BLACK {1} harry potter

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning when multitudes of owls swooped through the Great Hall, identical pieces of ivory parchment were delivered to Harry, Hermione, Neville, and I. Hermione read hers aloud:

Your detention will take place at eleven o' clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Professor McGonagall

I huffed lightly, "Am I the only one that forgot we had detention?" I grabbed my own note that Thorin had dropped in the middle of my plate of biscuits. The back of it was sticky with remnants of blackberry jam.

Suddenly a flash of white, and I was surrounded by darkness. I blinked my eyes harshly in an attempt to shake myself from the vision or dream or whatever this was to no avail. Tall, hovering trees were all around me; before I could completely take the scene in, though, it changed. A clearing, dirt replacing the tangling weeds from before. Something white, something pure, dead on the ground. A threatening cloak approaching with shining teeth sneering at me. A tremor.

"Sarah," Harry's voice called out to me. I was back at breakfast now, and the people around me were staring curiously; I'm sure I would be staring, too, but I was lucky enough to be the watched party in practically every situation, or so it seemed. "I'm guessing detention's going to be worse than we thought?"

"Something dark, for sure."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Let me guess: you don't know anything else?"

I gave him a look. "I know more than you."

When the common room clock that hung directly over the fireplace read ten minutes to eleven o' clock we said our farewells to Ron and headed to the Entrance Hall. We didn't speak: Mione didn't complain about losing study time, and Harry didn't grumble about having to spend time with Malfoy. I'd forgotten he'd be with us, too. Just lovely.

It wasn't hard to find Filch and Malfoy. The grimy man with scraggly hair and a scaring grin with a cat that I'm sure stood in for any type of romance—Filch was the dictionary definition for a cat lady—was enough for a double take. Not the good kind either. The tall hunched man contrasted greatly from the short spoiled brat next to him: Malfoy, though do I really have to explain that?

"Follow me," Filch's chilling voice rasped once we'd approached him. He glared at us as he led the way to the castle's towering front doors. The ornate pieces of oak creaked as he opened them. 

We stopped as he manually lit a lantern, continuing away from the castle silently--besides the caretaker's uneven breaths and quiet grumbles. "I bet you won't think twice about breaking a school rule again, eh? Yes, hard work and pain are the best teachers, I'd said. . a true pity they let the old punishments die out: use to hang you by your wrists for a few days. I still have the chains in my office, all oiled up in case they're needed."

Me and Harry shared a 'what the bloody hell' glance because what the bloody hell. I almost wanted to laugh; this guy was literally insane. No one said anything, though I'm sure we're all thinking quite a lot.

"Right, off we go. And don't think about running off, would only make me happier." The older man gave us a yellow grin. 

I, for some reason, was the closest to Filch. Everyone seemed to be hiding behind me, and when I tried to walk in between 'Mione and Harry I was lightly shoved back to place. I narrowed my eyes at them. Hermione didn't pay much notice, seeming to be sweating almost as much as Neville. It was understandable; I'd never heard Filch quite as delighted as he seemed to be now. I'm sure we were going to be tortured somehow.