𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐱𝐯. are you even listening to me?

꧁—— ❦ ——꧂

"I didn't put my name in." Harry quickly said to Ron and Hermione, his desperation seeping through each word. "You know I didn't."

The both of them stared blankly at him, and over their shoulders Harry could see the whole of the long Gryffindor table watching them, each of them with their mouths hung open. At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding at Professor McGonagall who had been whispering in his ear.

"Harry Potter!" He called again, "Harry! Up here, if you please?"

I didn't put my name in, I didn't put my name in.

"Go on." Hermione whispered as she gave him a slight push, eyes blurring when he turned and gave her a look of such despair she could swear, that right there, her heart tore in two.

No, no, no.

Harry unwillingly got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt far too long of a walk with every pair of eyes in the Great Hall watching him, and the tips of his fingers grew hot, the collar of his robes too tight, and mouth salivating in an unpleasant way. There was a burning in the back of his throat, some distant echo between a plea for mercy and a sob of misery, and with each step the burn grew harsher, vile in its bitterness; it slowly expelled the oxygen within his lungs, and refused to allow him anymore in it's wake. The terror, the fear, the worry in his prayers — it had all been for nothing.

Screw you and screw your God, he thought in a moment of anger, every colourful curse he could think attached to the end of Lavinia's name. He'll always answer your prayers, she'd said, had resolutely promised him, he doesn't abandon his children. Well, he thought, he abandoned you and now he'll abandon me, so screw you, and screw your fucking God. But then the buzzing grew louder once ( what felt like an hour later ) he'd reached the teacher's table and was standing in front of Dumbledore, and in his bones he knew she wasn't the blame for this. I'm sorry, he desperately thought, feared she'd be torn from him because of it, this has nothing to do with her.

"Well... through the door, Harry." Dumbledore said. For once, he wasn't smiling at him.

Harry moved along the teachers' table. Hagrid was sat right at the end, and he did not wink at Harry, nor wave, nor give him any sign of greeting. Instead, he looked completely astonished, and stared at Harry like everyone else was when he walked by him. He wondered if he wished hard enough, if he might turn invisible, or become a simple star beneath the moon. Or, perhaps, if he may be allowed to escape to his wonderland for the rest of eternity. That would surely be better than this.

Going through the door out of the Great Hall, he found himself entering into a smaller room lined with paintings of wizards and witches, and a blazing fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite of him. The faces in the portraits turned to stare at him as he entered, and he saw a wizened witch flit out of her frame in his peripherals, and appeared in the next one, which contained a wizard with a walrus moustache. In an instance she was whispering in his ear.