Harry - The Entrance Hall
~Previously, on hogwarts_live: Holding the cloak-enfolded dagger tightly in one hand, his wand in the other, he stepped out into the entrance hall...
Now, read on...
Come to me.
Harry flung himself against a crumbling wall as the nearest Inferius turned slowly to regard him, its face doughy and bland with disinterest. Wand raised, trembling slightly, he waited for the attack. None came. A moment later the remaining Inferi revolved in place, as though turned by an unseen hand, but made no motion towards him. Harry took a deep breath; he wanted, more than anything, to duck back into the ante-room so that he could get away from their empty stares, but his eyes were drawn to the silent figures, searching their faces, unable to help himself. Other than Professor Sinistra, mercifully, there were none that he recognised, but that didn't keep each and every bloodless feature from etching itself indelibly on his mind. Keeping his back against the wall, he edged towards the steps, every sense straining for the first sign of movement, his wand never dropping for an instant. They won't attack. Voldemort wants me to reach him alive. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to turn away. He felt sudden emptiness behind him; lifting one foot cautiously, he managed to get his heel on the first step and eased himself slowly backwards.
Step by careful step, he ascended until he reached the cracked, stained stone of the landing. Only then did he turn to face the heavy doors to the Great Hall, the carved panels charred but intact. His hands curled into fists - one gripping his wand, the other, the dagger - he let them rest against the doors and remembered that first time he'd stood there, hearing the chatter and clamour of hundreds of voices in the room beyond, sick to his stomach at the idea of the Sorting, the unknown test ahead.
He set his weight against the doors and pushed.
Now, read on...
Come to me.
Harry flung himself against a crumbling wall as the nearest Inferius turned slowly to regard him, its face doughy and bland with disinterest. Wand raised, trembling slightly, he waited for the attack. None came. A moment later the remaining Inferi revolved in place, as though turned by an unseen hand, but made no motion towards him. Harry took a deep breath; he wanted, more than anything, to duck back into the ante-room so that he could get away from their empty stares, but his eyes were drawn to the silent figures, searching their faces, unable to help himself. Other than Professor Sinistra, mercifully, there were none that he recognised, but that didn't keep each and every bloodless feature from etching itself indelibly on his mind. Keeping his back against the wall, he edged towards the steps, every sense straining for the first sign of movement, his wand never dropping for an instant. They won't attack. Voldemort wants me to reach him alive. Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to turn away. He felt sudden emptiness behind him; lifting one foot cautiously, he managed to get his heel on the first step and eased himself slowly backwards.
Step by careful step, he ascended until he reached the cracked, stained stone of the landing. Only then did he turn to face the heavy doors to the Great Hall, the carved panels charred but intact. His hands curled into fists - one gripping his wand, the other, the dagger - he let them rest against the doors and remembered that first time he'd stood there, hearing the chatter and clamour of hundreds of voices in the room beyond, sick to his stomach at the idea of the Sorting, the unknown test ahead.
He set his weight against the doors and pushed.