Harry could feel consciousness return to him under layers of cool bedsheets, but he wasn't interested in opening his eyes. He was trying to hold on to the last remnants of the wonderful dream he'd been having — one without mysterious, dimly-lit corridors and frustration.
He'd been soaring beneath chilly wisps of cloud on his Firebolt; the wind whizzing in his ears as it blew his frazzled hair and robes behind him. Emerald treetops swayed hundreds of feet below as if to usher him onto the unknown destination ahead.
He grinned into his pillow and finally opened his eyes. Pale morning sunlight dazzled throughout the hospital wing and formed a rainbow on the wooden floor beside his bed. He checked his watch; it was ten a.m. and Saturday. A single bar of chocolate was leftover on his bedside from the previous night, so he scoffed it up and reached for his glasses.
Several beds seemed to have been filled overnight. Harry couldn't remember how many people had already been here when he'd arrived, but then again, last night's events were nothing more than a cloud of fog in his brain.
"Hello, Harry Potter," said a small voice to his right. He looked over and found a familiar mousy-haired boy staring at him with thick purple liquid secreting from one of his eyes.
"Dennis," Harry recalled. "What happened to your eye?" But Dennis Creevey did not respond. He merely smiled and blinked. The rest of the occupants began to stir and peer over their bed coverings at Harry.
He was utterly startled to find that the small boy in the bed across from him had the same mousy hair and purple fluid running down his face as the one to his right; as did the one to his left and the one two beds down. Before he knew it, he was being stared down by eight identical, smiling Dennis Creeveys.
"Er... hello..." Harry greeted. He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck when no one responded and got up, dressed, and headed for the corridor.
There were a few eyes on the floor by the doorway, and right outside stood Goyle, Cho, and Ginny. They all shrieked and guffawed as they caught sight of Harry who shifted his bewildered gaze from one delighted face to the other.
"Why hello, Harold," mocked Ginny. The other two burst into furious fits of laughter, and Ginny, finding high amusement in her own joke, clutched her side tightly. Fuming, Harry stomped off towards the Entrance Hall where he found Mundungus Fletcher sitting completely alone at the base of the marble staircase. He was hugging his knees and absentmindedly staring off through a curtain of matted ginger hair.
"Mundungus!" Harry called. The dumpy man jolted upwards and looked around alarmed before resting his gaze on Harry.
"Blimey..." he rasped. "I sure didn't expect to see you 'round these parts today, Potter."
"I go to school here..." said Harry.
"'Course you do." Mundungus motioned for Harry to sit beside him.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked after settling himself on the bottom step.
"I don't know anymore."
There was a long silence. The hall was completely baron which was unusual for a Saturday. Normally students could be spotted fluttering in and out of the great oak doors, finishing up their breakfast, and catching the last few sun rays of the season on the grounds. Where was everyone?
"Don't you have anything to do for the Order?" Harry asked. Mundungus let out a loud laugh that turned into a cough as he waved his hand in confute.
