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    The room floods with white light.
    Harry is on his feet so fast that the chair topples and clatters to the floor, his wand in his hand and a spell on his lips.
    “They’re outside,” a voice speaks from the luminescent mist, magic barely enough to carry the sound; it’s stripped to a featureless monotone, far away like an echo. “I can’t hold them off much longer. I need help, Potter."
    Harry stares as the mist dissolves, its dazzling brightness leaving floating spots of colour on his retinas. Eyes watering, wand still clenched in his hand, he says:
    “Fuck.”

    Language:
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    22 Jul 2024