Loss - 2

Inspiration struck Percy like a lightening bolt-shaped scar.

"Harry Potter is working with the Order," he said, staring directly at Professor Snape.

"I'm aware of that, you incompetent fool. I asked you the location of their Headquarters. Where is Potter hiding?" Snape asked, showing his teeth.

Percy's felt a tightening sensation in his chest. It suddenly became very difficult to breathe, as if all the oxygen were being compressed from his lungs. He looked up to see a startled expression on his former Potion master's face before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he knew no more. Percy's last thought before the darkness took him was relief that there was no pain at all.

Harry awoke to someone roughly shaking him. He tried to turn away and burrow back into his pillow. He'd been having a very pleasant dream for once, involving chocolate Easter eggs, broomsticks, and giggling Snitches. The shaking only increased and soon a loud voice bellowed in his ear.

"Get up, Potter, and do it quickly. Weasley, get out of that bed."

Harry's eyes snapped open as he struggled to clear his head and recognize the voice. The room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the dim glow of a lantern in the hallway. The big old house seemed abnormally silent, almost as if there had been a silencing charm placed outside his door.

Harry fumbled for his glasses, realizing it still must be the middle of the night or just before dawn, at best. He could hear Ron cursing sleepily from his own bed, groaning about the rude awakening. Finally locating his glasses, Harry shoved them onto his face, and his vision sharpened. Sighing, he realized that although he'd managed to eliminate the blurriness, he still couldn't see a thing.

"Who's there?" he asked, continuing to try and clear the sleep from his head.

"Whazzit?" Ron mumbled.

"Ooomf," Harry grunted as something bulky – yet not exactly hard – hit his head. He heard another thud before Ron made a similar sound.

"Pack those rucksacks with whatever you can in two minutes," Moody growled from somewhere near the door. Harry could see Moody's shadow as he moved into the hallway. "Get yourselves down to the kitchen. Keep the lights to a minimum; we're evacuating. Move."

Suddenly wide-awake, his adrenaline pumping, Harry leaped out of bed and yanked open the wardrobe. Using his wand for light, he magically expanded the rucksack Moody had tossed at him.

He carefully put Dumbledore's Pensieve inside, along with the strange silver instrument, the Horcrux containers, and his most prized possessions. He'd just begun to throw some of his clothing inside – he was fortunate that he hadn't yet had the opportunity to shop, so he still didn't own very much – when his head burst with excruciating pain.

It was as if someone had suddenly clamped it in a vise and proceeded to squeeze at full force. He fell to his knees with a grunt, grasping his head in his hands as he laid his forehead on the cold floor. A wave of pure, unmitigated fury washed over him before the pain ended nearly as soon as it had begun. If it weren't for the fact that he was on his knees with his head on the floor, he would have thought he'd imagined it. One thing he did know for certain: Voldemort was angry about something – very angry.

"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron asked groggily. He'd finally pulled himself out of bed and had nearly tripped over Harry.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, pulling himself to his feet and shaking his head.