Chapter 16: Young Wicked
The first lessons of the year were always a predictable blend of professors lecturing on the coming term and reviewing the previous one. The familiar routine settled Harry's nerves and he found himself smiling as he took down half-hearted notes and listened to Ron's grumbling with mild interest.
"How can Flitwick talk so long without taking a breath?" Ron mumbled as the Charms professor droned on in his high voice about their upcoming lessons. "It's inhuman, it is."
Hermione shushed them for the third time and Ron lowered his voice in a useless attempt to keep her from hearing. "What do you think Defense will be like this year? We'll probably learn lots of great stuff since You-Know-Who is back."
Harry shrugged and wiped a stray drop of ink from his parchment with his thumb. "The professor must have been a last-minute hire," he whispered back. "Dumbledore was having a rough go of it finding someone all summer."
Ron sighed. "Figures. Well, who would want the job, anyway? Everyone knows it's cursed."
"It isn't cursed," Hermione countered sharply. "That's just a myth."
Harry didn't bother to correct her and turned his attention back to the lecture. Professor Flitwick seemed to be winding down and the students had begun to fidget with their things in anticipation of the end of the lesson. When they were finally dismissed, everyone gathered their things and began the long hike up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
As they walked, Harry glanced around at his classmates. Some had formed into small groups and were whispering eagerly, while others had apprehensive looks on their faces. Like every year before it, the appointment of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a topic of great interest, but after last year's debacle with Professor Umbridge, most students were wary of any new faces on the teaching staff. And rightfully so, Harry thought. When they finally arrived, Hermione and Ron both gave him a significant look before filing into the classroom.
The long room looked much the same as it did in previous years, with its tall wooden shutters drawn partially closed and the old blackboard wet from a recent cleaning. On the professor's desk were several dingy cauldrons and an old, antique clock. Harry noticed that the numbers on this particular clock went up to thirteen and he frowned at it sceptically.
Hermione, true to her nature, set down her things on a table in the very front row and Ron sighed loudly at her choice before dropping into the seat to one side of her. Harry took the chair to her left and began to dig out his textbook.
"Stop muttering, Ron," Hermione chided sharply as she inked her new quill.
Ron glared at her but no other sounds issued from him.
Once all the students had settled, an uneasy silence fell over the classroom. Everyone had their textbooks out and opened, and many were fidgeting with their wands, as if unsure whether they would need them or not. Even the Slytherins were uncharacteristically quiet. Harry spared a glance back at Draco Malfoy who was predictably flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom looked even bigger and dumber than they had last year. At the table next to them, a clearly uncomfortable Hufflepuff - the last student to shuffle into the room - had taken the only open seat, which happened to be next to Millicent Bullstrode and Theodore Nott. Harry felt deeply sorry for the girl and she flushed brilliantly when he caught her eye.
The door to the Professor's office burst open unexpectedly and Harry turned back around in his seat and straightened his shoulders. The sturdy-looking woman from the previous night's feast shuffled through the door, struggling to carry another cauldron before dropping it heavily onto her desk. The class stared at her warily as she turned to survey them.
"I am Allesia Ferrote. You may call me Professor Ferrote," she announced. Her voice was thin and dry. "I will be your teacher this year for Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry observed her critically as she turned to the blackboard and began to write out the letters of her name with painstaking precision. She was a short woman with thick shoulders and dark, medium length hair. She was wearing a tall, pointed hat of a deep purple colour, which matched her old-fashioned robes. Their hem was nearly a foot too short, and beneath it Harry could see her stocking-clad ankles and her black, squarish shoes. Each was topped with a shiny, silver buckle.
When she finished writing her name, she turned back towards the class and pulled her wand from beneath her robes.
"Now, what are you names?" Professor Ferrote asked crisply as she tapped her wand against her open palm. "When I point my wand at you, you will speak it out loud so that I can put a face to your name. First and last, please. And no funny business - if you think it would be amusing to say someone else's name, I'd advise against it."
The classroom was deathly silent as she turned her wand to Terry Boot, who sat up in his seat at the table beside Harry's and stuttered his name loudly. Ernie Banks was next and then Su Li. When Allesia's wand pointed at Harry, he hesitated for only a moment before saying clearly, "Harry Potter."
The Professor's wand ticked upward for just a moment and he saw her eyes flick up to his scar briefly before she moved on. The rest of the class was introduced quickly and it was obvious that Ferrote's threat had been taken seriously. Not a single student misidentified themselves.
"Good, good," she said absently after the final student announced herself. The Professor nodded stiffly and replaced her wand in her robes. "Your names and faces have been burned into my memory. I shall not forget them. Now… just a moment."
She shuffled towards her desk and grabbed the metal handle of the cauldron she had placed their earlier. Lifting it from the desk, she struggled with the weight before tipping it forward with her free hand. A spill of fine, white granules began to pour out onto the floor and the class watched in bewilderment as she walked carefully around her desk and chair, until both were surrounded by a solid line of the substance.
Harry and Hermione shared a doubtful look and beside them, Ron muttered, "Mental…".
The Professor straightened at once and marched directly in front of him. "Weasley!" she barked. "What did you just say?"
Ron slunk down in his seat and flushed a deep red. "N-nothing!"
"I'm old, not deaf, Mr. Weasley," she replied tartly. "Keep your glib comments to yourself. This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Cosmetic Charm Application - you'll take it seriously or you'll get out of my classroom."
Ron sunk even further into his seat. "Yes, ma'am."
The Professor clicked her tongue and promptly took five points from Gryffindor. There were a few audible groans from several of their housemates, but nothing loud enough to draw attention. Harry frowned and leaned back in his chair. The movement seemed to catch Ferrote's eye and she walked to stand stiffly in front of him. Her eyes trailed up his face to rest on his scar again and she stared at it gloomily.
Harry quickly grew uncomfortable under this scrutiny. Before he had a chance to question her, Ferrote drew a handful of whatever was in her cauldron and promptly threw it over his shoulder.
Harry blinked in surprise and the Ravenclaw in the chair behind him sputtered as her book and parchment were hit with the projectile.
At this distance, the sharp smell was unmistakable. "Is that… salt?" Harry asked, incredulous.
Hermione's hand shot into the air and he could feel her shifting beside him as she tried to make herself taller in her seat.
Professor Ferrote ignored them both and shuffled back towards her desk. Harry frowned and glanced behind him, noticing the slack-jawed look on most of the students. Some of the braver Slytherins snickered at him.
"All right, then," the professor began. "I've prepared a syllabus."
She flicked her wand at a stack of parchments on the edge of her desk and then muttered an incantation. The stack floated into the air and she directed it towards Terry Boot before dropping it on his table. "Pass them around, and do be prompt," she instructed. "Now… how does one defend themselves against the Dark Arts? This is a question that has preoccupied witches and wizards for centuries upon centuries. For as long as there has been magic, there have been those who would use it wrongly. So what can be done about it? We will be attempting to dissect this throughout the course of this term.
"You should know that I'm a scholar, not an Auror. So if you're hoping for dueling tips, prepare for disappointment. I will, however, help you understand the nature and pathology of dark magic and those who use it. You already have knowledge about the Dark Arts - now it's time you developed wisdom. I'm here to help with that."
The remainder of the class was a painfully dull recitation of the goals for the year's class as were dictated by the syllabus. Harry was both relieved and disappointed by its contents. There did not seem to be any time put aside for spellwork, but there was also nothing that suggested that Ferrote would spend the year pretending the Dark Arts did not exist, as Umbridge had.
When class had ended and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gathered their things and began the long trek down to the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione finally allowed her frustration to show.
"Oh!" she bristled. "I had my hand up nearly the whole class period and she refused to call on me! And what did she mean, throwing salt at Harry like that?"
"Some wizards think salt can make protection spells more powerful. One of my great uncles used to keep some in little piles around his house," Ron supplied.
"But it's nonsense! It was proven decades ago that salt has no effect on the potency of spells. It's old-fashioned thinking," Hermione informed.
"My great uncle has never been attacked by dark wizards, though! Maybe that's the salt working?"
"Oh, for goodness sake, Ron!" Hermione cried. "Most people have never been attacked by dark wizards. It's just coincidence!"
Harry sat down on the bench and began to serve himself some cold sandwiches. He tuned out Hermione and Ron's bickering and slid a finger into the knot of his school tie, loosening it around his neck. Parvati and Lavender - who were sitting across the table and gossiping to themselves - smirked at him.
Harry took a gulp of his pumpkin juice and ignored them, too. Turning in his seat, he looked over his shoulder and watched as more and more students began to file into the Great Hall. He noticed the Ravenclaw who sat behind him in DADA and whose things had been pelted with salt - Harry did not know her name - shoot him a commiserating look before taking a seat at her house table. He followed her progress absently and nearly locked eyes with Cho Chang. Harry froze for a moment before stiffly turning back to his own table.
Hermione was looking at him oddly.
"What?" he asked her, rolling one of his shoulders and taking a bite out of a sandwich. Hermione pursed her lips, but said nothing.
A few seats down the table, two third year Gryffindor girls began to shriek loudly.
"Trevor!" Neville shouted, jumping up from his seat and scrambling down the table to snatch the toad from where it had been sitting quite happily in a large bowl of squash soup.
"Why would anyone want a toad for a pet?" Ron muttered, watching the scene. "They don't do anything."
"Some people don't require their pets to do things for them, they just enjoy their company," Hermione said frostily. "And I don't recall Scabbers delivering your post, either."
Ron flushed deeply and stuck an overly-large spoonful of pickled onions into his mouth.
"There you are, Harry! I've been looking all over for you," a familiar voice said from behind him. "McGonagall told me this morning - congratulations! She asked me to help you with the tryouts."
Harry moved one of his legs until he was straddling the bench and looked up at his teammate, Katie Bell. She was smiling cheerily and had two Gryffindor ribbons threaded into her ponytail.
Harry blinked at her for a moment before remembering that he had been named Quidditch Captain yesterday. He had nearly forgotten in the excitement of the year's first lessons.
"I'd appreciate that," he replied. "I don't want to cock up the 'proud tradition of Gryffindor Quidditch'."
Katie smirked at the familiar maxim of Oliver Wood.
"What about Quidditch?" Ron cut in, looking between them curiously.
"I was just telling Harry that I'd help him out with the tryouts next week," Katie informed. "I've been on the team longest, so I expect seniority, Potter!"
She smiled to show she was joking and then moved to catch up with a group of seventh years that she was obviously friends with.
"Is she talking about Quidditch tryouts?" Ron asked slowly.
"Oo, are you captain, then?" asked Parvati slyly, giving Harry a teasing look.
Harry noticed the strange expression that settled on Ron's face and remembered that he had not yet told his friend. "McGonagall just told me yesterday," he explained. "I forgot about it."
Ron's face scrunched up. "You forgot you were named Quidditch Captain?" he asked incredulously. "But - you weren't even on the team last year…"
"Oh, that was hardly his fault, Ron! And he's been on the team since our first year," Hermione defended.
"Congratulations, Harry," a voice a few seats to his left piped up. Harry turned to see Ginny smiling at him a little awkwardly. He had not noticed she was there. "You'll make a great captain."
"Thanks, Ginny."
"Are you really captain, Harry?" Colin asked excitedly from across the table. "We'll win the cup for sure, then! Oh, just wait until Dennis hears this!"
He fished out his camera from his bag and snapped a picture that Harry was certain would show him blinking stupidly and looking discomfited.
"Quidditch captain…" Ron sighed morosely.
"Listen, Ron. I'll probably need your help. McGonagall gave me all these plays, but I need to pick which ones to use. I figure you and I can take a look at them later."
"Yeah," Ron said quietly. "Yeah, all right."
Harry went back to his lunch, feeling altogether uncomfortable now. Hermione offered him a reassuring smile before taking her Ancient Runes book from her bag and setting it in front of her to read as she ate.
When lunch ended, the Gryffindor students broke off into small groups to attend their afternoon lessons. Hermione had added three inches of post-script to her four-foot essay on Ancient Runes while she was eating and she fretted over her penmanship before bustling off to Professor Vector's class. Harry and Ron both had some time free before their next lessons - Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, respectively - but Ron disappeared abruptly and Harry was left to wander around on his own for an hour before deciding to go see Hagrid early.
The half-giant waved at him merrily as Harry picked his way down the steep path from the castle to Hagrid's cabin. The hem of Harry's black cloak was dotted with wet grass by the time he had made it down and he took a moment to breathe in the smell deeply. It reminded him wonderfully of Quidditch and of Hogwarts itself, with its grassy fields and old growth forests.
"Got here jus' in time, yeh did!" Hagrid greeted happily, gripping Harry's shoulder with a hand the size of a dust bin lid. "I'm gatherin' up these pumpkins. Could use a hand stackin' 'em. We'll need 'em fer the lesson today."
Harry draped his cloak over the old, stone fence surrounding Hagrid's garden and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and jumper. Together, Harry and Hagrid unearthed and cut free five truly massive pumpkins and placed them in a pile close to the edge of the forest. Harry found this task quite difficult - the pumpkins were exceptionally heavy and were so large that they were unwieldy to carry. Hagrid, who was twice the size of a full-grown man, picked them up and moved them about with absolute ease and grinned cheerily beneath his beard as he did so.
"Just yeh wait until yeh see what I've found fer today's class, Harry," Hagrid enthused as he rearranged the pumpkin pile to his liking. "Awful rare, it is! Awful rare."
When they were finished, Harry grabbed his cloak and followed Hagrid inside his cabin, declining an offer of rock cakes but accepting a bitterly spiced cup of tea. He drank it slowly, hiding his grimace with the back of his hand. The acidic smell made it hard to keep from gagging.
"So how's yer first day goin', Harry? What do yeh think of the new professor?" Hagrid asked.
"She seems all right," Harry replied vaguely. He wasn't sure what to think of Professor Ferrote. The salt incident had irritated him, but she still seemed to be a vast improvement over Umbridge.
"I met 'er last week. Smart lady, tha' one," Hagrid praised. He finished his own tea in a single gulp and Harry had to hide his smile at the tiny teacup in Hagrid's massive hand.
"So what's this creature you've got?" Harry asked.
"Can't tell yeh, Harry. It's a surprise. You'll have ter wait fer the rest of the class ter get here before yeh find out."
Harry knew Hagrid would give it away if he stayed after him about it - he was terrible at keeping secrets - but he figured there was no harm in waiting. He finished the last of his tea with a brave swallow and watched as Hagrid fed a great hunk of uncooked steak to his dog, Fang.
An old clock on the mantle began to make a strange clucking noise and Harry peered at it curiously. The face of the clock opened like the doors of a cabinet and a strange, wooden beast emerged from inside. Its head swiveled back and forth quite realistically and it raked its front claws against its wooden perch. A gouge of flame erupted from its mouth, startling Harry, before the wooden creature disappeared back within the clock.
"That's the time!" Hagrid boomed cheerfully. "Out yeh go, Harry. I need ter get a few things ready. See yeh out there!"
Harry set his teacup in the sink and made his way back outside to wait. Curiously, there was no one else nearby when he arrived at the pumpkin pile. He glanced towards the old wooden bridge that led from the castle to the top of the hillside, but could not see any students emerging from it. An anxious feeling began to build in his chest.
"Where is everybody?" Hagrid asked from behind him a few minutes later, hauling his crossbow over his shoulder. He scratched his beard and then held his hand above his brow to shield the sun from his eyes. He peered up at the bridge, but there was clearly no one else around. "It's no good ter be late ter yer first day of lessons. Makes the wrong impression."
Harry stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and tried to ignore his flipping stomach. "Maybe they forgot where to meet?"
Hagrid peered at him sceptically. "Why would they go and do tha'? We've always met at the same place. And where's Ron an' Hermione? Why didn't they come down with yeh?"
Harry had been dreading this moment. He had hoped that Hagrid would have already known that neither Ron nor Hermione had signed up for the Advanced Course. "Didn't you get an enrolment list?" he hedged.
"I'm sure I got one somewhere, but I don't never bother with it. I know all yer names already," Hagrid said.
Harry sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets. "Ron and Hermione… well, Hermione just had so many lessons this year. And Ron, too - they both are going to be right busy and they were sad to do it, but-"
Comprehension seemed to dawn in Hagrid's beetle-like eyes. "They're not takin' the course this year?" he croaked, his voice breaking. "But… blimey, Harry! Are yeh the only one takin' it?"
Hagrid looked so unbearably disappointed that Harry felt like he should ignore the obvious. "I doubt it. I mean, that seems unlikely…"
But Hagrid clearly did not believe him and sighed miserably. He poked one of the huge pumpkins with the toe of his boot. "Yeh ought ter just run back ter the castle yerself, Harry. No use teachin' a class of one, is there?"
"Of course, there is," Harry protested. "I got an 'O' for my Magical Creatures O.W.L. and I'm looking to get an 'O' for my N.E.W.T., as well. So I'll be needing the best professor - that's you."
Something glittered in Hagrid's eyes and he thumped Harry on the back so hard that he stumbled forward three feet before regaining his balance. "Yeh'll get tha' 'O' if I've got anythin' ter say abou' it, Harry," Hagrid sniffed. He turned his shining face to collect himself and pretended to look over the pile of pumpkins while he dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his patch-work coat.
"What are the pumpkins for?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence. "Do we need to take them with us?"
Hagrid nodded and hefted a pumpkin that was the size of a tractor tire with his free hand. "Got a few too many fer just the two of us, but tha's all righ'. Jus' grab one fer yerself and we'll go."
Harry chose one of a more modest size, but he still struggled to get a fair grip on it. Harry could not fathom how a common pumpkin could grow to such an enormous size, but he was certain magic had helped it along somehow.
"Got one yeh like?" Hagrid asked and tapped his crossbow against his own pumpkin, making a hollow sound. "She's a bit a-ways into the forest, but she's worth the hike. Amazing little blighter, she is."
"She?" Harry asked sceptically, following the half-giant as he began to trek loudly into the undergrowth. "What is this thing, exactly?"
"Told yeh, Harry - it's a surprise."
Harry refrained from sighing and adjusted his grip on the heavy pumpkin. The light was beginning to grow dimmer as they ventured deeper into the forest. Above them, the canopy was becoming thicker and denser, until only stray patches of sunlight could pass through to the forest floor. As they went further, a thin, damp fog began to pool around the ground and Harry watched it drift aside in the wake of Hagrid's footsteps.
There were strange sounds around them now and Harry observed the empty areas between the colossal trees warily. He knew better than most what dangers lurked in this forest.
They had been hiking for nearly fifteen minutes and Harry's arms were beginning to shake from the weight of the pumpkin. He was nearly ready to ask for a break when Hagrid stopped abruptly in front of him. They had arrived at a small clearing. The fog here was thicker than ever and it swirled around their ankles.
"Made it!" Hagrid announced. "Have a look, Harry. She's a beauty, isn' she?"
Harry set his pumpkin down and shook out his hands before stepping beside the half-giant and peering into the clearing carefully. At first, he saw nothing - he had been expecting something huge with rows upon rows of teeth, but there was nothing of that sort to be found. But when he looked closer, he began to distinguish… something… standing very still in the centre of the clearing. At first, he had dismissed it as an odd tree, but on second glance, Harry could see that this was no plant - it was a creature.
It was a spindly thing about as tall as the centre of Harry's chest. It was hunched over and its thin, branch-like limbs seemed far too long for its body. Each of its fingers had a sizeable curved nail and it clicked them together periodically. Its mouth was more of a beak, like a turtle's, and it had round, black eyes but no eyelids. Harry found that the effect of it looking at him without blinking was quite eerie.
"What… is that?" he whispered.
"Young Wicked speaks to me!" the thing hissed suddenly, and its voice was high and sharp, like a whistle.
Harry tensed in shock when the creature spoke and his hand went to the pocket where he kept his wand automatically.
"You can speak?" Harry asked.
"Young Wicked speaks to me!" it said again.
Harry turned to see Hagrid nearly beaming in pride. "Isn' she gorgeous, Harry? Not many of her kind left, anymore. They were hunted down a long time ago."
"Hunted down?"
Hagrid nodded and set his crossbow against a nearby tree root. "Wizards used ter hunt down lots o' creature they thought were dangerous. Anything tha' scared 'em."
"Why did they think they were dangerous?" Harry asked.
"Young Wicked…" the creature murmured again and Harry frowned at it.
Hagrid ignored it. "A bunch of codswallop, it is. Well, sure, any creature can be dangerous - but only if yer don't treat it the way yer s'posed ter."
"What exactly is it? Does it understand us?"
"This here is an Opith. Prob'ly the only one in the whole of Great Britain. And sure, she can understand yeh well enough. Not much fer conversation, though. They don' make much sense when they talk."
Harry had never heard of Opiths and he watched it curiously. He could not recall this particular creature being mentioned in any of his magical creature compendiums. It must have been truly rare.
"Want ter feed it?" Hagrid asked excitedly.
"Feed it what, exactly?"
"The pumpkins, of course! Opiths love 'em. Bit of a treat, they are... nothin' calms an Opith like pumpkin flesh, they say."
Harry looked at his pumpkin uncertainly. "All right…"
Hagrid looked positively gleeful. "Tha's the spirit, Harry! Now, alls you got ter do is take yer pumpkin up ter her. But yeh have ter do it slowly. If yeh move too fast, yeh'll spook her and then yer in trouble. And be careful of the fog."
"Why?"
"This is Nightmare Fog, Harry. The Opith makes it. See them little holes above its beak? It comes outta there. Yeh gotta be real careful of this fog, Harry. If it gets in yer mouth or up yer nose, yeh start ter see things."
Harry glanced down at the fog swirling lazily around his boots and the hem of his cloak. "What sort of things?"
Hagrid scratched his beard and shrugged. "It's different fer everyone. Weird things, I hear. I've never seen it - it doesn't work on giants fer some reason, and I got enough giant blood that I'm safe from it," he explained. "It's harmless, though. Doesn't actually hurt yeh - just spook yeh a bit. The trick ter handlin' Opiths is that yeh always need more than one person around. If yeh start to see somethin', another person can snap yeh out of it right quick. If yer by yerself, yeh might not even recognize tha' what yer seein' isn't true."
Harry turned to see that the Opith was still staring at him silently. The only sound that could be heard was the soft clicking of its nails.
"Go on, then, Harry," Hagrid encouraged. "Just let 'er know yer comin', first."
Harry blew out a short breath and hefted his pumpkin back into his arms. He looked at the Opith warily. "Er," he began, unsure exactly what he was supposed to say. "I've got this pumpkin for you. Want me to bring it over?"
"Young Wicked… brings me a tasty…" it murmured.
"Why is it calling me that?" Harry asked in agitation.
"Dunno. She mus' like yeh ter give yeh a name, I s'pose. Go on - bring her yer pumpkin."
Harry did not agree with Hagrid's conclusion, but he shifted the pumpkin a little higher in his arms and slowly began to walk towards the creature. He was mindful of the fog drifting around him, but it never rose high enough to come near his mouth or nose. When he was within arm's length of the creature, he paused and glanced back towards Hagrid. "Now what?" he asked quietly.
Before Hagrid could respond, Harry felt the ground beneath him give way and he sank nearly to his knees. Startled, he tried to jerk one of his legs out, but the earth around him was spongy and unstable and he couldn't get any leverage. He dropped the pumpkin and braced his hands to his sides in an effort to lift himself clear. He pushed and pushed with all his strength, but he remained stuck. Worse, he could feel the ground soften further and he began to sink deeper into the depression his body weight had created. The wet soil sucked at him and he redoubled his efforts at pulling himself out.
A strange noise began to build in the distance and Harry jerked his head to see what was happening. The noise rose and rose until it was a thundering sound and Harry's eyes widened when he saw that a wall of water was rushing through the undergrowth, crashing against the massive root systems and approaching him at an astonishing speed. Harry had only a moment to suck in a deep breath before the rushing water hit him, smashing his body with horrifying force. He was ripped from his hole and thrown end over end, his legs tumbling above him in the black water. He hit something solid, forcing his mouth open in shock, and the frigid muck poured into his lungs. He clawed at the water around him with powerful strokes of his arms, desperately trying to reach the surface while his lungs burned for mercy. But it was too dark to see - he did not know which way was up.
Terrified, he slashed at the water, bubbles erupting from his mouth in a muffled scream. He could feel the edges of his mind begin to soften and dim until he began to grow tired and confused. His struggles grew weaker and he felt himself drifting deeper and deeper into the darkness…
"Harry!" a panicked voice shouted and Harry sucked in a loud breath, feeling cool, dry air enter his lungs. His eyes shot open and he swung his arms wildly, ripping free of the grip of the water, but then… there was no water.
Harry stumbled backwards, staring bewilderedly at Hagrid, who was looking at him with an equally startled expression on his face. Harry's hands gripped wildly at the front of his jumper and the folds of his cloak, feeling the dry fabric in astonishment.
He was in the clearing. He was safe. The water was gone.
Behind him, a high, thin voice cackled, "Young Wicked…"