⚠️READ AT OWN RISK, THIS WAS ERITTEN WHEN I WAS 14 😭⚠️
NIGHTMARE || ❝ - I've gotta recognise the weapon in my mind - ❞
【 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦
𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳
𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴
𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦
𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 】
FINAL WORD C...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— (chapter nineteen.) —
Harry was so relieved she was taking him seriously that he did not hesitate, but jumped out of bed at once, pulled on his dressing gown and pushed his glasses back on to his nose.
"Weasley, you ought to come too," said Professor McGonagall.
They followed Professor McGonagall past the silent figures of Neville, Dean and Seamus, out of the dormitory down the spiral stairs into the common room, through the portrait hole and off along the Fat Lady's moonlit corridor. Harry felt as though the panic inside him might spill over at any moment; he wanted to run, to yell for Dumbledore; Mr. Weasley was bleeding as they walked along so sedately and what if those fangs (Harry tried hard not to think 'my fangs') had been poisonous? They passed Mrs. Norris, who turned her lamplike eyes upon them and hissed faintly but Professor McGonagall said, "Shoo!" Mrs. Norris slunk away into the shadows, and in a few minutes they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore s office.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," said Professor McGonagall.
The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continually upwards like a spiral escalator. The three of them stepped on to the moving stairs; the wall closed behind them with a thud and they were moving upwards in tight circles until they reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin.
Though it was now well past midnight there were voices coming from inside the room, a positive babble of them. It sounded as though Dumbledore was entertaining at least a dozen people.
Professor McGonagall rapped three times with the griffin knocker and the voices ceased abruptly as though someone had switched them all off. The door opened of its own accord and Professor McGonagall led Harry and Ron inside.
The room was in half-darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did; the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red and gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with its head under its wing.
"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall... and... ah."
Dumbledore was sitting in a high-backed chair behind his desk; he leaned forward into the pool of candlelight illuminating the papers laid out before him. He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple and gold dressing gown over a snowy white nightshirt, but seemed wide-awake, his penetrating light blue eyes fixed intently upon Professor McGonagall.
"Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a... well, a nightmare," said Professor McGonagall. "He says..."
