Chapter One: The Beginning of The End
There was a thump. It was simple, inelegant, and far from unusual, yet it turned everyones heads. No one knew why- a hidden sixth sense, perhaps, or the tinge of extra magic in the air. A harsh gasp was expelled from the student body as a whole, twisting out of their lungs and into the chilled air around them, floating upwards even as the lump began to scream.
It was not a scream of shock, or even fear, but of sheer, unadulterated pain, and all but one froze in terror that a sound such as that could come from a still living being. The single male who was not reduced to stone stared at the twitching mass for a few moments before glancing up at the head table. The amount of blood on her- for the form was certainly female- was incredible. It had soaked entirely through her robes, and the fact that she was capable of screaming shocked him. Apparently, it shocked the professors as well, as all of them were still in a daze- though Dumbledore was beginning to rise from his chair. Inwardly, Tom Riddle scoffed. The concern on his face was laughable, such a simple, tangible weakness he displayed for the world to see. And they call him the most powerful wizard of our time... Nevertheless, he was the first person to respond (other than himself, he noted absently) and so Tom grudgingly gave him a particle of respect.
It was fortunate Dumbledore had decided to rise when he did, as several of the girls looked ready to either cry our or faint, and the boys didn't look much better. Before the students noise level could rise above a particularly loud murmur, the Professor had begun speaking at the podium. And no doubt casting a mild calming spell on the entire great hall, Riddle thought to himself.
"Silence! Remain seated, myself and Headmaster Dippet will take care of this unexpected occurrence." He said calmly, though the haste in his footsteps as he approached the prone form spoke volumes about the danger of the situation. Headmaster Dippet, on the other hand, was still recovering from his shock and had yet to stop gaping at the girl.
Dumbledore had his wand out and was casting well before he reached the girl, her screams were either silenced or she had finally blacked out, and her form was being levitated towards the door that was opening of it's own accord. But Dumbledore's hasty spellwork didn't hide the blood trail fast enough, and even Tom breathed in more roughly than he had intended. She simply wasn't going to live after that. There was no way. The student body all came to the same conclusion, albeit a bit later than Tom, and turned their eyes away, not willing to see death- even of an unknown lump of flesh.
Tom's eyes followed her until the door slammed shut, cutting her limp form from his view. He was pondering what, precisely, could cause so much harm to a witch, or rather 'who'. Grindewald was the only option he could think of that smacked of the truth, particularly when her 'safe' destination appeared to be Hogwarts. Everyone knew that Grindewald feared the great Dumbledore, after all. The great. He scowled slightly. If he were truly so 'great' he would have gone out and defeated Grindewald already, instead of letting him ravage Europe. Yes, Tom thought, that fear runs both ways. It would also explain the spark of something unidentifiable in Dumbledore's eyes- was it guilt? Fear? Loss? Whatever it was, it mirrored the concern and pity within them, and undoubtably made the old man walk all the faster towards the infirmary.
The rest of the Great Hall was in deep discussion, the volume of conversation rising steadily. Tom heard Minerva proclaiming that the woman was probably on the run from an abusive boyfriend, and he nearly broke his concerned facade to laugh at her naivety. The Hufflepuff mudbloods were debating- the one twin claimed she came from America and had splinched herself beyond recognition, the other was on about how it was actually a muggle who Grindewald had sent to Hogwarts as a message. Abraxas, who sat across from him, also looked on with an upwards tilt on his lips, condescension fairly dripping from his gaze. He, too, had read Hogwarts, A History, and was well aware that muggles were completely unable to enter Hogwarts- they would be expelled, and quite forcefully, the second they came near the grounds. Tom did have to agree that the main thought had merit, however. It was most certainly possible that the girl was a message, with a myriad of meanings from 'Hogwarts is not safe from me' to 'This is how you'll look when I'm through with you.' With Grindewald- and so little information on either the Dark Lord or the mysterious girl- there was no telling.
Few people, at least in Tom's hearing, bothered to voice a concern about the girl's life. The Slytherins all determined it was far too Gryffindorish and the other houses were too caught up in the mystery of the spectacle.
At long last, Headmaster Dippet seemed to have recovered himself, and began speaking from his seat- though not before he had Merrythought cast a silencing spell over the Hall.
"Well, that was certainly eventful! The girl is no doubt on her way to recovery in the Hospital Wing as I speak, so I ask that none of you go by there and try to visit her- it might interrupt her healing process! I'm sure, in the morning, she will be fine and dandy! Now, off to your dorms, prefects lead the first years- oh! And the Forbidden Forest is forbidden. Go on, go on!"
Tom, yet again, marveled at the idiocy of his headmaster. Telling the entire student body exactly where to find the girl, and implying that she was going to be just fine and dandy after what looked like extreme torture was foolish at best. At worst, it would lead to a multitude of students out after curfew on their first night back, all of whom Tom and his fellow prefects would have to round up, which meant that Tom himself wouldn't be able to sneak in. He stifled a sigh, and got up to lead the new Slytherins to their dormitory. It was going to be a long night.
Dumbledore had been terrified when the small form had crashed to the floor. Hogwarts was supposed to be impenetrable, after all, and he started looking for the signs of an invasion. Then, when he had looked more closely at the girl, he had been scared for an entirely unrelated reason. The blood which fairly poured off her skin, and the screams... He knew it would haunt him for years to come. But she was still alive, and that was what pushed him to walk- nearly run- down the long aisle towards her, casting a sleeping spell, and a multitude of healing spells wordlessly while levitating her body towards the doors.
Time was of the essence, it always was with injuries such as hers. He hadn't had a chance to truly look at them yet, but her legs- both!- were bent in so many strange angles he wasn't even sure his and Relly's skills at healing would be enough. At an all out sprint, he reached the Hospital Wing in record time, or so he had to assume, slammed the door wide and placed the girl on an empty bed. The sheets began to turn red even as he shouted for Madame Relly to get as many blood replenishing potions as she could, and some pain relief, while he vanished her robes. If it weren't for his activity in the war against Grindewald, he would have vomited, or perhaps even fainted, at the state of her flesh. As it was, he had seen similar wounds, thought not on the living, he grudgingly added. This girl had an iron strong will to still be here, holding onto that tether of life despite it trying to pull away from her. He thought this as he ran a diagnostic on her and healed the majority of the broken bones in her left leg. He had begun on the fingers of her left hand, which looked to have been broken and mended repeatedly, before the diagnostic spell had finished its categorization of her wounds. This particular spell was one he had developed himself, and showed the damages to a body in order from most life threatening to least. He had begun glancing over it as Relly opened the girls mouth and fed her potion after potion. There were three dark curses on her, two of which he knew the counters for, and with a flick of his wrist her intestines were no longer twisting as though snakes and her eyes had ceased their attempts to leap from her face. The third was a variation on a truth serum, it appeared, but the girl had somehow managed to fight it, causing it to backfire on her and start causing her flesh to rot. It was, in short, one of the nastiest curses he had encountered, and without knowing it's incantation, he was hard pressed to do anything other than stop its forward progress. Scanning further down the list, he knew she had been raped multiple times, and that there were wounds carved into her upper thigh and on both wrists which would scar no matter the healing. Grimacing at the macabre bed, he vanished the girls sweater, leaving her in a simple tank top, so he could begin on the words carved into her pale skin.
It was hours before he stopped even to take a breather, and there were several scares where her heart had ceased to flutter, or the blood had suddenly started pouring out again, but she was stable for now. There was of course, no guarantee of her survival, but she was no longer at deaths door. Professor Dumbledore sat on the bed next to this woman- for who could go through what she had, and remain a girl?- for whom his respect had grown immensely the moment he realized how long this torture had been going on. It was not a matter of days, but weeks and perhaps months. It was disgusting, and he would be shocked if she still had her wits about her when-if- she awoke. But she had survived, and for that alone she deserved the world.
Who had done it though? His immediate thought was Grindewald, but pure torture was not his style... He preferred quick deaths, and quicker interrogations. Perhaps an over zealous follower? He could guess for years, he reasoned, but the only way to know was to ask the woman when she awoke. With that thought, he laid back on the bed and fell began to fall into an exhausted sleep. Then, with a jolt, he woke up, remembering how dangerous it was to leave a person in her state without constant watching. He rose himself up against the pillows and resigned himself to a night of silent vigil.