VII ; injury streak

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            ELARA RETURNED FROM HOGSMEADE WITH HER ARMS FULL OF SWEETS. struggling to keep the candy from falling, she slowly made her way up to the gryffindor tower. one of her roommates, aspen lovelace, was sick and decided it would be best she shouldn't venture into the cold.

            seamus finnegan and elara were chatting about which sweets they were going to give aspen when they reached the corridor that ended with the portrait of the fat lady, and they found it jammed with students.

           "what's going on?" asked seamus curiously. 

            elara stood on her toes to peer over the heads in front of her. the portrait seemed to be closed.

            "let me through, please," came percy weasley's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "what's the holdup here? you can't all have forgotten the password — excuse me, i'm head boy —"

             and then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first, so that a chill seemed to spread down the corridor. they heard percy say, in a suddenly sharp voice, "somebody get professor dumbledore. quick."

            people's heads turned; those at the back were standing on tiptoe. "what's going on?" said ginny, who had just arrived.

              a moment later, professor dumbledore was there, sweeping toward the portrait; the gryffindors squeezed together to let him through, and elara moved closer to see what the trouble was.

             "bloody hell —" elara stared at the sight before her.

            the fat lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes somber, to see professors mcGonagall, lupin, and snape hurrying toward him.

            "we need to find her," said dumbledore. "professor mcgonagall, please go to mr. filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the fat lady."

             "you'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice.

             it was peeves the poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry.

             "what do you mean, peeves?" said dumbledore calmly, and peeves's grin faded a little. he didn't dare taunt dumbledore. instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. 

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