"Goodness, it's exhausting, being oppressed," said Harry to Ron, as they turned a giant grain mill with the other Gryffindors.
"Could be worse," Ron replied, turning up his palm. A whip cracked across his bare back, and he yelped in pain.
"I told yer, no fraternizin'!" boomed Hagrid, his voice echoing across the Great Hall.
Harry and Ron continued in silence. The groaning and heaving of their fellow students around them had long since faded into background noise. They had spent the last four hours on what Hagrid had called the "discipline mill", a massive wooden contraption that looked like an upside-down umbrella frame. There was a tall, heavy column in the center sitting in a deep stone bowl, which a team of a few dozen people would turn using the handles that stuck out in all directions. Hagrid had warned them that the mill would topple over and crush someone if they stopped pushing, and Harry wasn't inclined to doubt him.
Suddenly, a hand appeared in Harry's face and yanked away his iconic spectacles. He was too tired to even flinch.
"And what, exactly, is this?" demanded Hagrid.
Harry looked over and saw a tall, blurry figure bearing down on him. A chill ran down his spine. Such a large man as Hagrid would be able to walk alongside and berate him for hours, if he so desired, without so much as breaking a sweat. That is, if he wanted to settle for only berating Harry.
"My glasses, sir," Harry explained, his voice starting to quiver. "I can't see without them."
"You don't need glasses to grind wheat," said Hagrid. "Why didn't you turn it in with your wand?"
Harry didn't reply. He'd already given the only explanation he had.
"What do you need these for? D'you want to be sent off to join the Ravenclaws?" Hagrid spat the name of the House through his teeth with revulsion, as though he had just bitten down on a lemon.
For a second, it felt like Harry's heart had stopped. "No! Please, I'm sorry..."
"I'm tired," whined Neville Longbottom, slumped over the handle by Harry's other shoulder. "And there isn't even anything in the grinder!"
Hagrid's face scrunched up, and he whipped something Harry couldn't identify out of his coat. "Crucio!"
Neville cried out and fell to the ground. Somewhere behind Harry, he could hear Neville sobbing as the other students trampled over. The mill grew heavier in his grip.
"Lucky you," Hagrid said, "you won't 'ave to pick up the slack - someone's just come back from the 'eadmaster's office."
A fresh pair of bloodied, bruised arms appeared in the corner of Harry's vision, draping themselves over the handle. Once Hagrid had walked off to yell at some other poor student, Harry squinted at the symbols branded on the newcomer's arm - he could make out the one that stood for "Gryffindor", and right next to that was the symbol for "half-blood". Right under that, although he wasn't entirely certain, he thought he could make out the symbol for "Irishman".
"Seamus," Harry guessed, trying his best to keep a low tone.
"Harry," the newcomer's voice replied. Harry supposed that this meant he had guessed correctly.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
"Well, I'm alive. You?"
"About the same. Have you seen Hermione?"
Seamus paused. "Don't think so. Sorry."
"What about George?" Ron piped up.
"Your brother?" Seamus asked. The three of them stepped over Neville again. "He's... safe."
Ron made a little noise in the back of his throat. "...What did they do to him?"
"Nothing-- They didn't--"
"You're lying to me," said Ron, raising his voice just a little too much for comfort.
"Not so loud!" Harry hissed. Ron cursed under his breath. Suddenly, something seized the boys from behind and pulled them off of the mill, sending them all tumbling to the ground.
"Are yeh deaf, too?" came Hagrid's voice from far above, "Or are yeh disrespectin' me? Headmaster's office, all of you. Now."
Hagrid picked them up and roughly ushered them into the hall, where Filch was already waiting to escort them to Dumbledore's office. Harry dragged himself up one flight of stairs and then another, terrified of what might happen if he fell too far behind Filch.
Eventually, they arrived at the door to Dumbledore's office, which was slightly ajar. Filch rapped his knuckles on the wall twice, then looked at the boys expectantly. Seamus stepped inside first, and Harry followed. Filch grabbed Ron by the arm and forced him inside.
Across the grand, circular room, Dumbledore sat at his desk, poring over a stack of parchments. He continued reading for a long time, and Harry was beginning to wonder if Dumbledore hadn't noticed them, when he suddenly looked up at Seamus.
"Back so soon?" Dumbledore asked, sharply raising an eyebrow. "You micks never learn to do as you're told, do you? Go on, sit down."
Dumbledore waved his hand at something behind them. Three hard wooden chairs swept out of thin air and plowed into the backs of their legs, knocking them into the seats.
"And you, Harry," Dumbledore continued, staring down the bridge of his nose, "I'm quite disappointed in you. Such a poor choice of associates. A paddy, a yid... I should have stepped in the first time I saw you with the Mudblood who wouldn't shut up about house-elves." He pushed himself up out of his seat and began to peruse the shelf behind him, which was filled with all manner of boxes and trinkets. "What a shame it is, that you chose the path you did. But it's no use crying over spilled milk. I can't help you now. It's out of my hands."
Dumbledore gently lifted the Sorting Hat off the shelf and placed it on Seamus's head. Harry watched in befuddlement. Whatever could Dumbledore possibly need the Hat for? Everyone waited, and waited, and the Sorting Hat sat silent for what felt like hours.
Eventually, the Sorting Hat sighed, and muttered, "I see." Dumbledore plucked the Hat off of Seamus, placed it onto Ron's, and, once again, it was silent for a disconcertingly long time.
An expression of, first, confusion, then dread wound across Ron's face. The Sorting Hat's appraisal was no more encouraging this time -- it grunted pensively, and that was the end of it. Dumbledore moved the Hat onto Harry's head, and he was concerned to realize that the Sorting Hat wasn't saying a word. The last time Harry had worn the Sorting Hat, it had been more interested in talking to him than even his own classmates were. This time around, he didn't hear so much as a peep. His hair began to stand on end and his mind raced with theories as to what activities the Hat might be conducting with his thoughts. None of the possibilities were benevolent.
Finally, after the longest time, the Sorting Hat spoke, startling Harry nearly to the point of jumping out of his seat. "My audit is complete," said the Hat, sounding bored. "These students are to be sorted into the Exsanguination Chamber."