HP : No way out of Hogwarts

The murmurs around me grew louder, more panicky.

"What do you mean we can't get out?" Seamus said, stepping forward from the Gryffindor corner.

"What does that mean?"

Hermione's face was drained of colour.

"It means we're stuck here," she said, her voice trembling. "I think that no adult can enter and no student can leave."

Malfoy's eyes widened from the Slytherin side of the room. "You're saying we're trapped?"

"Yes," Hermione said, her voice barely audible now. "We're trapped."

A heavy silence once again fell over the room as the implications of the situation sank in.

Did we make a mistake by telling everyone this? I wondered as my eyes fell on several first-years who huddled closer together, their faces pale with fear.

I could see Ron's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white.

The situation could become terrible, really fast…

Several of the older students started murmuring in each house corner, and their voices were getting louder by the minute.

That's when I noticed it.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not this again. Not me.

The murmurs had shifted—no longer frantic whispers of confusion and fear, but something else entirely.

I could feel the weight of their gazes before I even looked up.

I knew what was happening.

One by one, heads were turning, their eyes locking onto me.

"Potter," Seamus said, his voice carrying across the room like a shot. "You've got to have a plan, right?"

"Yeah," Dean chimed in from beside him. "You've faced worse than this. What do we do?"

A few nods followed from the Gryffindor corner, and then—like a wave—it started spreading.

"He's right," someone from Hufflepuff muttered. "Potter knows what to do."

Across the hall, Malfoy snorted.

"Oh, brilliant. Of course. Let's all put our lives in the hands of Potter. Again."

His voice was mocking, and I could see a newfound maliciousness in the blonde's eyes that worried me.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Neville snapped and stepped forward, looking the Slytherin in the eye.

"This isn't the time for your rubbish," the surprisingly bold Gryffindor said and turned to me, his expression grim but hopeful.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

My throat felt dry as dust, and my heart pounded against my ribs.

Why is it always me?

I didn't have a bloody plan. I didn't have answers.

I didn't even know why the castle had locked us in, let alone what we were supposed to do about it.

But as I looked around the room, at the fear and confusion on everyone's faces, something shifted.

Why do they trust me to lead them through this? They can't honestly believe I'm the bloody 'chosen one', can they?

The members of DA, I could understand, I'd taught them before.

But everyone else?

Fuck it.

For better or worse, they believed in me.

I took a deep breath, my hands gripping the edge of the table in front of me as I rose to my feet.

"Okay," I said, my voice louder than I expected.

The room fell silent again, every eye on me.

"First, we need to calm down." I looked around, meeting as many gazes as I could.

"Panicking isn't going to help. We're all still here, and the castle is protecting us. That means we've got time to figure this out."

Hermione nodded beside me, her hand brushing against her wand.

"If we can figure out how the containment wards were activated, we might be able to find a way to deactivate them."

"Exactly," I said, seizing on her point.

"We've faced worse than this. And we're not alone." I gestured toward the other Houses. "It doesn't matter if we're Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin—"

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Draco said something but I ignored him and pressed on.

"In the end, we're all in this together," I said firmly. "The adults are gone, yes, and we can't leave. But that doesn't mean we're helpless. We have all we need, magic. If we all work—"

"No."

A cold, sharp voice cut through the room like a blade.

"No, Potter," Malfoy said, stepping forward.

His grey eyes glinted, and there was an unsettling calmness in his demeanour.

"We've had enough of your shit and, we're definitely not all in this together."

The murmurs stopped as everyone turned to look at him.

Malfoy smirked, his Slytherin robes billowing slightly as he moved toward us at the centre of the hall, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Let's be clear about something, shall we?" His voice carried an edge of authority that hadn't been there before.

"This isn't some Gryffindor hero story where we all rally around Potter and hope for the best."

"Malfoy—" I started, but he cut me off with a raised hand.

"No, Potter. Do you honestly think, you can lead us?" he said mockingly and turned to the Slytherins behind him, then to the rest of the room.

"Let's not forget that the wards will fall down one way or another, and when they do, the people sided with Potter won't fare well."

Almost everyone understood the underlying threat and the silence that followed was heavier than before.

I saw some students shift uncomfortably, while others—mostly Slytherins—nodded in agreement.

"Now," Malfoy continued, "if we want to get the hell out of this place—and believe me, it won't be easy—we need someone who actually knows what they're doing."

What's he rambling about? How can he know that it won't be easy? For all we know, Voldemort is heading here as we speak and is about to break the wards.

That thought sent another shiver down my spine…

Malfoy straightened, his voice ringing with conviction. "Someone who understands strategy and someone who is of the right sort."

"And you think that's you?" Hermione snapped, her voice quivering with restrained anger.

Malfoy smirked. "Who else? I'm the Head Boy. I was chosen for my leadership skills, intelligence, and discipline—not because of some silly prophecy or favouritism."

"That's rich," Ron growled, stepping up beside me. "And that prophecy you just called 'silly' was the reason for Voldemort's first defeat."

Malfoy's face twitched at the mention of the dark lord, but he recovered quickly, his sneer returning with renewed force.

"Ancient history, Weasley," he drawled. "We're talking about the present, and right now, Potter's leadership is as outdated as that prophecy."

The Slytherins behind him murmured their agreement, and quite a few students—mostly older ones from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—exchanged uncertain glances.

Not good.

I felt Hermione's hand on my arm.

"Harry," she whispered, "don't let Malfoy overrule you."

Malfoy was exploiting the fear and uncertainty, twisting it to his advantage. And he was good at it.

"Listen, Malfoy," I said, stepping right in front of him and meeting his glare head-on. "This isn't about who's in charge. It's about keeping everyone safe and finding a way out of this mess."

"Oh, spare me the noble act," he sneered. "You think everyone here actually trusts you? Half the people in this room were about to follow you because they didn't have a better option. Well, now they do."

He turned to the room, spreading his arms as if addressing an audience. "Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs—even you Gryffindors—you don't have to follow Potter's reckless heroics anymore. If you want real leadership, if you want someone who will make the tough choices, follow me."

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Is that what you think leadership is, Malfoy?" I asked him quietly, my voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Forcing people to follow you out of fear, threats and desperation?"

"It's better than blind loyalty to a fool," he shot back, not bothering to lower his voice.

I looked around the room, at the faces of my classmates, and my friends.

Some were frightened but most seemed uncertain.

"You're wrong," I responded, in a low tone again. "Leadership isn't about control or fear. It's about trust. And no one trusts you, Malfoy. Not really."

His smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but then he shrugged. "We'll see, won't we? Let's see who they choose to follow, Potter. You… or me."

Slowly, students from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw corners began to shift uncomfortably, glancing between me and Malfoy.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and I could see the exact moment when the first student made their choice.

A sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect, Thomas Chen, stepped deliberately toward the Slytherin side of the room, his face set in grim determination.

"I'm sorry Potter but I have to think about my family outside these walls."