Quarantined • DRARRY •

•Chapter Two• Day 3•

HARRY

Everyone left after breakfast. He saw the mass exodus, a sea of black transported in carriages from the castle to where the train waited, from his vantage point atop the Owlery.

He still liked to come to the Owlery, even though he found himself looking for Hedwig without realizing it. He hadn't gotten a new owl; to do so at this point seemed like an insult, when Hedwig had died defending him. She had been his only friend at the Dursleys.

He'd said goodbye to Ron and Hermione at breakfast, where Hermione had spent the majority of her time scrolling through her phone, reading the news of the corona virus as it spread throughout the UK.

Harry had tuned her out, thinking of taking a fly around the Quidditch pitch later, when she suddenly slammed something on the table in front of him. He jumped, then rolled his eyes.

"I don't need an iPhone." Harry said. "I'm fine with communicating by owl.

"We don't know how much longer that communication will be allowed," Hermione said. "Besides, owls can be intercepted, as you well know."

"Don't we have to pay for these?" He saw Ron had already turned his on and was tapping on the screen with his fingertips in fascination. "Internet service, cell service, stuff like that?"

"Come on, Harry." Hermione half-smiled. "You know I found a way around that."

"Fascinating," Ron said, and Harry heard the click of a camera. "But the pictures don't move—look!"

"I already programmed mine and Ron's numbers in there. Promise you'll text us."

"Hermione, I don't think this is that big of a deal—"

"Promise."

Harry huffed. "Fine."

Of course, her utterances about how important it was to stay in communication hadn't stopped him from tossing his new phone on his bed as soon as he arrived back in the dormitories.

He looked at the owls perched all around him, and thought with a pang of Sirius. It felt like all he did here was walk the paths of old memories. Ghosts followed him at every turn.

But the Sun was shining, and it was a warm day for March. The very least he could do was spend some time outdoors on his broom.

Quidditch still managed to sweep away every problem in his head, at least as long as he flew fast enough.

It was when Harry finally stepped back into the castle, thinking of taking a late lunch, his eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom, that he heard it.

Footsteps, pacing back and forth hurriedly.

They came from a nearby empty classroom, and Harry's wand jumped into his hand without thinking.

McGonagall had said that all the other students were staying home or with friends over break; even most of the teachers had retired to their summer homes.

Harry heard whispering in an odd language, and a chill went up his spine. Something dangerous lurked on the other side of that door, he was sure of it.

Heart pounding, he pressed his body against the wall and turned the knob so that it swung open.

The whispering stopped, and Harry heard the rustling of papers.