The Uproar Caused by the Second Petrification Incident (V)

He stood in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by everyone, like an animal locked in a cage—one that did not know what it had done wrong, but everyone insisted it had.

His left arm started hurting again.

It was not his bones that hurt, but the lightning-shaped scar.

It burned, as though someone had lit a lamp beneath it that would never go out.

The torches in the corridor flickered, stretching everyone's shadows long and thin. Those shadows swayed across the walls, overlapping and separating, like a group of bodiless ghosts arguing in silence. Colin's body still lay in the shadows, his grayish-white skin gleaming with a cold, stone-like sheen beneath the torchlight.

His glasses hung crookedly to one side. The edges of the shattered lenses glimmered faintly in the light, like a spiderweb.

Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, turned around, and fixed her gaze on Harry.

Something in those eyes sent a chill down Harry's back. It was not anger—anger had warmth. It was scalding, like a pot of boiling water. You could see it bubbling, knew it was hot, but at least you knew what it was. There was no anger in Professor McGonagall's eyes, only something colder and heavier.

"Mr Potter." Her voice was not loud, but every word seemed chiseled from stone, carrying an unquestionable, judgment-like weight. "Please explain why you were here."

It was not a question. It was an order. The last chance offered by someone backed into a corner.

Harry opened his mouth, his throat dry as sandpaper. His tongue moved a few times, but no sound came out. It was not that he did not want to speak; he simply did not know what to say. He stood there with his left arm hanging at his side and his right