Harry Potter · Chat

The stone bricks in the corridor woke up first. The bottom step gave a muffled groan, shifted three inches to the left, and stopped again—it was still hesitating over which direction to turn today. The daylight filtering in through the high windows above was as thin as watered-down milk. The floating candles, however, were still burning, looking both redundant and stubborn in the pale dawn. A portrait yawned. The old wizard in the painting pushed his nightcap up, glanced at the empty corridor, and closed his eyes again. Several hounds in the neighboring frame, however, had already pricked up their ears, barking silently in a certain direction—they were always the first to hear any stirring in the towers. There was indeed stirring in the towers. A door was pushed open, then closed. Then another. Footsteps fell sporadically into the stone corridor; like raindrops, it was just one or two at first, then gradually thickened. A girl pulled her robes on as she walked, fumbling with her sleeve twice before finding the opening. The person behind her was hugging three books as thick as castle bricks, chin resting on the top one, walking like a sleepwalker. At the stairwell, two boys bumped shoulders; neither spoke, merely nodding to each other before turning off in different directions. An unbuttoned schoolbag gaped open, half a roll of parchment poking out, bouncing along with its owner's steps. A ghost drifted right through them. No one looked up. The ghost floated around the middle of the corridor for a while, idly brushing past the helmet of a suit of armor. The armor shivered, letting out a faint metallic clatter. In the adjacent portrait, the Fat Lady was adjusting her wig in a hand mirror; catching a glimpse of this reflection, she huffed, "How rude." The aroma of toast wafted from the direction of the Great Hall. The smell acted like a signal, and the footsteps in the corridor quickened in unison. A Hufflepuff boy jogged past two Ravenclaw girls, leaving behind a mumbled, "Excuse me." A first-year student squatted in the corner, frantically picking up ink bottles that had tumbled out of his bag; dark blue ink had already drawn a crooked arc across the floor. No one stopped, but as someone walked past, they casually slid a runaway bottle back to him. The sun finally crested the spires. Light flooded in through the high windows, dyeing the entire corridor pale gold. The ghost became almost transparent in the light, then disappeared behind a door. The Fat Lady smoothed her wig, cleared her throat, and prepared to begin her day of passing judgment.