The Raven's Call

Coward

Each House stood gathered in tight groups, murmuring nervously as the Great Hall buzzed with tension. No one sat. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Things were going to plan. I stood beside Stella in the Ravenclaw area.

Snape's eyes scanned the Hall, slow and calculating. When he spoke, his voice was calm, cold, and commanding. "Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour," he began, stepping forward. "It has come to my attention that earlier this evening..." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "...Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade." A ripple of energy passed through the students like lightning. Gasps. Whispers. A few barely restrained smiles.  Snape raised his voice, cutting through the chatter.

"Now—should any student or staff attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression." A hush fell over the room once more, heavier now. The implication behind his words settled like frost over the gathered crowd. Snape's eyes swept across the hall again, slow and piercing. "Furthermore," he continued, "any person found to have knowledge of these events who fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty." He took a step forward, his robes rustling like spilled ink on stone. "Now then... if anyone here has any knowledge of Mr. Potter's movements this evening, I invite them to step forward. Now."

Silence.

Hundreds of students stood perfectly still—heads raised, eyes locked forward—but not a single soul moved. Then—footsteps. A murmur rippled through the room. Gasps. Whispers. All heads turned. From within the crowd, a figure stepped forward with quiet certainty.

"It would seem that, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies," Harry said, his voice ringing clear through the hush, "you have a bit of a security problem, Headmaster." The Great Hall doors swung open with force. And they came pouring in. Every member of the Order. Every member of Dumbledore's Army. Molly and Arthur Weasley. Bill and Fleur. Fred, George, Percy—Ron at the front. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tonks. Remus Lupin. Dean Thomas. Neville Longbottom. Hermione Granger.

They filled the room, shoulder to shoulder, unstoppable. Asteria immediately runs over to George, embracing him in a quick hug. "And I'm afraid," Harry continued, stepping further into the light, "it's rather extensive." Gasps turned into a stunned silence. Then Harry's voice sharpened, rising with fury. "How dare you stand where he stood," he spat, eyes locked on Snape. "Tell them how it was that night. Tell them how you looked him in the eye—a man who trusted you—and killed him. Tell them!"

Snape's expression twisted. He drew his wand. A collective gasp echoed across the room, students stumbling backward. Before anyone else could move, Professor McGonagall surged forward, stepping protectively in front of Harry. Her robes billowed, her stance firm as iron. Students pushed back, flattening themselves against the walls, trying to escape the crossfire that now felt inevitable.

McGonagall stepped forward, wand already raised, and the Hall exploded into motion. A streak of fire shot through the air, deflected instantly by Snape's wand with a sharp flick. It smashed into one of the massive hourglasses at the side of the room—emerald shards scattered across the floor, glinting in the torchlight. McGonagall advanced again. She was relentless.

Bolts of pure energy surged from her wand—blinding whites and golds, sharp arcs of blue light. Snape blocked them all, moving back with precision, parrying like a man fencing ghosts. The students pressed tighter against the walls. No one dared to speak. Every flick of McGonagall's wrist told us what she'd been holding back all year. Every block Snape made hinted at how much darker he had become.

A bolt of light missed its mark and slammed into the High Table, splitting a chair in two. Another ricocheted off the stone ceiling, showering us with sparks. I shielded my eyes, heart hammering in my chest. No one moved to help. No one dared. Then, in a single motion, Snape spun on his heel. His cloak billowed. Smoke erupted from his boots as he launched into the air. Glass shattered. He vanished through the window in a blur of black.

"Coward!" McGonagall shouted, her voice echoing like thunder across the Hall. The room exploded into cheers and applause. We didn't just watch Snape retreat—we watched the regime crack. But the victory was short-lived.

The temperature dropped. The candles flickered. A sudden chill swept through the room like a wave, and the enchanted ceiling above began to darken. Clouds churned overhead. Distant thunder rolled, low and ominous. Then—a scream. It came from a girl on the far side of the Hall, followed by gasps and murmurs as a voice—cold, inhuman—began to whisper. Not from one place, but many. One ear. Then another. Then everywhere.

"Harry." The voice slithered through the air like smoke, curling around our minds. "I know that many of you will want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise. But this is folly. Give me Harry Potter." The whispers grew louder, layered, as though He was speaking through the very walls. "Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour."

And then—silence. Not even the candles crackled. All eyes turned slowly, inevitably... to Harry. "What are you waiting for?" Pansy Parkinson's voice cut sharply through the tension, rising from the Slytherin crowd. "Someone grab him!" Before she could say another word, Ginny stepped forward—positioning herself directly in front of Harry, chin lifted in quiet defiance. Then, like a wave crashing over stone, the entire crowd began to shift.

Dumbledore's Army moved. Students stepped out from every corner of the Hall—Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, even a few Gryffindors not officially part of the group—forming a shield of bodies around Harry. Stella and I moved too, slipping in beside Luna, my heart was pounding, my wand in hand. If they wanted Harry, they'd have to get through all of us.

Before anyone could speak again, the doors of the Great Hall slammed open. "Students out of bed! Students in the corridors!" Filch bellowed as he stomped into view, panting and red-faced. He stopped in his tracks with Mrs. Norris curled in his arms. "They're supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!" Professor McGonagall snapped, her voice slicing clean through the tension. It echoed off the high walls like the crack of a whip.

"Oh," Filch blinked, already retreating. "Sorry, ma'am." He turned to shuffle away, but McGonagall's voice rang out again. "As it happens, Mr. Filch, your arrival is most opportune." Filch paused, glancing back with a raised brow. "If you would," she continued crisply, "I'd like you to lead Miss Parkinson and the rest of Slytherin House from the Hall. Aside from Asteria, of course." He nodded at once, stepping forward—then halted with uncertainty. "Er, exactly where is it I'd be leadin' 'em to, ma'am?" McGonagall gave it a beat, then her lips curled with quiet satisfaction. "The dungeons should do."

The Hall erupted into cheers and laughter, the tension snapping like a frayed wire. For a moment, there was lightness again. Hope. McGonagall's gaze returned to Harry, sharp and steady. He took a step toward her, and though I stood a few paces away, I could hear every word exchanged between them. "I presume you have a reason for returning, Potter," she said. Harry nodded. "Time. As much as you can give me." She didn't blink, didn't ask more questions. "Do what you have to do. I'll secure the castle." Harry turned, but then paused as McGonagall called to him one last time. "Potter," she said, her voice gentler now. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Professor," Harry replied, turning back with a small smile. Then he looked to Neville. "Hold the fort, Neville." And with that, he turned and exited the Great Hall, then—controlled chaos followed.