Plain Sight

The Gryffindor common room was alive, a pulsing heart of celebration deep within the castle. A completely clandestine show of pure joy and excitement.The room was thick with the warmth of bodies packed close together, moving in perfect harmony as they wove and swayed, becoming one. The sweet smell of butterbeer, and the distant hint of something more dubious that Lee claimed he’d smuggled in from Hogsmeade, hung heavily in the air. Laughter and shouts of victory bounced off the stone walls, creating a loud cacophony as the sounds mixed with the pounding music. The flickering light of the fireplace cast  long shadows over the crimson and gold banners swaying delicately above them.

Thalia knew there was no escape — not that she really wanted one. Ginny’s arm was firmly linked through hers, tugging her into the chaos every time she even thought about slipping away for a breather. If Ginny wasn’t dragging her into another impromptu dance, then Katie, Angelina, and Alicia were looping their arms around her and spinning her in dizzying circles, their laughter ringing through the air.

Lee had somehow appointed himself bartender, and spent the evening shoving drinks into anyone’s free hand, his grin wide and mischievous. "Another round for the heroes of Gryffindor!" he bellowed, thrusting a frothing cup into Thalia’s hand before being swept away into a rowdy conga line led by Seamus, Dean and Kristen.

The gramophone in the corner blasted song after song, the beat thrumming through the floor and vibrating in Thalia’s chest. Students jumped and swayed, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, their voices rising in a chorus of half-sung lyrics and celebratory chants. Every so often, a fresh roar of cheers would ripple through the crowd — sometimes for no reason other than sheer joy.

Thalia felt as though she’d been dancing for hours, her legs aching and her heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the game and the party. Her hair was stuck to her flushed face, tickling her forehead and neck each time she moved. Slipping away from the swirling crowd, she collapsed into a squishy armchair nestled in the far corner of the room. The cushions sank comfortably beneath her as she curled into herself, taking a deep breath.

From her little corner, she watched the room unfold. Nova and Neville danced in wild, joyous circles, barely avoiding other figures on the dance floor, their heads thrown back in laughter that echoed off the stone walls. Someone had charmed the candles floating in the air to flicker red and gold, casting the room in a soft, magical glow. Lee stood on a table, leading another round of Weasley is Our King, while Seamus waved his butterbeer like a conductor's baton. 

She smiled, resting her chin on her hand, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere. Despite the celebrations, there was a tug in her heart, a quiet longing for someone who wasn’t there. She could almost feel George beside her, his arm lazily slung over the back of the chair, his laughter warm and familiar in her ear. The old jumper she wore felt heavier now, as though it carried the weight of his absence. She squeezed the fabric tighter around herself, inhaling the faint scent of him still clinging to the wool.

A flash of red hair caught her eye, and she looked up to see Ginny weaving through the crowd, two butterbeers clutched firmly in her hands. Thalia quickly blinked away the threatening sting in her eyes, forcing the ache back down as she straightened up, determined not to let the melancholy take hold. Tonight was about celebration — George would have wanted that.

Ginny flopped into the chair beside her, breathless and glowing with triumph. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing, and her wide grin was infectious as she handed Thalia one of the butterbeers. The bottles clinked together softly in a quiet toast.

"We did good," Ginny said, leaning back against the armrest, her eyes bright with satisfaction as she surveyed the scene before her, much like a benevolent ruler.

Thalia looked at her friend, a smile curling at her lips as the warmth of the drink spread through her fingers. She nodded softly, feeling the warmth spread through her chest too. “Yeah,” she agreed, voice barely above a whisper. "You really did.”

The pair were lulled into comfortable silence, both lost in their thoughts as the party continued to swell around them. Suddenly, Thalia noticed flickers of red light dancing across Ginny's face, painting her features in a brief, vivid glow before fading back into shadow. The bursts came in quick succession, bright and fleeting, casting strange patterns against the walls. Thalia frowned, glancing around the common room. The enchanted candles, with their soft golden hues, couldn’t be the source of such brilliant flashes. This light was different—too sharp, too colourful, too unnatural. Her stomach twisted as she turned, scanning the common room for the source of the strange lights.

A sudden explosion of colour reflected off the window panes, a brilliant burst of crimson and gold illuminating the common room and dancing across the walls like firework sparks. Her breath caught as she spun toward the window, drawn by the unmistakable brilliance of the flares outside. 

At first, she thought—hoped—it was just another round of fireworks, perhaps a last, defiant tribute from Fred and George, even from afar. It would be just like them to set off a dazzling display in honor of Gryffindor's victory. Or maybe some rowdy Gryffindor supporters had broken out into the ground, determined to show their house pride for all to see.

Thalia shot up from her chair, the squishy cushions protesting with a soft whoosh as she darted toward the window. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat quickening with the frantic urgency propelling her forward. The common room was a blur of colour and sound — the pounding bass of the music thrummed beneath her feet, and laughter spilled from clusters of students who danced and celebrated, blissfully unaware of what was unfolding outside.

She slipped through gaps in the crowd, weaving around clusters of dancers, their arms flailing in time with the beat. Barely missing sloshing drinks and uncoordinated limbs.  Someone spun too close, nearly knocking her off balance, but she shoved past them, barely sparing an apologetic glance. 

Finally, she reached the window, her palms bracing against the cool stone as she leaned forward, eyes darting across the dark grounds below. The flickering lights continued, wild bursts of red and green slicing through the darkness like jagged lightning. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pulse raced even faster.

The scene unfolding on the grounds below made her blood run cold.

Beyond the glass, down in the shadowed grounds, twelve shadowy figures moved in the darkness, circling like vultures around Hagrid’s hut; the grass dark and slick beneath their feet. Cloaked and hooded, they moved like wraiths in the night, their wands slashing through the air with cruel precision. Each flash of red, blue, and purple illuminated their twisted faces for the briefest of moments before plunging the grounds back into darkness. Each spell aimed toward the enormous figure standing at the threshold of his hut. Hagrid.

The wide smile vanished from her face, replaced by a look of horror. “No,” she whispered, a strangled gasp slipping past her lips.

The half-giant stood in his doorway, a massive silhouette against the flickering light. His enormous frame hunched low, arms raised as if to shield himself from the relentless barrage of spells raining down on him. Even from this distance, Thalia could see the way his shoulders trembled, the way his enormous hands flinched with every impact, his thick skin offering him some form of protection. The ground around him was charred and blackened, the grass reduced to ash beneath a barrage of spells. The edges of his thatched roof smoldered, embers glowing like angry fireflies, while sparks danced through the air with every curse that missed its mark.

Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, each beat echoing in her ears. The air in the common room felt suffocating now, the crush of bodies, the heat of the fire crackling in the hearth, the overwhelming press of noise. She couldn’t breathe. Panic clawed at her throat.

“Ginny,” Thalia choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with urgency. Her eyes darted frantically across the sea of oblivious students, searching. “Ginny!”

Pushing through the throng of dancing bodies, Ginny finally reached her side, breathless and flushed, her face shrouded with trepidation. Thalia could only lift a shaking hand, pointing toward the window. Her arm trembled, her fingers stiff and cold. Ginny followed her gaze, and the moment her eyes landed on the scene below, her face drained of colour.

“Oh my god,” Ginny whispered, the words barely audible over the thudding bass of the music. “Hagrid…”

The common room felt wrong now — the pulsing music, the laughter, the shouts of celebration all clashed horribly with the nightmare unfolding outside. Thalia’s pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the festivities. Her fists clenched at her sides, the warmth of the butterbeer long forgotten, replaced by a cold weight of dread that settled deep in her chest.

“We have to do something,” Thalia breathed, but the words barely made it past her lips.

Suddenly, Ginny’s voice sliced through the noise like a knife. “Harry!” she cried, loud and desperate. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the music still pounding but the dancing slowed as heads turned toward her. Eyes filled with confusion and curiosity locked onto the red-haired girl standing frozen at the window, her face pale and stricken with fear.

Harry pushed through the crowd, Ron and Hermione flanking him, their faces painted with concern. “What is it?” Harry demanded, his gaze flicking between Ginny and Thalia.

Thalia could only gesture toward the window with a feeble flick of her hand, her throat tight as tears burned her eyes. The three of them rushed forward, pressing against the glass to see.

The colour drained from Harry and Ron’s faces as they took in the scene below. Hermione let out a soft, horrified gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. Shadows flickered across their pale features, cast by the smoldering embers around Hagrid’s hut and the distant flashes of spellfire. 

Pulling her eyes away from their stricken faces, Thalia forced herself to focus, heart pounding in her chest like a drum. Her gaze swept over the darkened grounds, trying to make sense of the scene below. Who were these shadowy figures? Why were they attacking Hagrid?

Beside her, the trio had fallen into frantic whispers, their voices low and urgent. Harry's fists were clenched tight at his sides, his green eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "We need to get to McGonagall," he hissed. "She'll know what to do."

"I’ll go," Hermione whispered, her face pale and pinched with worry. "I can get there faster."

"No — I’ll go," Ron insisted. Placing a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders. "If you get caught…"

“I’ll go, I can use the map and the…” Harry interrupted.

But before their plan could take shape, a sudden flash of movement caught Thalia’s eye. Her breath hitched as she pressed closer to the window, her hands braced against the cold glass. A lone figure was moving swiftly across the darkened grounds, their silhouette cutting through the night like a blade.

"There!" Thalia gasped, pointing. The others crowded around her, eyes wide as they followed her gaze.

The figure rushed toward Hagrid’s hut, hair spilling wildly from its tight bun and catching the breeze, the dark strands whipping across her face. Her cloak billowed behind her, snagging on the uneven ground as she sprinted, undeterred. Even from this distance, Thalia recognized that commanding stride — the purposeful set of her shoulders, the urgency in every step.

"I think McGonagall already knows," Ginny breathed, a note of relief threading through her voice.

They watched in breathless silence as Professor McGonagall reached the edge of the scene, her silhouette stark against the moonlit sky. She stood on the slope just above them, her posture rigid, head held high, exuding quiet authority even from afar. Though they couldn’t hear her words, it was clear she had called out — every hooded figure whipped around, their wands snapping in her direction like snakes poised to strike.

For a moment, the night seemed to still. McGonagall’s wand hung loosely at her side, her fingers curled around the polished wood, deceptively calm. Even from this distance, Thalia could feel the sheer force of her presence, a silent storm gathering on the edge of the battlefield. The professor’s sharp gaze swept over the scene, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t falter.

Then, the cloaked figures moved.

As if some unspoken signal had passed between them, every wand snapped upward, the darkness split by jagged beams of scarlet light. The stunning spells shot through the air, blazing against the inky night. Thalia barely had time to gasp before the curses slammed into McGonagall, square in the chest.

“No!” someone choked beside her, but Thalia couldn't tear her eyes away.

McGonagall crumpled. Her body jerked backwards, feet slipping out from under her as the force of the spells sent her tumbling down the slope. She rolled, limbs limp, her robes catching on the grass, twisting around her as she fell. Time slowed — each heartbeat thudding loud in Thalia’s ears as the professor finally came to rest at the foot of the hill, unmoving.

A horrified gasp tore from Thalia’s throat. She was convinced she heard someone scream, a raw, broken sound that barely rose above the pounding in her chest. Around her, the Gryffindors stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief. The music still thumped behind them, sickeningly out of place, the flicker of red and gold firelight dancing mockingly across their faces.

She grabbed Ginny’s arm, her nails digging into the other girl’s sleeve. "They… they hit her," she whispered, voice shaking. "They hit her — she’s not moving."

Thalia was certain she heard it — a deep, anguished roar that tore from Hagrid’s throat and carried on the wind, raw with panic and fury. The enormous man stumbled forward, every step heavy with desperation as he tried to reach the fallen professor. But the attackers turned on him once more, their wands snapping toward him with a newfound cruelty, spell after spell crackling through the night. Hagrid threw his massive arms over his head, shielding himself as sparks of red and green exploded against his skin, bouncing harmlessly off his giant frame.

Realising the futility of fighting back alone, he changed course, barreling toward the Forbidden Forest. The ground seemed to quake beneath him as he sprinted, his long strides carrying him swiftly into the tree line. Within moments, the shadows swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but the rustling leaves and the distant echo of snapping branches.

The robed figures hesitated. They lingered at the edge of the forest, their silhouettes sharp against the moonlit grass, heads snapping at every rustling branch and distant hoot of an owl. The forest loomed dark and ancient before them, an ominous wall of twisted trees and shifting shadows. Still, their wands remained aloft, the tips glowing faintly as they prowled the treeline, searching. Then, as if some silent agreement had been reached, they pressed forward, slipping into the darkness one by one. The trees swallowed them just as they had Hagrid, leaving behind only an unsettling stillness.

Thalia’s heart pounded painfully against her ribs as she turned her gaze back toward McGonagall. The professor lay motionless, illuminated by moonlight, at the foot of the slope, her robes dark against the grass. From this distance, Thalia couldn’t tell if she was even breathing. The weight of the moment crashed down on her, and she felt the burn of tears sting her eyes.

Turning to the dumbfounded figure beside her she choked out “Kristen,” the sound barely a whisper. Without a second thought, Thalia flung herself into the girl’s arms, burying her face in her shoulder as the sobs wracked her body. Kristen held her tightly, stroking her back, but the comfort barely registered.

The common room had gone eerily silent. The music had long since faded into a distant memory, leaving only the quiet hum of candle flames and the faint crackle of the fireplace. Small sniffles and muffled cries broke the hush, scattered like raindrops hitting a still pond. Nova clung to Neville, her face buried in his chest as he whispered soft reassurances into her hair. Beside Thalia, Harry stood rigid, his arm wrapped protectively around Ginny bringing her into his side. The younger girl gripped the front of his shirt tightly, her knuckles white, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the scene beyond the window.

Ron and Hermione stood close, wrapped in each other’s arms, their expressions blank with shock. Hermione’s hand trembled against Ron’s back, and Ron’s eyes were dark, distant, unseeing. No one moved. No one spoke. The weight of what they had just witnessed settled heavily in the air, suffocating, cold.

Time stretched on, each second dragging endlessly. 

Suddenly, a croaking voice shattered the silence.

“Who’s that?” Seamus asked, his red-rimmed eyes wide as he leaned away from Dean’s embrace, straining to get a better view through the window.

All eyes turned back to the grounds, where a faint light bobbed through the darkness. A lantern, its golden glow flickering against the night, drifted closer, casting long shadows across the grass. The figures beneath it were little more than silhouettes at first, shrouded in darkness, but as they neared, the moonlight revealed three distinct forms: one small and slight, another fuller and round, and a third — shorter, thinner — moving with brisk determination.

Thalia squinted, pressing her forehead to the cool glass as she tried to make out their faces. Her breath caught when she saw them surge forward, rushing to McGonagall’s side. The smaller figure knelt beside her, hands trembling as they carefully rolled the professor onto her back, checking for signs of life. The lantern shifted, casting its beam downward, and Thalia caught a glimpse of starched white fabric glinting in the moonlight.

“Madame Pomfrey,” Seamus whispered, his voice thick with relief. “Thank Merlin. She’ll know what to do.”

Thalia’s eyes darted to the other figures. The rounder one crouched low, hands fluttering nervously over McGonagall as if trying to help but not knowing where to begin. The third stood slightly apart, wand held aloft, casting a gentle light over the scene. Their faces were pale and drawn, but unmistakable.

“I think that’s Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout with her,” Colin murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

A flicker of hope bloomed in Thalia’s chest, fragile and trembling. McGonagall was in the best hands now — they would help her. They had to.

As they watched, Madame Pomfrey bent low, pressing her ear to McGonagall’s chest. After a tense moment, she straightened, nodding sharply to Flitwick, who produced a stretcher with a flick of his wand.  The quiet rustling of robes and hurried whispers floated up from the now eerily silent grounds as the professors carefully levitated McGonagall onto the floating stretcher, moving with the practiced urgency of those who had seen too much war and loss.

The group set off toward the castle, the lantern swinging gently with each step. Thalia tracked their progress until the darkness swallowed them once more, the only sign of their passing the faint glow of light bobbing toward the infirmary.

A hush settled over the common room, heavy and still. Thalia exhaled slowly, realizing she’d been holding her breath. The weight on her chest lessened ever so slightly, but the lingering fear still clung to her skin, cold and prickling.

“They’ll take care of her,” Seamus said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Thalia nodded, the knot of tension in her stomach loosening just a fraction. She wasn’t sure if it was comfort or sheer exhaustion that made her lean against Kristen, but as she watched the last flicker of lantern light vanish into the night, she felt a quiet, desperate hope that things might still be okay.

The group lingered by the window for a few moments more, their breaths shallow, eyes still locked on the darkened grounds. Slowly, as if pulled by an invisible thread, they drifted back into the centre of the common room. The earlier celebration felt like a dream — distant and hazy, its echoes long faded into the hush that now settled over the Gryffindor Tower. The crackling fire was the only sound, casting flickering shadows along the worn stone walls and illuminating the faces of those who’d gathered in uneasy silence.

Thalia moved as if in a trance, allowing Kristen to gently steer her toward the hearth. The plush armchair she sank into felt far too soft, too warm, as though the room itself was trying to lull her into a false sense of comfort. Across from her, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie shifted closer on the sofa, creating space between them. Angelina caught Thalia’s eye, her expression soft with quiet understanding, and patted the seat beside her. Without a word, Thalia slid over, feeling the warmth of their presence press against her sides as the older girl placed a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Nova and Neville settled nearby, Nova curling into his lap like a child seeking solace, her face buried in his chest. Neville held her close, one hand gently stroking her hair, his own gaze distant and unreadable. The others trickled in after them. Ginny settled between Harry and Ron, her small frame pressed tightly to Harry’s side. Lee slumped into an armchair, his face buried in his hands. Seamus and Dean sat shoulder to shoulder, their usual boisterousness replaced with a heavy quiet.

The fire popped softly, embers floating lazily upward, but no one flinched. The weight of what they’d seen pressed down on them like a storm cloud, suffocating in its silence.

Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice soft but urgent. “Nova, Kristen, Lia…” She hesitated, glancing between the three Hufflepuffs. “Do you… do you think you’re safe here for the night?”

Her words sliced through the quiet, sharp and unexpected. Neville’s head snapped up, his arm tightening around Nova protectively. “What?” he demanded, his voice low and tense. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Hermione shifted uneasily, wringing her hands in her lap. “We just saw our Head of House get attacked,” she reasoned quietly. “By unknown assailants. Someone is bound to come check on Gryffindor Tower eventually, and when they do… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for the Hufflepuffs to be here.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. No one dared to breathe. Thalia glanced at Nova and Kristen, unease prickling down her spine. The warmth of the fire suddenly felt stifling.

“Those Hufflepuffs are our best friends!” Neville’s voice rang out, louder than anyone expected in the hushed common room. His face was flushed, eyes blazing as he looked between Thalia, Nova, and Kristen. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his determined features, making the usually soft-spoken boy look fierce.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Hermione snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. She spun to face him, her curls bouncing slightly with the sudden movement. “But if Umbridge climbs through that portrait hole, Merlin knows what the consequences will be!” Her breath hitched slightly, but she pushed on, trying to make the others understand.

The tension in the room crackled like the embers in the hearth. Thalia could feel her heart pounding, a cold dread seeping into her bones. Hermione’s words hung heavily in the air. 

Around her, the Gryffindors shifted uneasily, exchanging wary glances. No one wanted to admit it, but Hermione was right.

Seamus clenched his jaw, his fists curling at his sides. “But they’re not even doin’ anything wrong,” he muttered, his Irish lilt thick with anger. “They’re just here.”

“And that’s enough for her,” Hermione said softly. Her eyes darted to the window, where the darkened grounds stretched out before them, quiet and foreboding. “You know how she works. She’ll twist anything to get what she wants. And if she thinks for even a second that we’re plotting with other Houses…” Hermione trailed off, her gaze falling to the floor.

The fire crackled again, and the shadows danced along the walls. No one spoke. Thalia swallowed hard, glancing at Nova and Kristen. Nova looked pale, her wide eyes flickering nervously toward the portrait hole, while Kristen’s jaw was tight, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“We’re not leaving,” Kristen said quietly, her voice steady but low. “Not after what we saw. We’re staying.”

The quiet strength in her words made Thalia sit up a little straighter. She reached out, giving Kristen’s hand a squeeze. Neville nodded firmly, his grip on Nova tightening.

“We stick together,” Neville said quietly, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “No matter what.”

The room fell silent once more, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire and the faint wind howling outside the castle walls.