slick glass. “Think of us last year, we’d have gone to any length to avoid asking Snape for help, and we probably wouldn’t have accepted it as an option even if it became the only one we had left.”

Harry debated her comment for a long moment before begrudgingly nodding.

Ron sniffed but gave an agreeable grunt. “D’you suppose we should just go ask him now then?” Ron asked. “Before Umbridge hears about this?”

Hermione scoffed and began laying out her beliefs for why no one would spill their new secret on account of a charm she’d placed in the parchment they’d signed. She spent a few minutes waiting for the library to clear as she walked them through the complicated spell work involved before Ginny spoke up again.

“Snape’s office hours are about now, aren’t they? Luna offered to ask for us, but—” Ginny shrugged offhandedly. “I dunno who he’d be more open to listening to, what with.” She paused and flicked her hands vaguely toward Harry.

Harry tried to guess if Snape would accept assisting with a study group if Luna brought the idea to him rather than Harry. He might think it had less to do with revenge if Luna asked, but he could easily see him becoming angry when he eventually learned of Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s involvement.

It would be difficult to claim innocence when they’d been the founding members of the group.

Ron flipped his wrist over to check his watch before leading them out of the library and through the chilly castle.

The snitch faded in and out of existence again and Harry wondered quite suddenly if Snape would be able to sense the anger in his head when they spoke with him. Harry struggled to guess what the anger looked like from the outside, and if it was detectable at all. He supposed it must be, because he clearly remembered the soft hiss he’d heard before Dumbledore drew his wand on Harry at Privet Drive, which, while Harry knew he’d never trust Dumbledore again, he doubted the old wizard’s reaction had been accidental.

“Harry?” Ginny asked as she tagged alongside them.

Harry blinked toward her as they swept around a corner and down a thin stairwell.

“They didn’t bring up anything dreadful with their questions, did they?” She asked quietly. “Nothing too scary, or worrying?” She cast a quick look over her shoulder, which encouraged Harry to do the same.

He idly spotted Cho and her tall friend walk past the entrance to the stairwell, but no one had followed them through it.

“McLaggen’s a tosser, same as Smith.” Ginny hissed beneath her breath. “What was all that ‘relatives in high places’ rubbish?” She asked as she mimed air quotes. “You’d think he hadn’t grown up with the same Ministry we have!”

“I reckon he’s just desperate for a bit of attention.”

“You think?” Ginny said sarcastically.

“Maybe he should consider joining a drama club rather than a study group?” Harry asked. “At least then we’d be able to clap when he stopped talking.”

Ginny snickered as they entered the dungeons and damp air sank around them.

The last four years at Hogwarts left Harry with a firm understanding of the weather patterns that took hold of the castle. The worst, by far, was the dungeons. He couldn’t speak on what they were like in the summer, but in autumn and spring, icy, wet air clung to anything that moved.

Winter left them oddly dry sometimes, but far colder than any other season.

Harry almost wished life would hurry up and skip past the miserable, wet periods. The distant, fuzzy feeling circling his head found the weather almost nostalgic though, despite Harry’s distinctly disagreeable opinion.

He’d never felt the dungeons would hold any happy, nostalgic memories for him, and so far, they hadn’t.

They wound around twisting, shadowy passageways and deeper below the castle before stepping past Snape’s dimly lit classroom. Several hushed groups of students drifted past on their route and almost looked surprised to see Harry. Their eyes followed the four of them before a short third year hissed a sharp sound and snuck down a side hallway while the rest watched until Harry and his friends rounded a corner.

A nervous itch crept up his back as they trekked deeper still. His mum’s necklace hummed to life and beat back against the odd feeling of being watched.

Malfoy had mentioned getting revenge on Harry and he couldn’t help but feel as if now was as good a time as any.

He wished they’d remembered to bring the map, or at least had thought to check it before making their way down here. It wouldn’t have been the most convenient detour, with the library being on the first floor and the map on the seventh, but it would’ve made Harry feel a fair bit more confident.

They could turn back, but Harry didn’t fancy admitting his worries to Ron, Hermione, or Ginny. It felt too much like when Sirius and Lupin learnt of Harry’s worries.

He didn’t want anyone to be cautious and careful around him. He wasn’t made of glass.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would likely understand his fears though. In fact, Hermione would probably champion any extra precautions for Harry’s peace of mind, especially after Harry’s last reaction to Snape’s anger, which hadn’t been healthy in the slightest.

He didn’t want to run away though. He hadn’t run away from his issues when he’d been six and he’d been far less capable then.

Well, maybe he had run. He distinctly remembered tearing out of Privet Drive and running straight into Avery’s trap.

Snape’s comments about taking precautions before spying hummed in his ears. He knew they weren’t about to spy, but given what Harry knew of Malfoy’s plans, blindly strolling through a place Malfoy often hung about in, didn’t seem terribly bright.

“Ugh!” Harry jerked as a rancid smell melted into the air and billowed around them. His fear of Avery’s potion falling on him again shot up his back, but the smell surrounding him was far sweeter than Avery’s rotten brew. He briefly worried over whether or not he was imagining it until Ginny coughed and dove behind him.

“Did something die?” She asked as she plugged her nose.

“A rat maybe?” Hermione backed up and knocked into Harry. “Or many rats?” Her hand flew upwards to cover her mouth and nose. “It’s not normally this, erm, putrid, here is it? Maybe someone’s working in an empty classroom?”

“D’you suppose we should investigate?” Ron asked.

“Let’s, erm,” Harry paused as the worry of something even remotely similar to Avery’s potion landing on him crept over his shoulders. “Let’s take the west passageway, maybe there won't be any of this—” He flicked his hands around them and twisted on his heel. “Around there.”

He was too used to Snape’s hidden passageways. He wished they were closer to Snape’s Chambers; they might have been able to hide inside them and wait until Snape returned from his office.

He wasn’t running away, even if the west passageway let out conveniently near Filch’s office on the ground floor.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say Fred and George were behind this.” Ginny said.

They slipped over slick cobblestone and tumbled into one another as they stole into the thin passageway before Ron’s voice echoed in the dark. “Where’s the bloody light?!”

“Lumos!” Hermione hissed with a sharp flick of her wand. “I don’t like that these sconces aren’t lighting up.” She said in a near whinge as they stepped through the passageway. “You don’t think she’s already found out about things, do you?” She asked nervously.

“One dark hallway and a mankie smell sets you off?” Ron asked before lighting his own wand with a whisper. Heavy shadows cut across his face as he looked toward the dark sconces and made a curious sound.

Harry squinted as he spied small rivulets of water appearing as Ron’s light trailed loosely over the walls.

It bubbled oddly from thin cracks within the walls. He knew it was raining outside, pouring actually, a thought which led Harry to feel grateful for Oliver Wood’s graduation from Quidditch Captain, but he couldn’t help but wonder how so much water found its way into the castle.

Even the distant, blurry feeling couldn’t provide any reason for the water, though Harry knew he shouldn’t rely on it.

Ginny stepped around Harry and tossed a cautious glance over the walls. A sickly pallor washed over her face, but she neglected to say anything. Harry almost wanted to ask her if she felt the passageway resembled the Chamber of Secrets, but he didn’t fancy dredging up unpleasant memories.

“If she did find out and this is her response, I’d be a bit more concerned.” Harry said with a strained laugh. “I’m more inclined to think—”

“Oi Potter!” Malfoy’s oily voice slid around them.

“Bollocks.” Ron whispered before shining his light toward the new voice.

“Don’t you have prefect duties to be working on, Malfoy?” Hermione asked. “I seem to remember some students in your house seeking out help from other prefects lately.”

Ginny inched closer to the wall and pressed her fingertips to the water.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Granger,” Malfoy said. “I’m just delivering a message. You see, Professor Umbridge was congratulating me on my essay, you remember, the one Potter caused with his—”

“How could we forget, Malfoy?” Harry asked as Ginny turned and gave Hermione a wide eyed look. “Didn’t you need help to the Hospital Wing because of it?” The blurry feeling curled with pleasure when Harry swallowed back the bitter memory. He forced the snitch to the front of his thoughts and doggedly hunted it down. He couldn’t remember a time when the fuzzy feeling stayed for so long and he wished it would leave, but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to make it disappear.

The lights he’d seen rushing over Snape the last time the feeling wouldn’t leave popped into his thoughts.

He wished he could run to Snape’s office now.

“The water’s running upwards.” Ginny whispered, forcing them all into craning their necks upwards.

A wide pond crept along the ceiling, just above their heads, and roiled as more water funneled into it. Harry peered closer and curiously noted how clear it looked, despite its distinctly moldy smell. He couldn’t remember if they’d learned any new charms for water lately.

Did Malfoy intend to soak them? As far as bullying went, it didn’t feel out of the ordinary for him, but it did seem a bit ridiculous.

They began cautiously trailing back toward the mouth of the passageway, but the pond followed quickly after them, and swallowed the slim gap of dry land they’d managed to create in seconds.

Malfoy spat a foul word before snidely remarking. “Unable to accept responsibility for your own actions, are you?” He asked.

“Specialis Revelio!” Hermione hissed as she rapped her wand over the slick walls.

“That sounds familiar, Malfoy,” Harry shouted as fury ignited in his chest. He’d been faced with his own misbehaviour quite a bit recently, and he quickly found his already limited tolerance for Malfoy dwindling. “Are you thinking of yourself, or maybe your father?”

“That’s your response?” Malfoy asked before pitching his voice insultingly high. “It’s not me, it’s you!” He whinged. “What are you, five?”

A flush burned over Harry’s cheeks as the snitch in his thoughts fell out of the sky.

“Tell us what Umbridge wants.” Ginny said before whirling around. Her fingers clenched over her wand and she raised it in the direction of Malfoy’s voice. “Or better yet, leave and we’ll find out for ourselves!”

“Suit yourselves,” Malfoy said brightly. “But I’ll leave you with a bit of advice. If she offers to help you, accept it!”

“I’ve read about this in Snuffles’s library!” Hermione whispered nervously as she backed away from the wall. She snagged Harry’s wrist and nearly yanked his arm from it’s socket as she began to run. “This isn’t water, it’s from Gringotts, it’s called The Thief’s—”

“Descendo!” Malfoy cried, sending the pond crashing over them.

Harry struggled to understand what was happening, as the water soaked into his hair and down his jumper, despite Hermione’s attempt to escape. His stomach flipped as the walls grew taller and far darker.

He dropped his eyes to his hands and watched in horror as they shrunk before his eyes.

Ron swore as laughter and eager footsteps barrelled toward the four of them. “Hermione!” He said with a strained moan.

“Reducio!” Hermione cried with a wave.

Harry’s clothes shrank to a neat fit before Ron’s hands appeared beneath his armpits and he was tugged upwards with a nauseating jerk.

“Bloody—” Harry managed to choke out as he was jostled higher in Ron’s arms.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Ginny shouted as she aimed her wand toward the sound of Malfoy’s laughter. A misty bright colour jolted from outward and briefly lit the dark hallway before sizzling past its target. “Tarantallegra!”

Malfoy let out a high-pitched shriek before a heavy sounding thud rang out from far nearer than Harry remembered.

“Sorry!” Ron whispered as his hands tightened around Harry and he bolted from the passageway toward the winding hallways. “I didn’t mean to just grab you!”

“Go left!” Hermione breathed as she bolted past them. “Up ahead and to the left!”

Ron tore after her as Ginny rushed out from the dark hallway and followed behind them. “To the hallway something died in?!” Ron asked after her.

“Yes!” Hermione called over her shoulder.

Harry wound a hand around his mum’s necklace as the urge to cry cracked over him. A muddy mess of humiliation, horror, and fear flooded his thoughts, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stem the ugly sob tearing up his throat, but he couldn’t help it. He shoved his face into Ron’s chest to hide any tears and tried to pretend he was Snape.

In the back of his mind, he felt immensely grateful for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, but he despised his helplessness.

He despised his age and the terror interwoven within it.

He despised Malfoy, and how he’d made Harry feel with a few quick words.

A warm, quiet hum brushed over Harry’s ears, and though he couldn’t fully understand the blurry voice, he somehow knew it was offering to handle whatever came next, in the event Harry truly needed a break.

The putrid smell broke over them, making Harry wish he knew how to cast the bubble head charm Snape placed on him after Neville’s cauldron exploded, if just to get a quick breath in.
The smell seeped into his skin and left Ron hacking in Harry’s ear.

“Why did we come this way?” Ron choked as he dropped one hand from around Harry in order to cough into his sleeve.

“It’s the fastest route to Snape’s office.” Hermione said. “And I didn’t think Malfoy would come this way, if he managed to break out of Ginny’s hex.” She added with a muffled sound.

The warm sound hummed again with a quiet, but persistent tone.

Harry was positive giving in to the voice was a terrible plan, but he dearly wished for a break from everything at the moment.

Ron slammed into Hermione and narrowly avoided cracking Harry’s head against her bulging book bag. The pained sound of Ron’s breathing forced Harry to pull away from the brief, heady moment of contemplation, where he found himself looking up in time to spot Hermione’s rigid form staring dead ahead at Umbridge and her bright pink cardigan at the end of the hallway.

The soft voice hummed a delighted note, and Harry wondered quite suddenly how Umbridge would fare against it, if he let it out for just a moment.