The wind screamed across the grounds of Hogwarts—howling, bitter, wild. It lashed at my robes and hair, as though the very air had turned hostile. It carried the cries of students and the echo of something broken. Just beyond the castle walls, Professor Dumbledore's body lay still beneath the stars. Still. Cold. Gone.
I couldn't look for long. My stomach churned. I felt sick. Not just nauseous—hollow. Like something vital had been torn out. The Dark Mark twisted above us, glowing green and vile, a brand of death scarring the sky. I hated it. I hated how it hovered like a promise, a threat we could never outrun.
All around me, people stood in silence. Shell-shocked. I saw Hannah Abbott trembling in Ernie's arms, two Ravenclaw boys holding each other wordlessly. Even the Slytherins didn't sneer tonight. Their faces were blank, unsure. Tears streaked more cheeks than I could count.
Ron stood beside me, barely breathing, his eyes red-rimmed and wide. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I don't think he even realised. Ginny stood with fists clenched, her face ghostly pale, jaw tight. She didn't cry. Not yet. Maybe she couldn't. Professor McGonagall stood still as a statue, her hands folded, eyes fixed on the body below. But she was crying. Quietly, steadily. I'd never seen her look so fragile. It frightened me more than anything.
Then Harry stopped moving.
One moment he was crawling towards Neville, dragging himself across the dirt. The next, he simply… stopped. Collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
My scream tore itself from my throat before I could think.
"Harry!"
It was instinct. Raw, panicked instinct. I didn't care if the whole world heard—I just needed him to open his eyes. But he didn't. He didn't move. And suddenly I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened, and my vision blurred. I tried to run, but my legs locked up. My body wouldn't obey me. I was frozen in place—completely, utterly helpless.
Then came the laugh. High and sharp. Cruel.
You-Know-Who.
He stepped into view with that unbearable calm, as if none of this mattered. As if Professor Dumbledore's death was just another move in some game. A Death Eater raised his wand. Harry's limp body floated into the air like a doll. I gasped. He looked so small. So breakable. His head lolled to the side, and I felt something inside me fracture.
They carried him through the great doors like a trophy. You-Know-Who followed.
I could barely see through my tears. My heart screamed at me to chase after them, to fight, to do something. But I couldn't move. I couldn't think straight. I felt shattered.
That was the moment everything changed.
Hogwarts—our refuge, our home—was no longer safe. The walls we had trusted had been breached. The heart of our world had stopped beating. Professor Dumbledore was gone. And Harry—our Harry—was taken.
I saw his face when they lifted him. Unconscious. Bloodied. Vulnerable. That image was seared into me, cruel and permanent. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He had always been the brave one. The strong one. And now he was alone. Truly alone.
A hard shove knocked me forward.
"Keep moving, Mudblood," spat a voice behind me.
The word landed like a slap. My face burnt. I'd heard it before, of course. But this time, it wasn't just a slur. It was a warning. A threat wrapped in hatred.
I kept walking, jaw tight, tears stinging my eyes.
Ron was beside me. "Where are they taking him?" he whispered, like he was afraid of the answer.
"They're going to hurt him," Ginny said softly, her voice shaking but certain.
Of course they were. That was the whole point. They wanted to break him.
I clenched my fists. My heart thudded wildly. I couldn't think clearly anymore. The fear, the guilt—it was too loud. I should've done something. Should've stopped it. Should've helped him. But I hadn't. I'd failed him. We all had.
As we were herded inside, the castle felt wrong. Cold. Empty. The torches cast long, twitching shadows across the stone walls, like the castle itself was mourning. My feet echoed hollowly with each step. I wrapped my arms around myself. I felt like I was shrinking—like I was disappearing into my own fear.
Professor Dumbledore's body still lay out there. He wasn't coming back. That warm, guiding presence was gone. The man who always seemed to know what to do, even when the world was falling apart—just gone. How could the world still turn without him?
We were sent back to our dormitories, as if it were any other night.
But it wasn't.
Nothing was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again.
We climbed the stairs in silence. The Fat Lady said nothing as we passed. Inside the common room, no one spoke. A few first-years huddled together on the sofas. Someone sobbed quietly by the fire. I couldn't sit. Couldn't sleep. I just stood by the window, watching the clouds swirl over the Dark Mark, looking for a sign. For anything.
I'd always believed we'd face everything together. Me, Ron, Harry. That we'd win if we just tried hard enough. Believed hard enough. But now…
Now I wasn't sure.
We weren't students anymore. We weren't even children. We were survivors. And we'd just learnt the first, hardest lesson of war:
Hope can break.
And so can people.
We were back in Gryffindor Tower—but it didn't feel like home anymore.
The reds and golds, once warm and comforting, now looked dull, as though someone had drained all the colour from them. The fire crackled weakly, giving off no warmth. Even the portraits along the walls were silent. No gentle snores, no idle chatter. Just wide eyes, fixed on the Death Eater standing in the corner like a stain no amount of magic could wash away.
The students had gathered around the room, their voices hushed, trembling. A low buzz of panic filled the air. Whispers. Sniffling. The occasional soft sob. They clung to one another like children hiding from thunder. I couldn't blame them. We were all children, really. No matter how many spells we knew or how brave we tried to be, we weren't ready for this. Not for real war. Not for death.
I couldn't take the noise. The confusion. The suffocating fear pressing in from every direction.
So I slipped away into the far corner of the common room. It wasn't far, but it felt like a different world. I dropped to the floor and curled into myself, knees drawn tightly to my chest, arms wrapped around them like they could hold me together. I rested my forehead on my knees and tried to shut it all out.
But it didn't work.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.
Professor Dumbledore, lying there on the ground, his robes still, his eyes shut forever. The greatest wizard of our age—dead. I couldn't stop imagining what they'd done with his body. Had they taken it? Dumped it in the Black Lake? Desecrated it somehow? The thought made bile rise in my throat. I swallowed it back, teeth clenched.
And then—Harry.
He was gone.
Taken.
By You-Know-Who himself.
The image of him—bloodied, unconscious, limp in the air—haunted me. It replayed over and over like a cruel memory I couldn't escape. My chest ached with it. Not just fear—guilt. I should have seen it coming. I should have done more. Should have believed him.
He told us. He warned me. Told me Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be at the castle. That Malfoy would have another opportunity. And I—I'd listened, but I hadn't believed. Not really. I'd assumed it was just Harry being Harry, seeing darkness in places where there might not be any. I thought maybe… maybe he was just tired. Or stressed. Or wrong.
But he wasn't.
And now Professor Dumbledore was dead. And Harry was gone.
I felt sick. Truly sick. My head spun, and my breath came too fast, too shallow. I pressed my face to my knees and tried to calm myself down. Think, Hermione. Breathe. Think.
But what was there to think about? I didn't know where Harry was. I didn't know what You-Know-Who was doing to him. And I didn't know how to save him. For the first time in my life, knowledge wasn't enough. Books couldn't help us now.
We'd taken the Felix Felicis, done what we could to protect the castle, and followed the plan. And still it had all fallen apart.
I'd failed.
We'd all failed.
And then—Neville.
He was lying on one of the sofas, slumped awkwardly, as if his own body didn't know how to hold itself together anymore. Blood soaked through his shirt. It trickled down his sides, pooled into the cushions, and turned the fabric dark and wet. I'd never seen so much blood. Not from one of us. Not like this.
I rushed to him, my legs numb as I crossed the room. The floor felt like ice beneath my knees as I dropped down beside him. My hands hovered, unsure. What spell? What potion? What do I do?
His eyes fluttered weakly. His breathing was shallow. He gave a low moan, and I flinched.
I'd read every healing book in the library. Memorised counter-curses. I knew theory. But now—kneeling beside my friend, watching the life drain out of him—I felt completely and utterly useless. My hands shook so badly I couldn't even hold my wand properly.
"Stay with me, Neville," I whispered. My voice cracked. "Please. Just—just hold on, okay?"
He didn't respond. Another gasp left his throat, hoarse and broken.
Someone behind me was crying. I didn't turn. I couldn't. I had to focus.
"Ron," I croaked, barely recognising my own voice. "Get something. Essence of Dittany—anything you can find."
He didn't argue. I heard him scramble away, shoving past people, knocking books off tables in his rush. I tried to press my hands over the wound, but blood kept spilling through. It was warm and sticky and terrifying.
"Neville," I said again, firmer this time. "Look at me. You're not allowed to die. Do you hear me? You're not."
He blinked slowly. I wasn't sure if it meant anything.
Behind me, someone whispered, "Why did this happen?"
No one answered.
Because we didn't know. Because none of this made sense anymore. Our world had been turned upside down and shattered. Professor Dumbledore was dead. You-Know-Who was inside our school. Harry was in his hands. And we were sitting in the ruins of everything we thought we understood.
I leaned over Neville, tears dripping from my chin onto his chest.
"Just hold on," I whispered again. "Please."
That was all I could do.
Wait.
Hope.
And hold on—while everything fell apart.
Ginny had moved behind me, one hand gently gripping Neville's ankle, her other clenched in her lap. Her knuckles were white. The firelight flickered across her face, and I barely recognised her—no fire in her eyes now. Just exhaustion. And fear.
Even Seamus, who never knew when to shut up, had fallen silent. He stood near the hearth, jaw clenched, eyes wide. He looked about twelve years old in that moment. We all did.
A shift in the crowd—a gasp. Then Professor McGonagall pushed through the cluster of students, wand already out, eyes sharp and scanning Neville's wound in an instant.
"He needs medical attention," she snapped, turning to the Death Eater stationed by the portrait hole—a woman with dead eyes and a smirk. "Let me take him to the Hospital Wing. Now."
The Death Eater didn't flinch. She tilted her head, mockingly casual. "Aren't you a professor?" she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Why don't you fix him yourself? I'm sure you know how to mend a few scrapes."
I stood up too quickly, dizzy from fury. "That's not a scrape!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "It's a cursed wound—he's bleeding out!"
The woman just stared at me. Not moved. Not even curious. "He's breathing," she said lazily. "That's good enough."
Good enough?
My fists clenched. My whole body was trembling. I didn't know what I was going to do—I just knew I couldn't stand there and let this happen. Not again. Not without trying.
Professor McGonagall's wand rose with terrifying precision. "Stupefy!"
The spell shot out, red and fast—but the Death Eater was faster. She flicked her wand lazily, deflecting the blast. It bounced off a trophy case with a loud shatter, spraying glass like razors across the room. Someone screamed. A first-year ducked. I saw blood on the floor and didn't know whose it was anymore.
The Death Eater grinned. "Is that the best you've got, Professor? Honestly, you people are all so predictable."
Professor McGonagall's face was stone. "You dare endanger my students—"
She never finished.
BANG!
The explosion threw her backwards. Smoke billowed. Heat rushed across my face. When it cleared, she was on the floor, glasses cracked, blood running from her head, her wand clattering away across the floorboards.
"Professor!" I screamed. I scrambled to her side, my hands reaching for her before I even knew what I was doing. She was breathing—but barely. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Her face looked terrifyingly fragile.
And then—
"What the hell's going on, Alecto?" came a new voice, cold and clipped.
Another Death Eater had entered the common room, this one tall and sharp-featured, with the calm menace of someone who never needed to shout to be dangerous. He walked like he was inspecting livestock.
"That hag tried to hex me," Alecto spat, still pointing at Professor McGonagall. "All over that one." She jerked her head at Neville, who let out a weak moan, his head lolling to the side.
The tall Death Eater gave him a single look, full of disdain. "He's not dead. He'll manage."
"Manage?!" Ron barked. He stepped forward without thinking, fists raised, like he might throw a punch. "He's BLEEDING TO DEATH, and you're just STANDING there?! You absolute monsters!"
"Ron, don't—" I tried, but he wasn't listening. He never did when he was like this.
Ginny rose beside him. Her voice was low, cold. "You don't understand," she said, eyes burning again. "If you don't let us take him, he'll die."
"Let him," Alecto sneered. "One less brat."
That was it.
That was the line.
Professor McGonagall stirred, lifting herself onto one trembling elbow. Her voice was a thin thread of steel. "You will… let him go."
The second Death Eater took a step forward. Towered over her. "We're in charge now," he said softly. "You don't get to make demands."
I couldn't hold back anymore. I stood. My voice was a whisper and a scream all at once. "You must let us take him," I said. "Please. You must. Or he won't make it."
He stared at me. Silent.
The silence stretched. Endless. Awful.
I looked around—at Ron, shaking with fury. At Ginny, biting her lip so hard she was bleeding. At the Professor, half-conscious on the floor, still trying to protect us. And at Neville.
He was barely breathing now.
The quiet was worse than shouting. Worse than threats. Because it meant they could. That they would. And we couldn't stop them.
We were trapped.
And Neville was dying.
The portrait hole darkened.
I looked up, heart stuttering in my chest. A figure stepped inside, robes billowing—Professor Snape.
The room went still.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one breathed. My blood turned to ice. I didn't know if he'd come to help or to finish what the Carrows had started. My fingers curled into the fabric of the cushion beside me, every instinct screaming not to trust him.
"That's enough, Amycus," Professor Snape said. His voice was low—low but sharp, each word cutting through the air like a blade. "Take Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing. Leave Professor McGonagall unharmed."
There was power in his tone. Not just authority—finality. It was the kind of command you didn't question. It made even me hesitate.
Amycus stepped forward, jaw clenched. "And who are you to—?"
Professor Snape's gaze sliced across the room. Cold. Measured. Burning with something unreadable. Whatever he saw in Amycus made the other man falter. He said nothing more. Didn't have to. Professor Snape didn't need to raise his wand—his silence was enough.
"The Dark Lord summons you," Professor Snape added sharply, eyes flicking to Alecto like he could hardly bear the sight of her. "Both of you."
For a breathless moment, they didn't move. Then Amycus muttered something under his breath, grabbed Alecto by the wrist and yanked her toward the door. Neville, still bleeding and barely conscious, was dragged behind them like a rag doll.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to stop them, to reach for Neville, to do something—but I couldn't move. I could only watch.
And then they were gone. The portrait hole thudded shut.
Silence.
Professor Snape didn't speak. Didn't look at us. He simply turned and swept back through the door, his cloak whispering against the floor as he disappeared.
Just like that—we were alone again.
But not safe.
The common room felt smaller now. Claustrophobic. The crackling fire did nothing to warm the chill in the air. Students huddled in little clusters, whispering, eyes darting toward the portrait hole like they expected it to open again. Some curled up into tight balls, arms wrapped round their knees, as if folding themselves up might make the fear shrink too.
I sat between Ron and Ginny on the sofa, but I couldn't feel the cushions beneath me. My hands were cold. I kept blinking, trying to make sense of everything—but the room wouldn't stop spinning. My heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.
And then Professor McGonagall stood.
She looked… broken. Older than she was just hours ago. Her robes were singed at the hem, dust clinging to the fabric. She stood tall, but her hands trembled slightly, and the lines on her face had deepened.
She cleared her throat—just a small sound—but it made my stomach twist with dread.
"You are not to leave the Gryffindor Tower," she said. Her voice was firm, but there was something fragile beneath it. "Under no circumstances. Do you all understand?"
No one answered. No one could.
She went on, each word deliberate, each one heavier than the last. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is inside the castle. Hogwarts has been breached. For now…" She paused, swallowing hard. "This tower is the safest place you can be."
For now.
The words clanged through my head like bells tolling for the dead.
I felt Ron tense beside me. I gripped his arm without thinking, as if holding on to him might hold the world together.
Then came the voices.
"We're not safe here!" someone cried. A third-year boy near the stairs, eyes wild with panic. "They're everywhere!"
"They are!" another student said. "We saw them—in the corridors! Death Eaters!"
"Harry's out there!" Someone else shouted. "He's alone—with him!"
A girl by the fire—so young—clutched her friend and whispered, "Please… Can't you send us home?"
Professor McGonagall raised a hand. Slowly. The room fell silent again.
She looked around at each face, as if memorising them. Her voice softened.
"I know you're frightened," she said. "Believe me—I am too." Her voice wavered, just for a second. That wobble made something inside me crumble. If she was scared…
She drew in a breath. "Hogwarts is no longer under our control. We don't know what You-Know-Who wants. We don't know what he'll do. His followers kill without reason. They do not ask questions. They enjoy causing pain."
Her words landed like stones.
The air felt thinner. Tighter. I looked around, and it was as if someone had turned all the colour down—just grey faces, wide eyes, and trembling hands. Some students were crying now, quietly, their faces buried against each other's shoulders. Others sat motionless, like their minds had already left the room.
I wanted to speak. I wanted to ask about Harry. To scream about Harry. But my throat felt dry and raw. I couldn't find my voice.
I kept picturing him—somewhere in this castle, facing You-Know-Who alone. Wandless, maybe. Hurt. Or worse.
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my heartbeat, but it was hopeless. It felt like the world was crumbling. Everything we'd trusted—our teachers, our school, our safety—it was gone.
Professor McGonagall stepped towards the window.
She moved with a strange kind of grace—measured and calm, so unlike the panic that had gripped the common room. She raised her wand.
A flash of silver light burst forth—a cat, shining and majestic, elegant even in the gloom. Her Patronus.
It padded round her feet, tail high, ears alert, casting its gentle glow on the worn floorboards. For a fleeting moment, the fear in the room receded. The chaos didn't vanish, but the Patronus offered us something solid—something right.
I stared, chest aching. I thought of Harry, of the way his stag used to light up the darkness. I remembered the pride in his eyes, the strength in his stance. And now… he was somewhere in this castle. Alone. With him.
Professor McGonagall bent her head towards the cat. She whispered something—too soft for any of us to hear. The Patronus twitched an ear, then leapt through the open window and vanished into the night.
A message. To the Order, I thought instantly.
My eyes met Ron's. Then Ginny's. None of us said a word. We didn't need to. We all knew what that meant.
"Are… are you leaving, Professor?" Parvati's voice cut through the quiet.
Professor McGonagall turned slowly. She stood by the portrait hole, one hand resting on the frame. She looked older, smaller somehow—though no less formidable. The weight of the school, of the moment, pressed visibly on her shoulders.
"I must," she said quietly. "There are other Houses. Other students. I have to see to their safety."
"But… you said it's too dangerous," Seamus said, stepping forward, voice tight with confusion. "You told us to stay here."
"I did," she replied. Her voice was steady, not unkind—but firm. "Because you must. But I am not only your teacher. I am the deputy headmistress of this school. That means I do what is necessary. Even if it means risking my life."
The words hit me like a blow to the chest. This wasn't a teacher on patrol. This was a warrior walking into a battlefield.
Before anyone could argue, she stepped through the portrait hole. Her robes flared as she moved—and then she was gone.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud.
And the silence that followed was unbearable.
I turned to Ron and Ginny. Ron's face was pale, his jaw set tight. Ginny was staring at the door, unmoving, her eyes wide with fear she was too proud to show.
My throat felt tight. I couldn't seem to breathe properly. Everything felt like it was pressing down on me—like the walls of the tower might cave in.
Harry was still out there. You-Know-Who was here. Professor McGonagall had left.
And now… we were just waiting.
Waiting for something awful to happen.
"What do you think she has to do?" Ginny's voice barely reached me. She didn't look away from the portrait hole, her gaze fixed and unfocused. "What's she really going to do?"
I swallowed hard. "I don't know," I said truthfully, hugging my arms to my chest. The truth was sharp and cold. "But it won't be simple."
We sat in silence. The fire crackled and popped. Shadows danced across the walls. For a moment, it felt like we were the only ones left.
Then I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, trying to push past the pounding in my head.
"We need to be ready," I said quietly. "Everything's shifting now. We might not have long before something else—something worse—happens. And we can't just sit here and wait for it."
Ron looked at me, brow furrowed. Ginny nodded once but said nothing.
I hesitated. "Do you remember what Harry said about the Patronus? How it's more than just a shield?"
Ron frowned. "It's for Dementors, yeah? You need a happy memory."
"Yes—but there's more to it. A Patronus can carry messages. That's what Professor McGonagall did just now. She's not just protecting herself—she's calling for help. She's reaching the Order. She wouldn't send that Patronus unless it was urgent."
Ginny finally turned to me. Her face was pale, but her eyes were fierce.
"Then we wait for them?" she asked.
I bit my lip. "We hope they come. But we prepare… just in case they don't."
Because deep down, we all knew something terrible was already in motion. And no one—not even the Order—might reach us in time.
I glanced at Ron.
He sat stiffly, fists clenched at his sides, jaw set so tightly I thought he might crack a tooth. The war behind his eyes was plain—the urge to act crashing against the instinct to protect.
"We have to follow her," I said suddenly, the words escaping before fear could catch up with them. They burnt in my throat, but once spoken, they felt right. "We need to know what's happening."
Ron gawked at me. "Are you mad?" His voice was sharp, incredulous. "There are Death Eaters everywhere. We'll get caught—we'll be killed!"
"Harry's out there!" I shot back, louder than I intended. Panic sharpened my voice. "We can't just sit here while You-Know-Who makes his move. We've faced worse before. Haven't we?"
"But this is different," Ginny whispered. Her voice trembled, even as she tried to sound firm. "He's here. In the castle."
"And we don't even know where Harry is," Ron added, quieter now. His anger had faded, replaced by something rawer. "We could search all night and still miss him."
I looked between them, a thousand thoughts spiralling behind my eyes. Yes, it's dangerous. Yes, it's mad. But doing nothing—waiting—is worse. The helplessness was unbearable.
"What if there's still time?" I said, my voice trembling. "What if we can help? I don't want to wait here and be told Harry's… gone. I can't do that. Not again."
Ron stared at me for a long moment. Then I saw it—that flicker. Fear still lingered in his face, but something else was growing behind it: resolve. Understanding. The same desperate, determined fire burning inside me.
"Alright," he said at last. "Let's do it. We'll need the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak. The map's in my bed, I think."
We moved fast. The boys' dormitory felt eerily empty, the beds shadowed and silent like something sacred had been broken. Ron's bed was a mess—same as always—and we rummaged through the covers in silence. My fingers shook. I didn't want to admit how frightened I was.
Then it hit me.
"Oh no." My breath caught. My chest tightened.
"What?" Ron turned sharply.
"Harry took the cloak with him," I said, panic mounting. "When he went with Professor Dumbledore. He told us everything—about Malfoy, about the Room of Requirement. Even about Professor Snape. He wanted us prepared. But later, when we saw him in the courtyard… he didn't have it."
Ron's face went white. I could see the pieces clicking together for him too.
"Wait," Ginny said suddenly. "That night—under the Astronomy Tower. The fight in the corridor. That's the last time I saw the cloak. Maybe he left it there."
Ron nodded slowly. "Alright. That's where we go. Merlin help us if the Death Eaters are still prowling."
He paused, thoughtful. "Any Felix Felicis left?"
I shook my head. "We used it. All of it."
Ginny began digging in her robes, and then—
"Wait," she gasped. Her eyes lit up as she held something small and shining in her palm. "I've still got the vial! Just a few drops."
"There's not much," she warned. "Only enough for one of us."
I reached for it, heart thudding. "I'll take it."
The potion was warm on my tongue—like drinking sunlight wrapped in golden mist. Courage. Clarity. Not the absence of fear, but the strength to move through it.
It surged through me.
And then, without thinking, I cried out, "Dobby!"
The name burst from my lips like a spell. I didn't even fully understand why—but something inside me just knew. A thread of certainty pulled tight inside my chest.
Ron and Ginny both jerked back. "What?" they said in unison, staring at me like I'd lost my mind.
"No, Hermione," Ginny said quickly, desperate. "We need to go to the Astronomy Tower. You just said—"
But before I could explain, there was a crack.
A familiar sound. Sharp. Sudden.
And there he was.
Dobby.
He stood at the foot of the bed, trembling, his enormous eyes blinking up at me. So small. So fragile. His long fingers twisted together nervously. He looked confused—but hopeful.
My chest squeezed painfully. I dropped to my knees, eyes level with his.
"Harry Potter's friend has called for Dobby?" he asked, his voice full of trembling wonder.
"Yes," I said. "We need your help, Dobby. It's urgent."
His expression changed in an instant. That usual nervous twitch, the wide, darting eyes—they gave way to something quieter. More solemn. "Is it about Harry Potter, miss?" he asked softly. "Dobby can feel… his friends are missing him badly."
My throat tightened. I could barely speak. "Yes. We're so worried. Do you know where he is?"
Ron stepped forward, his voice edged with fear. "Have you seen him, Dobby? Please—we need to know if he's alright."
For a moment, Dobby just looked at us. And then—he nodded. A small, sad nod. My heart leapt and fell in the same breath.
"Dobby knows, sir. Dobby knows where Harry Potter is."
I turned sharply to Ginny, whose face had gone pale.
"Where is he?" she asked quickly, voice taut with dread. "Is he alright?"
Dobby's eyes brimmed with tears. He reached up and dabbed at them with his old tea cosy of a tie. "Harry Potter is… he is unconscious. He is in the house of serpents."
I froze.
The house of serpents.
My mind reeled. "The house of—"
"Slytherin?" Ron spat, his voice breaking with fury. "Why would they take him there?"
Before any of us could react, Dobby let out a strange, pitiful sound—and suddenly began banging his head against the bedpost.
The hollow thud of it made me flinch.
"No—stop!" I cried, rushing to him. I knelt down and grabbed his small hands, pulling them away from the wood. "Don't, Dobby. Please."
He stilled, panting, and looked up at me with eyes wide and wet. Shame and fear clung to his face. "They're planning something awful, miss," he whispered. "The Slytherins… they are not kind. Dobby heard them. They are plotting. Dobby wants to help, but—oh, Dobby is so afraid."
I could feel the panic clawing its way up inside me. I forced it down. Breathe. Stay calm. For Dobby. For Harry.
"What are they going to do?" Ron asked, his voice hoarse.
Dobby trembled. Then, without warning, he crumpled. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing in great, broken sobs that filled the room like a siren. He curled into himself, clutching his knees, rocking back and forth, whispering words we couldn't quite make out.
I knelt beside him, helpless. My hands hovered in the air, wanting to comfort him, not knowing how. "Dobby," I said softly, "you said something terrible was going to happen. Please… we need to know."
But he couldn't speak. Whatever he'd heard had terrified him beyond language.
Ron looked at me, eyes wide with fear and frustration. I had no answers to give. My heart felt like it was shattering inside my chest.
Then Ginny knelt on Dobby's other side, her voice low and gentle. "If you can't tell us, Dobby… maybe you can help in another way?"
Dobby sniffled. He looked up at her, and for a second, I saw something in his eyes—something small and brave. He nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter's friends," he said, and despite his tears, his voice was fierce.
"We think his Invisibility Cloak is still in the Astronomy Tower," Ginny said quickly. "Can you go there? Can you find it?"
A flicker of hope bloomed inside me. The cloak—yes. It was more than just a relic. It was survival. A shield. A chance.
Dobby nodded, his ears flapping slightly with the motion. "Dobby will do it, miss," he said with a wobbly smile.
"Be careful," I said, stepping forward. My voice came out sharper than I intended—tight with fear. "The castle isn't safe. Death Eaters could be anywhere."
He met my gaze. "Dobby will be careful," he said, and with another loud crack, he vanished.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Ron exhaled shakily and dragged a hand through his hair. "What if they catch him?" he whispered.
I stared at the space where Dobby had stood, my heart thudding in my ears. "He's clever," I said, though my voice trembled. "He'll be careful."
But the truth? The truth was… I didn't know.
We stood there, the three of us, alone again. The dormitory was still and dim, shadows cast by the low light of the torches swaying on the walls. My hands were shaking.
"He's really unconscious?" Ginny asked at last, her voice barely more than a whisper, shaking as though it might break. "They've just… left him somewhere in Slytherin?"
I nodded slowly, though it felt like my throat was closing up. "That's what Dobby said. And if he's unconscious… he can't defend himself." The words tasted bitter. But this wasn't a moment for sugar-coating. We couldn't afford denial.
Ron's fists clenched at his sides. His whole frame was trembling with contained fury. "What sort of people do that?" he snapped. "What are they even planning?" His voice cracked—just slightly—but enough to make my stomach tighten.
"I don't know," I murmured. "But if Dobby's too scared to say it out loud… then it's worse than we can imagine."
My mind was racing, too fast to hold onto any one thought. Were they cursing Harry? Using him as bait? Had You-Know-Who ordered something personal, something cruel? Every possibility that surfaced was more awful than the last. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the rising panic, but it only fluttered harder under my palm.
Ginny's eyes were wide and glassy. She was biting her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood.
"Wait a second," Ron said suddenly. He blinked, then turned on the spot, scanning the dormitory. "Is it just me, or are all of Harry's things… gone?"
The words didn't land immediately. But when they did, they hit like a stone dropped into still water. I turned toward Harry's bed.
Nothing.
His blanket was gone—usually crumpled at the foot, always half off the bed. No books stacked haphazardly on the nightstand. No crumpled robes. His trunk—missing. Hedwig's cage—gone. Even his broom. His broom.
I couldn't breathe.
"They've taken everything," I said, almost to myself. "Even his Firebolt."
"Since when?" Ron asked, shaking his head as if he could knock the answer loose. "We just got back, didn't we?"
"Dobby did say he was in Slytherin," Ginny said in a small voice, as though afraid to speak it aloud. "Maybe… maybe they moved his things there too?"
The idea made me sick—but it made sense. Terrible, awful sense. Isolate him. Cut him off. Make sure he had no connection to anything or anyone that mattered. Keep him powerless.
But why?
Why Slytherin?
My heartbeat picked up again, and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to steady the dread coiling in my stomach.
"Slytherin's You-Know-Who's house, isn't it?" Ron muttered. "None of them would stop him. It's the perfect place to hide Harry. Or to… do whatever they're planning."
His voice was low and final. It landed like a weight in the room, and I could feel the cold pressing in. I stared at Harry's empty bed and felt an ache that wouldn't go away.
"You and Harry went down there once," I said quietly. "In second year. When you used Polyjuice Potion."
Ron looked surprised that I remembered. "Yeah," he muttered. "Just the common room. It was horrible. Greenish light, cold walls, loads of snakes carved everywhere. Not a single thing welcoming about it."
Ginny frowned. "Wait—you actually went into the Slytherin common room? You never told me that."
Ron went pink. "We were trying to work out who the Heir of Slytherin was, alright? It wasn't exactly a social visit."
"There's nothing special about the place," he added, defensively. "Just stone and shadows. Like a dungeon with chairs."
But that was what made it worse. That bleak, soulless place. No light. No warmth. Just cold stone and centuries of secrets. That's where Harry was now.
And he was alone.
The image struck me like a blow: Harry, unconscious, sprawled in a place that hated him, surrounded by people who might want him dead. There was no protection left. No comfort. Just that endless, crushing cold.
Something inside me cracked.
And suddenly, I wasn't just frightened.
I was furious.
"He can't stay there," I whispered, my voice tight, barely audible above the heavy silence. "Not again. Not in that place."
Ron turned to look at me. His brow was furrowed, and for a second he just stared, like he was trying to work out if I really meant what I'd said. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asked finally, his voice strained. "Just march into Slytherin and ask them to hand him back? You-Know-Who could be down there right now, Hermione."
I held his gaze. "What if we used Polyjuice again?" I said, slowly and cautiously. "If we had the right disguises, we might be able to get inside. Blend in. Learn what they're planning."
His face twisted, incredulous. "You're not serious. Hermione, that potion takes weeks."
"Not if we already have what we need," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I've still got ingredients left—hidden in my old beaded bag. And Ginny's been helping me with advanced potions."
Ginny looked at me, uncertain. "I have… but not something this complicated. And last time we tried sneaking around with Polyjuice—Umbridge caught us. And Harry got hurt. We all did."
Ron crossed his arms, mouth tight. "Even if we do get inside—what then? We'll be surrounded by Death Eaters. By Slytherins who'd sell us out in a second. And You-Know-Who…" He trailed off, but the word lingered like smoke.
He didn't need to finish. We all felt it—the sharp edge of fear beneath everything. My heart was pounding, and my hands had started to shake. I gripped the bedpost beside me, grounding myself against it. I had to stay focused.
"I know it's not safe," I said, quieter now, but firm. "But Harry's down there, Ron. Alone. Defenceless. Possibly dying. And we're up here, doing nothing." My throat felt raw. "Don't you want to help him? Don't you care?"
Ron's face changed—just slightly. Some of the defensiveness slipped away. "Of course I care," he said, his voice low. "But Dumbledore's gone. The Order's far away. It's just us. And if we go down there… we might not come back."
The truth of it sat heavy between us.
But still—I couldn't let it be the end of the conversation.
"We're not entirely alone," Ginny said then, her voice gaining strength. "Dobby's still with us. He knows every corridor in this castle. If anyone could find a hidden path in or out of Slytherin, it's him."
Ron blinked. "You think… he could get us inside?"
"He's done more for Harry than most wizards ever have," I said. The image of Dobby's wide eyes, his trembling hands—yet his determination—filled my mind. "He would help us. We just need to ask."
For a moment, silence again. But this time, not empty—charged.
There was a plan forming. Small. Risky. But better than waiting for death.
"What's that on the floor?" Ron said suddenly, frowning. He nodded towards something near Ginny's feet—a crumpled bit of parchment, half-tucked in shadow.
I followed his gaze and felt a strange chill run through me. It wasn't just paper. It felt significant.
Ginny bent down, eyes narrowing. "This must be what I picked up when Harry collapsed," she said slowly. "It must've slipped from his hand. There was something else too…"
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a locket. A dull, heavy-looking thing, the chain coiled around her fingers like it didn't want to be touched.
"It looks important," she murmured, holding it out for us to see.
Ron leaned closer. "What is it?" he asked, peering at it.
Ginny hesitated. "Some kind of necklace…?"
But her fingers were already unfolding the parchment. Her eyes scanned the page, and something shifted in her expression.
"It's about a Horcrux," she said softly.
My heart stopped.
"What?" I breathed. "Let me see that."
I snatched the parchment from her, trying to hide how much my hands were shaking. The word on the page stared back at me—Horcrux—like a curse carved into paper.
"R.A.B.?" Ron asked, peering over my shoulder. "Who's that supposed to be?"
"What's a Horcrux?" Ginny asked, confused.
I spun round. "Shh!" I hissed, far too sharply. My eyes darted to the door. The dormitory was still empty—but it feltwatched.
Ginny blinked, startled. "Why? What's wrong with saying it?"
I lowered my voice. "Because it's not meant to be public knowledge. It's dark magic. Very dark. Dangerous beyond belief." I folded the parchment quickly. "Harry and Professor Dumbledore were researching them. Secretly. This—this locket—it could be one."
I met Ginny's eyes. She looked afraid now. But I could see the determination there too.
"We need to talk about this," she said, voice hushed. "You'll explain it, won't you?"
"Yes," I said. "But not here. Not now."
There were too many shadows. Too many secrets. And not nearly enough time.