Black and Potter | H. Potter

12 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆ an old wound.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

| AN OLD WOUND |
song: she's a riot by the jungle giants.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

NO ONE IN GRYFFINDOR TOWER SLEPT THAT NIGHT. They knew that the castle was being searched again, and the whole House stayed awake in the common room, waiting to hear whether Black had been caught. Professor McGonagall came back at dawn, to tell them that he had again escaped.

Throughout the day, everywhere they went they saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Ara noticed that people would now glance at her more often, just like when he had tried to get into the Gryffindor common room the first time. She deemed herself incapable of caring about what they thought, she didn't mind their narrowing eyes, glares and hushed whispers, she'd grown used to them throughout the years. It just proved that people didn't have interesting enough lives to mind their own business.

Ron had become an instant celebrity. For the first time in his life, people were paying more attention to him than to Harry, and it was clear that Ron was rather enjoying the experience. Though still severely shaken by the night's events, he was happy to tell anyone who asked what had happened, with a wealth of detail.

". . . I was asleep, and I heard this ripping noise, and I thought it was in my dream, you know? But then there was this draft. . . I woke up and one side of the hangings on my bed had been pulled down. . . I rolled over. . . and I saw him standing over me. . . like a skeleton, with loads of filthy hair. . . holding this great long knife, must've been twelve inches. . . and he looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I yelled, and he scampered.

"Why, though?" Ron added to Harry as the group of second year girls who had been listening to his chilling tale departed, Ara just happened to be near enough to hear them. "Why did he run?"

Ara had been wondering the same thing. Why had Black, having got the wrong bed, not silenced Ron and proceeded to Harry? Black had proved twelve years ago that he didn't mind murdering innocent people, and this time he had been facing five unarmed boys, four of whom were asleep.

"He must've known he'd have a job getting back out of the castle once you'd yelled and woken people up," said Harry thoughtfully. "He'd've had to kill the whole house to get back through the portrait hole. . . then he would've met the teachers. . ."

Yeah, okay, but then why didn't he just directly kill you? Ara thought.

Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him that she banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, gave him a detention, and forbade anyone to give him the password to the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black's break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a Howler.