“Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world.”
-Arthur Schopenhauer

It was the last week before Christmas break. Friday, right after the last class, students going home for the holiday would be leaving. They would be getting home just in time for Christmas Eve dinner. Draco couldn’t wait to get out of here for his trip to Europe. Harry just wanted the week to come to an end, but he had to get through it first.

Monday was very boring for Harry: History of Magic and Charms in the morning, and Transfiguration after lunch. Harry was learning how to get things to fly to him. Not something he was easily adapting to.

“I just can’t get it!” exclaimed Harry frustrated, as he sat next to Draco in class. Hermione and Ron were sitting at the table in front of them. “The pillow just won’t come to me!”

“Calm down. You just have to concentrate,” said Draco.

“I am!” said Harry, even more frustrated now.

Hermione turned around to Harry. He figured she had completely forgot that she wasn’t supposed to be talking to Harry in public. “You have to concentrate. Focus on the object, like this,” said Hermione. Harry saw her focus on one of the pillows on Professor Binns’ desk, and then flick her wand while she uttered, “Accio Pillow.” It smoothly flew to her, and she caught it. “Like that. Simple.”

“Maybe for you,” said Harry.

“I think you should mind your own business, Granger. Harry can take care of himself,” said Draco, as he sneered at Hermione. She quickly turned away to help Ron.

Harry went back to attempting to get a pillow to fly over to him. Okay. Concentrate. Pillow. Pillow. “Accio Pillow!” It flew over to him, but he was so excited that he had gotten the pillow to come off the desk, that he lost concentration, and it fell on the floor.

“Nice one,” said Draco with a smile. He had gotten used to the spell quicker than Harry.

Harry kept trying until he got one of the pillows to fly over to him. He had wanted the pillow to come over to him so bad, that when it did, it hit him in the face. “Ouch,” said Harry. The sound was muffled, as his mouth was behind the pillow. Draco and Blaise were laughing at him.

They soon went to Transfiguration. “Brilliant. Transfiguration,” said Draco sarcastically. “When will this week end?” He kept going on about how much he wanted to leave already.

“Draco, we all want the week to end, and we all hate Transfiguration. You don’t have to keep going on and on about it,” said Harry. He was getting annoyed at Draco’s constant mutterings about the holiday.

“Alright, alright. I get it,” said Draco. They walked into Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall had already placed a box of small birthday candles in front of each chair. The class found out later that they had to lay the candles out on the table and change them into one large candle. Hermione, of course, was the first to change the small candles to one large one.

Harry managed to get some of the candles morphed together, but he could still see the different colors of them and the different wicks. Draco couldn’t even get the candles to mesh together, so Harry tried to help him. But the class was soon over. Harry and Draco, as well as the others, made their way to their next class.

The rest of Monday had passed extremely slowly, as did Tuesday morning. But Harry managed to finish his lunch and make it to Defense Against the Dark Arts without dying of boredom, along the way. He had been doing some thinking of the Mirror of Erised lately. Mostly right before he fell asleep, and he was glad he didn’t feel drawn to it anymore. Dumbledore had been right; the longer the time away from it, the less he would be drawn to it. Though Harry still felt saddened that he couldn’t look into it to see his mother and fathers eyes. Harry was even sad that he couldn’t see his older self, anymore.

But while Harry was in the middle of Defense class, the boredom of the day quickly vanished for Harry. He had his book out, open, in front of him. They were reading about some new spell. Professor Quirrel usually just stood at the front of the class with his book open as he read for the class. But today, he allowed Hermione to read the passages from the book, as he walked around.

Professor Quirrel had been walking around the front of the class, but he had seen Harry and Draco muttering something, and decided to tell them to stop and pay attention.

“P-Potter, M-Malfoy. P-pay attention,” stated Professor Quirrel. He turned away from them, and Harry’s scar began to burn. He instinctively put his hands to his head, trying not to make any noise.

Professor Quirrel was still standing there, flipping through the pages, trying to find something in his book. The pain of Harry’s scar continued to grow and ultimately it got so intense that he couldn’t bare it anymore. He yelled in agony and fell off his chair onto the ground. He was on his side, gripping his head. Professor Quirrel turned suddenly at his cry.

“P-potter!” called Professor Quirrel, in a worried tone. He bent over to Harry.

Harry was holding tightly onto his forehead that his nails became to make indent marks on his skin. This had been a pain like Harry had never experienced before and he continued to cry out. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes from the pain. In the end, Harry fell into an unconscious state. The last thing Harry saw was Draco, Ron, Hermione, and Blaise looking over at him with worried eyes.

Voices awoke Harry and he found himself in the Hospital Wing. He saw that the curtains were drawn around him.

“What happened, Quirinus?” said a voice Harry recognized as Dumbledore’s.

“I-I-I’m not s-sure,” said Professor Quirrel. “I went over t-to P-Potter and M-Malfoy’s table because t-they were talking, and then I-I was looking through my b-book when P-Potter yelled and f-fell over. H-he was unconscious I-in a c-couple seconds.”

“That’s all?” asked Dumbledore calmly.

“Yes,” said Professor Quirrel. “M-my next class. I-I must get back.”

“Oh, yes. Do so what you need,” said Dumbledore to Professor Quirrel. Harry heard him leave the room. “Poppy, has he awoken?”

If they found he was awake, they were sure to send him back to class. But, Harry didn’t have time to pretend he was asleep. “Yes, he’s awake.” She came over to Harry’s bed. He pulled himself up, so that he sat up. “Here drink this.” She handed him a small bottle, and he drank it with some hesitation.

The curtains ruffled again, but more gently this time as Dumbledore entered. He stood at the side of his bed. He first turned and said, “Poppy, may we have some privacy? Thank you.” She turned and left, muttering something.

“Harry, could you tell me everything you remember about what happened in class?” asked Dumbledore.

“Well, I was just sitting there and Professor Quirrel came over. I remember seeing him turning a couple pages in his book, but then I felt that horrible burning pain in my scar. I’ve felt it previously before today, but its only been for a couple seconds,” said Harry.

“When was the last time you felt your scar hurt you?” asked Dumbledore.

It didn’t take Harry long to remember. It had been the night that Dumbledore had made him watch the mirror being taken away from him. “When Professor Quirrel walked me back to the Slytherin Dungeons. When he turned away, my scar burned. I thought he heard me wince, but when the pain had subsided I looked up and he had gone.”

“Has this happened before during classes?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Which classes?”

Harry thought back. The only class it really happened in was the Dark Arts class. “Well, Defense Against the Dark Arts. That’s the only class it’s really happened in.”

“Hmmm… that’s interesting,” said Dumbledore, as he looked away pondering something.

Harry was curious. “What’s interesting?” asked Harry. Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear him.

Dumbledore turned back to him. “Harry, you have to go back to class. Potions, I believe you have,” said Dumbledore.

“Lucky me,” Harry said sarcastically.