Harry woke up late. Again.
The dorm was quiet except for Ron's snoring, loud and uneven, like he was choking on his own dreams. Sunlight was already sneaking through the curtains and Harry's head pounded a little from staying up too late the night before. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, hair sticking up in every direction worse than normal.
"Ron, wake up," Harry muttered, throwing a pillow across the room. It hit Ron's arm and bounced off. Ron just groaned, rolled over, and pulled the blanket tighter. No help there.
Harry sighed, pulled on his robes which still had some ink stains on the sleeve, and went to grab his wand. Of course, it wasn't on the nightstand where he swore he left it. He checked under the pillow, under the mattress, even in his boots. Nothing.
He groaned. "Don't tell me…"
Finally, after crawling halfway under the bed, he found it wedged behind a pile of Chocolate Frog wrappers he'd forgotten to toss out. He grabbed it, dusted it off on his robes, and shoved it in his pocket.
By the time he hurried down the Gryffindor staircases and made it into the Great Hall, breakfast was already halfway done. The smell of eggs and bacon made his stomach growl. He tried to slip past quickly but of course Malfoy saw him.
"Well, look who decided to show up," Malfoy said loudly from the Slytherin table. He stuck his foot out as Harry passed. Harry tripped, stumbled, and nearly face planted into the floor before catching himself. Crabbe and Goyle laughed like they'd just witnessed the best joke in history.
Harry gritted his teeth but didn't stop. He wasn't giving Malfoy the satisfaction.
He dropped into a seat next to Hermione, who didn't even look up from her mountain of parchment. "You're late again," she said in that clipped voice she used when she was trying not to sound like she was scolding but absolutely was.
"Good morning to you too," Harry muttered, grabbing some toast and biting into it.
Hermione glanced up, frowned at the mess of his robes, then went back to scribbling notes. Ron finally stumbled in and flopped onto the bench across from them, hair sticking up and face pale. "Ugh. Why didn't you wake me?" he asked, reaching for eggs with one hand.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I tried."
It would've been an ordinary morning. Just another day at Hogwarts. But Harry felt… off. The scar on his forehead itched faintly, not the sharp pain like when Voldemort was near, but a kind of buzzing under his skin. He tried to ignore it.
Then the whole hall shook.
A loud boom rattled the walls, plates clattering, pumpkin juice spilling. Students yelped and scrambled. The teachers at the high table were already on their feet, wands out. Ron dropped his fork. "What the bloody hell was that?"
Before anyone could answer, the heavy doors slammed open.
A hooded figure stumbled inside. Their cloak was shredded, dust clinging to it, and they clutched something tightly in their hand. The air seemed to shimmer weirdly around them, like heatwaves on a road.
"Stay back!" McGonagall shouted, but the figure took one more staggering step forward and collapsed on the stone floor.
Whatever they'd been holding slipped from their hand and slid across the ground. It spun twice, metal gleaming, before stopping right by Harry's shoe.
A dagger. Silver. Strange markings carved into the blade, glowing faintly like it was alive.
Harry froze. His scar throbbed harder, sharp now. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his head.
"Step away, Potter," Snape barked, striding forward, wand raised.
But Harry couldn't move. His eyes were locked on the dagger. Something about it felt… familiar. Like it was calling to him.
The hooded figure groaned, head lifting just enough to show their face. For the briefest second, Harry swore he saw green eyes staring back at him. Green like his own.
Gasps broke out around the hall. Hermione grabbed his arm. "Harry… what's happening?"
He didn't answer. His throat was too dry.
The figure coughed, voice weak but somehow cutting through the silence. "Harry Potter…"
Every student, every teacher went still.
The figure's voice cracked again, barely a whisper. "Run."
And Harry's scar burned hotter than it had in years.