by
Catherine King
After learning of Voldemort in the area the teachers were calm but wary, the students were panicked, and the Head Girls and Head Boys, as well as prefects, were rather strict and overprotective. (Of course, they’re always that way. This time it was more so.)
Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down to breakfast in the Great Hall one cool October morning with an air of pleasure. Halloween was coming, and along with the Halloween feast, it was their first Hogsmeade visit. (3rd years and older could go to the small village - remember it?)
It was October 10th, twenty-one more days to wait. L Harry was sure he wouldn’t live, having such a long time until the 31st.
On Monday morning, the Potions Master, Professor Snape (discription: greasy-haired, hooked-nosed, and extremely nasty), gave them a short anouncement.
“This whole week shall be devoted to a certain art called ‘Psychic Potions.’ These potions will include the foolish act of wand-waving. If a person with psychic abilities is handy, no wands shall be needed. A wand will substitute for mind powers, but are not the same thing. So - anyone with psychic powers?”
No one answered. “Aha, I expected it. Now, let’s get our wands out and our hands moving!”
The rest of the lesson was unbearable. The Gryffindors were given sharp, rude comments, whereas the Slytherins were praised regularly. (Every Potions lesson was held with the Slytherins - Oh!!L)
By far the happiest moment was when Blaise Zabini of Slytherin accidentally blew up Pansy Parkison’s cauldron, which caught on to Draco Malfoy’s cauldron -Ha-ha! - and made Snape take ten points from Slytherin. By far the least happy moment was when Neville Longbottom sent a stream of sparks from the end of his wand right into his cauldron, sending Scalding Solution all over the dungeon. Snape lost his temper and took 25 points from Gryffindor.
Harry walked out of the classroom in low spirits just like everyone else, especially those who had second-degree burns all over.
That night, Ron was talking furiously in his sleep.
“Malfoy, it’s payback time, you lousy, no-good, hunk of dirt who was born totally by accident, and no more tripe about my family, you dirty, lousy, STINKING…”
“Oh, Ron, wake up and smell the Mandrakes, will ya?” said Seamus Finnigan, throwing a pillow at him.
“Wha--? What’s going on?”
“You were talking in your sleep, Ron,” Harry informed him.
“Oh, then who threw that pillow at me?”
“Seamus.”
“OK, Seamus, you asked for it!”
Ron threw another pillow, but missed and hit Dean Thomas instead.
“Why you little-“
He threw a pillow, but missed and hit Neville.
“What’d you do that for?” he asked and he -- you guessed it -- threw a pillow, missed, and hit Harry.
“PILLOW FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Harry said, loudly. He didn’t yell, because if they were found out, they would be in deep trouble.
“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”
Soon loud moans and flumps were what was heard for the next 10 minutes or so. Then a voice came from inside the walls, a voice that made the loudest, scariest thunder seem like soft, playful bunnies; it made Seamus Finnigan’s hair stand straight up, and that voice was saying:
“Aah… yes, I have regained power… I am gaining strength, losing some powers and gaining new, more powerful ones… my reign will come… and all will know that I am the most powerful being on earth!!!”
Everyone stopped in mid-motion; Dean’s pillow was halfway through slamming on Neville’s head, which, come to think of it, was not a comfortable position for either one of them.
The voice continued talking…
“Soon my name will not be uttered, or even written down… No one will want to think of me, but they’ll have to… eventually the world shall fear me… Well? Aren’t you all afraid of me??”
At these extreme words, every boy jumped - literally jumped - into their beds. That eerie voice laughed a high, cold laugh that sounded like what the middle of a tornado would sound like: it was twisting, turning, high-pitched, screaming, shrilly. Finally, after what felt like a millenium, the laugh completely died away. (That time period wasn’t a real millenium, more like forty minutes.)
It was a long time before anyone spoke. Finally Ron whispered, “Should we go to sleep?”
“Of course,” said Harry, checking his watch. “It’s eleven o’clock. We must get to sleep.”
