AN: So... after hearing Nicholas Hooper's "In Noctem", I wrote this. So, enjoy, or not.

Carry my soul into the night.
May the stars guide my way.
I glory in the sight,
As darkness takes the day.

Fertéin noctem animam meam.
Illustre stele viammeam.
Aspectu illo glorior,
Dum capitnox Diem.

Cantate vitae canticum,
Sine doloreacte.
Diciteeis quos amabam,
Numquam obliviscar.

Sing a song,
A song of life,
Made without regret.
Tell the ones, the ones I loved.
I never will forget.

-"In Noctem" by Nicholas Hooper

The students and teachers of Hogwarts could not shake the feeling that something big was coming. Things were changing, that very minute, inside the castle, for the good or bad, they did not know.

Professors Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprout stood in the latter's office, looking out at the darkening sky. Hogwarts had never seen such weather—dark, gray clouds swarming the sky, swirling like mist. Thunder shook the window.

"Something's happening, Minerva. I just don't know what," Professor Sprout said to her colleague, her worry voiced in her tone.

The Transfiguration teacher nodded, and paled. What if-, she thought, deciding to voice her concern to her fellow teacher.

"Pomona—do you believe it has something to do with You-Know-Who?" she asked, a hand on her chest. The younger woman shrugged. That been her worry as well.

"I do hope not. 'Tis the last thing we need," she said, shaking her head as she remembered the numerous attempts to kill the Headmaster. She shivered, and crossed her arms.

McGonagall nodded, and turned to leave. "I will go now. If it is indeed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I do not wish to see a student roaming the halls," she walked towards the door, and paused, turning to look at Professor Sprout. "Pomona, please stay with your House. I think it's best for all of us to be with the students," she said, and departed.

The Herbology turned back to the window, a hand on her heart. "Merlin, help us," she whispered, and closed the curtains of her office window.

On her way down to the Clock Tower Courtyard, she noticed a first year Gryffindor girl looking at the dark clouds in the night sky. "Alice, please return to the dormitories immediately!" she called over to the young girl. She turned around to see Dylan Byres, her older brother, walking towards Gryffindor tower. "Byres! Accompany your sister to the dormitories. I don't want either of you going alone," she said sincerely to the fifth year boy.

The siblings nodded respectfully. "Yes, ma'am," said the older boy to his Head of House.

His sister paused. "Professor? What's happening?" the young girl asked, looking up at the clouds once more.

Minerva bit her lip. "I wish I knew, dear," she said, and gestured for them to go.

In the Great Hall, the members of the Frog Choir were practicing. Professor Filius Flitwick felt chills running down him spine as his choir sang. He slowly conducted them, a bit distracted by the dark, swirling clouds outside that made shadows on the ground. Thunder boomed, and the Charms professor nearly jumped out of his skin.

The students seemed to be distracted as well, possibly feeling the same eeriness that Flitwick was feeling.

Professor McGonagall walked into the Great Hall, with a sense of urgency in her stride, only half-listening to the voices of the students. She stood behind her colleague, who paused in his conducting to turn around. "Yes, Professor?" he asked, clasping his hands.

"Filius, they should get back to their Houses. We believe something is happening," she whispered, and Flitwick paled.

"Is it—"

Minerva interrupted him. "We're not sure, Filius, but it is in your best interest to send them to their Houses."

"I shall do so," he said, nodding.

"Oh—and Professor? Please stay with your House. The last thing we need are roaming students," she said sincerely, and walked off to check for any other stragglers.

The conductor turned back to his choir. "Practice is over! Go immediately to your Houses! No dawdling!" he said, dismissing his choir.

Horace Slughorn glanced outside his window, sipping a glass of firewhisky. "Must be just strange summer weather," he chuckled uneasily to himself.

He walked over to "the Wall", smiling at the numerous pictures. His eyes searched for a specific one—the one of his favorite student, Lily Evans.

He picked up the photograph. "Oh, Lily, if only you could see your son now," he sighed.

Suddenly there were three quick knocks on his office door, startling him. He peered through hole in his door, sighing in relief when he recognized his colleague, Pomona Sprout.

"Dear me, Pomona! Nearly gave me a heart attack, you did," said Slughorn cheerfully.

"My apologies, Horace, but Minerva would like you to join the Slytherins in your common room," she said.

Slughorn nodded. "Of course, Pomona."

"Severus? What are you still doing up?"

The former Potions teacher turned around, surprised, to see Professor McGonagall. His lips turned up in a snide smile.

"I was about to ask you the same question, Minerva," he said, not unkindly.

"Goodnight, Professor," she said, looking at him strangely.

"Goodnight, Minerva," he replied.

He turned back to the window, staring at the clouds. Why did that blasted man have to leave tonight, of all nights?, he thought in anger at the Headmaster.

He remembered his conversation with Dumbledore at the beginning of the year.

"I cannot do this anymore, Dumbledore. Haven't you ever thought about anybody's life besides yours? The boy is going to die, thanks to you!" he spat in the man's face.

He looked unshaken. "Severus, trust me. I know what I'm doing," he said calmly.

"DO YOU?" Snape yelled.

"You don't," he whispered, as a tear slid down his cheek and onto his hooked nose. His anger at the Headmaster burned in his chest. "Please, don't make me do this," he muttered, his voice shaking.

His heart fell, as he turned around to see Draco Malfoy, walking urgently towards the seventh floor.

"Avada Kedavra." His wand shook, and his arm trembled.

"Forgive me, Lily," he thought, tears building up in his eyes. He blinked them away, looking at the Death Eaters.

The sneering mask that he'd worn for such a long time, returned. "Let's get out of here."

AN: It looked much longer in Word :).