Chapter Text
I walk into the great hall, bracing myself for the stares and whispers. But nothing happens. Everything is normal. There are no screams of horror, no fainting, and… no Draco.
I scan the crowds, all of them concentrating on stuffing their faces as fast as humanly possible.
Twin mops of red hair catch my eye, the boys hidden beneath them slinking stealthily along the mottled wall. I shake my head at Fred and Gorge, turning away. I don’t want to get involved in one of their schemes.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice.
A loud caterwaul sounds from their direction and I whip my head toward the twins, Just in time to catch a glob of mashed potatoes to the face.
Silence.
And then The hall erupts in chaos.
Drumsticks fly through the air, globs of Green Bean Casserole splattering the walls behind me. I duck as a full-sized chicken breast flys past my face, missing me by inches. I don’t have time to investigate who had the audacity to yeet an entire, full-sized chicken breast at the Boy Who Lived, as a mutilated onion smacks the wall behind me.
I take off into the chaos, dodging potatoes and carrots, diving to the ground to avoid a barrage of hamburgers, flung by a group of ravenclaws clustered behind an overturned table. I pause to look at the war raging around me.
Hogwarts students seem to be forming alliances, the most unlikely pairs being formed amid the chaos.
Gryffindors stand back to back with slytherins, flinging bread rolls and corn side by side. I see a young Hufflepuff 1st year shake hands with a 3rd year slytherin, the two making eye contact, before diving into the fray.
The brand new team works like a well oiled machine, dodging flying foods and showers of peas, the two of them calling out instructions to each other, yelling for more amo, or cover so they can attack a larger group.
Hermione beacons me over to her group of gryffindors assembled around her like an army. I shake my head, smiling slightly, and march forward. Hermione doesn’t need my help.
I slip through the battle, trying not to laugh maniacally as our great hall turns Into a war zone. Teachers are pushed up against the walls, cowering with their hands over their heads. Moganagal looks horrified, an expression that would equate to that of someone who had just consumed a rather tart lemon.
I stifle a snort and continue scanning the masses, looking for the familiar spiky hair I know so well.
I pause, catching sight of a dash of blond amid the crush of people, before it too, is lost in the ocean of black.
I curse silently, whipping my head back and forth. But he’s gone. I start forward, trying to push my way through the crowd, when a large, meaty hand swipes the air in front of me, batting a huge piece of Treacle Tart away from my head. I leap backward and the floor slides out from under me, my foot having slipped in a puddle of pudding. I thump to the floor, head spinning.
My stomach roils. Knowing just how hard the treacle tart is (unfortunately I learned that the hard way. My first bout with it sent me straight to Madame Pomfrey for a split tooth.) I can imagine how my head would have been feeling just about now.
“Alrigh’ harry?”
Haggrid stands over me, covered in Mac n Cheese and broccoli florets.