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Kaloned
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Harry opened his eyes and was dazzled by gold and green; he had no idea what had happened, he only knew that he was lying on what seemed to be leaves and twigs. Struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened, he blinked and realized that the gaudy glare was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above him.
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Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step he took: a cold that reached right down into his throat and tore at his lungs. And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, of hopelessness, filling him, expanding inside him ..
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The room was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high; it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.
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Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the dark ess they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight.
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"this is your final warning," said umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified to that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams
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The sun had risen now; it's light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows
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A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains: it was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, everything was quiet except for Ron and Hermione s slow, deep breathing.
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The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry her son.
Impatiently brushing away the wetness in his eyes, he reread the letter, this time concentrating on the meaning. It was like listening to a half-remembered voice.
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He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time, and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself .
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Harry's extremities seemed to have gone numb. He stood quite still, holding the miraculous paper in his nerveless fingers while inside him a kind of quiet eruption sent joy and grief thundering in equal measure through his veins. Lurching to the bed, he sat down.
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His blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging tress broke the moonlight.
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The water was icy; Harry's waterlogged clothes billowed around him and weighed him down. Taking deep breaths that filled his nostrils with the tang of salt and seaweed, he truck out for the shimmering, shrinking light now moving deeper into the cliff
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He was standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. He glanced over his shoulder. A towering cliff stood behind them, a sheer drop, back and faceless
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Harry could smell salt and rushing waves; a light chillly breeeze ruffled his hair as he looked out at moonlit star and star-strewn sky
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Harry could smell salt and rushing waves; a light chillly breeeze ruffled his hair as he looked out at moonlit star and star-strewn sky