THE LOST DOG ' s. black

[23] hijacked

     THE morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the common room, casting long shadows on the floor. The fire in the hearth had long since died down, leaving only the faintest remnants of warmth in the air. I woke to the soft murmurs of my friends still asleep on the couches and armchairs around me. The quiet was almost too peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous day.

I stretched, trying to work out the knots in my shoulders from sleeping in a sitting position. My body ached, but there was no time for that. I had to get up, even though part of me wanted to stay where I was, hidden in the comfort of the room that felt safer than anything outside its walls.

It was still early, but the absence of footsteps and chatter in the common room made it clear that no one was about to be rushing off to class today. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it—I’d slept longer than I’d meant to. Not that it mattered. It seemed that everyone had been granted the morning off, and it didn’t take much to figure out why.

The news from last night still weighed on me. McGonagall’s injury had been the final blow to the already fragile stability of the school. There was no telling when she’d be able to return to her post, if at all. The professors were likely scrambling to keep things together, but the absence of such a commanding presence at the school was unsettling, to say the least.

“Morning,” Ron’s voice broke the stillness, muffled by a yawn. He sat up groggily, running a hand through his messy hair. “What time is it?”

“Not sure,” I muttered, glancing around the room. “But there’s no class. McGonagall’s still... you know, in the hospital.”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah, heard about that. Think we’ll get any more information today?”

“I doubt it,” I said, shaking my head. “The whole school’s on edge. They won’t be telling us anything unless they absolutely have to.”

Hermione was the next to wake up. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, clearly not quite ready to face the day. “I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like... like we’re stuck in some nightmare.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “This is getting out of hand.”

Harry was awake now too, though he didn’t speak right away. He was sitting against the armrest of a chair, staring blankly at the fire. I could tell he hadn’t really slept. His eyes were still bloodshot, his face drawn in a way that made it clear he hadn’t gotten any real rest.

“What do we do now?” Ron asked, breaking the silence.

Harry didn’t immediately respond, as if he hadn’t heard the question. I watched him for a moment, noticing how tired he looked, how deeply the events of yesterday had taken their toll on him. After a long pause, he finally spoke, but his voice was quiet, distant.

“We wait,” he said, his voice steady, but not without a trace of frustration. “We don’t have a choice.”

“Wait?” Hermione echoed, disbelief in her tone. “Wait for what?”

“For something to change,” Harry muttered. “Something has to change, right?”

The weight of his words settled over the group. We all knew that the situation wasn’t going to fix itself on its own. The war was closing in on all of us, and we were all trying to pretend like we could handle it, but the truth was that none of us knew what was going to happen next. Hogwarts felt like a fragile bubble, and every passing day was a reminder that we were living on borrowed time.

“We can’t just sit around,” I said, sitting up straighter. The frustration in me was starting to build. I couldn’t stand the idea of waiting, not with everything at stake. “We need to be doing something.”