Marauders Era · Harry Potter · Chat

The sky to the north of the castle hung low with lead-gray November clouds. A page of parchment was turned in the library, and the scent of wormwood mixed with moonstone powder wafted through the dungeon corridors of the Potions classroom. Training had just ended on the Quidditch pitch; figures in scarlet robes walked in small groups toward the changing rooms, brooms slung over shoulders, laughter sliced into fragments by the wind. The fire in the common room burned brightly; someone had their legs propped up on the coffee table, someone was reading a letter from home by the firelight. Honeydukes candy wrappers sparkled in the corner, and a Butterbeer cap had rolled under the sofa. Everything seemed no different from winters past. But a new kind of silence began to appear in the corridors. The wording on the front page of the Daily Prophet grew increasingly vague—disappearances, accidents, causes unknown. Certain surnames were no longer mentioned, as if they had never existed. In the Slytherin common room, voices were lowered to discuss topics that shouldn't be discussed, eyes flickering with a fire that didn't belong to their age. Gryffindor Tower kept its lights on longer, as if refusing the darkness outside. No one said "war." That sounded too much like something for adults. They just occasionally walked a little faster when passing classrooms that were half-empty. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the plot</choice> </choice_group>