Chapter 2: Albus Dumbledore
"Strength grows in the moments when you don't think you can go on but you keep going anyway."
A/N: Yes, Draco will appear in the next chapter for sure. A part of it will be viewed through Harry's eyes, and then the rest. . .Well, you know. Bear with me, please. I am trying my best. -By the way, do you guys have any suggestions for how the next chapter will proceed? I'd be more than happy to hear you out. Thank you.
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery, had never planned she would spend a long period of time in miserable company with Cornelius Fudge-the now former Minister of Magic-who had thought it would be deemed appropriate to barge into Minerva's office unannounced as she was halfway through a quite serious, important conversation with a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix. Fudge had refused to leave after Minerva had politely suggested that he wait outside while she dealt with the Order member. Even after she'd subtly threatened to escort him out herself, he had demanded that his presence was pressing, for he held extremely important news that would surely capture her and Dumbledore's attention.
So it'd been with great reluctance that Minerva told Sarah Tullen, who worked in a high position at the Department of Law Enforcement, and had had quite some interesting things to say about Voldemort's most recent whereabouts and Amanda Bone's death, that she would contact her fellow former house student later on.
"Of course, Minerva." Sarah said, smiling tightly at Fudge as she got to her feet, clutching a big black bag to her chest.
Fudge glanced at her warily. He hadn't been on very good terms with the wizarding population as a whole ever since it'd been discovered that Voldemort had returned and as Minister had insisted for some time that those were only the lies of a young, attention-seeking Harry Potter. To say the least, Minerva had never before seen so many witches and wizards agree on something as she soon saw, once they found out that the Ministry had lied about the Dark Lord's return and that their Savior had been wronged and branded as a liar. But that was what had happened. Cornelius Fudge had been sacked a mere three days ago. Not that she didn't agree with the decision, Minerva thought disapprovingly as Sarah packed her things. Sarah gave her old professor a small smile before throwing a pinch of floor powder into the roaring fireplace and stepping through the crackling emerald flames.
Everything was silent for a while, but as soon as Sarah had indeed gone, Professor McGonagall turned a sharp gaze to the man staring back at her nervously. "Now, Cornelius. Would you care to explain how it is that you found it in yourself to interrupt an important discussion between Sarah Tullen, from the Department of Law Enforcement at that, and myself? One that needed my whole undivided attention, I might add?" she snapped, flicking her wand sharply as she went around her desk to her chair. A tray containing a pot of tea and two mugs floated over to the Professor's desk. A few other waves and flourishes and an impenetrable privacy ward, including several other protection wards just for good measure, were set up.
"N-Now Minerva. . .ah. . .You see, there have been recent attacks on wizarding communities worldwide just an hour recent by You-Know-Who." Fudge fidgeted uncomfortably as Minerva looked at him through sharp, alarmed eyes. He plowed on lest she kick him out. "The, ah, Minister found it substantially important that I inform you and Dumbledore of this new occurrence at once."
"I'm afraid Dumbledore is not here, Cornelius." she said stiffly, folding her hands together over her desk. "In the meantime, my hands are tied on the matter." She was glad her voice didn't shake with the fear she felt for all those people possibly under attack, knowing full well that if such a thing were happening that the Order was more than likely taking care of it.
There was a short pause where Cornelius Fudge looked uncertain on whether or not the professor was telling the truth. He gazed at the door, almost as if expecting Dumbledore to walk in at any moment and apologize for being late. But when nothing happened, he turned back to look at the elderly witch who watched him unblinkingly, her hands folded. His eyes were distrusting as he nodded and said somberly, "I see that that is the case, Minerva."
Minerva found it necessary that one try to always be polite, so it was because of this that she refrained from asking him to take his leave and come back later. Instead, she nodded her head and offered the elder man a thin smile. "Yes, indeed so, Cornelius." She peered at him sternly over her square glasses. "Now, about this important news you were talking about. . .May you be so inclined as to indulge me into what it is that is so important?"
Suspicion instantly had Professor McGonagall sitting up straighter in her chair as she looked in growing dread at Fudge's suddenly pale, fearful expression. Whatever it was he was going to say was instantly something that Minerva knew she wouldn't like hearing. Her thoughts were turned into bitter reality when Fudge began speaking in a low voice, as if afraid that someone would overhear him. "You-Know-Who. . . H-He's began openly attacking wizarding communities along with the muggle ones. Wizards, they're being killed left and right! And assassinated in their own homes, mind you! The Dark Mark has been flaring in the air for the past few hours and the whole wizarding world is in an uproar of panic. They are fearful and assume they're going to be next."
Professor McGonagall sucked in a sharp breath. "What do you mean? The Dark Lord has been invading and murdering wizarding towns?" she gasped, her eyes filling with dismay. Why hadn't he heard of this? The Order would surely know if such a thing was happening. Wouldn't they? The witches and wizards in their portraits turned to look at Fudge in unease, whispering quietly among themselves. Professor McGonagall flinched.
Fudge's hands trembled as he took a mouthful of his now lukewarm tea. He avoided looking at the Professor, instead choosing to gaze down at his cup as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "Yes, that is what I said." he replied at last.
"This. . .Do you have any idea of why this is, Cornelius? If the Dark Lord is targeting any specific towns?"
There was an uncertain pause and then, "We can't be positive. Scrimgeour is certain that the D-Dark Lord is simply trying to cause an uproar of fear and panic, and mock his power over the Ministry. But to answer your question-No, there hasn't been any particular pattern as far as the new Minister is concerned. But there is one thing. . .He's been raiding towns with a small number of inhabitants, not very easily located ones at that, I might add."
McGonagall frowned, her mind visibly racing. "I'm sorry, Cornelius, but if that is the case than I am afraid that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must be looking for someone, or something, if he is going to such great pains of hunting down secluded Wizarding communities. But it is now a matter of figuring out the matter of what it is he seeks." She set down the cup she'd been holding down with a loud thud and stood from her chair.
Once upon a time, in happier times, Cornelius would have simply waved away such words but this was now and he was more sensible to the bitter truth.
"What are you going to do?" Fudge asked carefully as he watched the Professor make her way to the fireplace with swift, determined strides. He was slightly irritated when she didn't answer but instead grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. "Minerva! I demand to know who it is you will be calling!"
Without answering Fudge, Professor McGonagall threw the emerald powder into the fireplace, muttered something under her breath and then stuck her head into the flames. "Remus! Remus Lupin, where are you?" she called loudly, turning her head. There was a pause from her and then she said, "Of course." to whomever she was talking to before taking a few steps back.
Fudge stared at her with a pale face. The Professor was calling a werewolf?
"Now, see here, Minerva - " sputtered Fudge
Rather abruptly, the fire roared, interrupting whatever the previous Minister was about to say, and a dark figure came stumbling out with a harrumph. Said figure dusted off his shabby blue pajamas as he raked one hand through his hair. "Whew, you gave me quite a fright there, Professor. Admittedly a big one. I was just making my way back to my office to deal with some paperwork after preparing myself a cup of tea to help me relax but, what to do I find upon entering the door? Why your disembodied head in my fireplace of all things!" He laughed quietly, although his worn face was lined with exhaustion, something that shouldn't be, considering that Remus Lupin was still young. He hadn't taken notice of Cornelius's presence yet.
"Remus." Professor McGonagall said sternly, cutting off her fellow friend with a subtle nod in Fudge's direction. Remus turned to follow her gaze and stiffened at once. "As you can very well see, we have something extremely serious to discuss. Something not including my disembodied head."
"What - Forgive me, Professor, but what is he doing here?" said Remus coldly upon seeing Cornelius Fudge in Professor McGonagall's office and sitting in one of her chairs. His usually warm eyes lost all their warmth as they turned frostier than one had ever seen and his face pulled back into an angry scowl that truly did nothing to hide the hatred in it. Fudge fidgeted in his chair.
Pursing her lips, Professor McGonagall turned to peer at the newly installed "grandfather clock" on the wall behind her chair for the time. Albus had insisted so very strongly that she get said clock. For whatever reason she had no idea, since the Headmaster refused to indulge her, but nonetheless there the clock was, slowly ticking the time away. "Albus should be along in a short matter of time." she said stiffly. When she turned her attention back to the two men in her office, she saw that Fudge was looking quite pale under Remus's quite cold, angry gaze. It appeared he was debating whether he should stay to deliver the news about Lord Voldemort personally to Albus himself or take his leave and leave it to Minerva to explain things, before he got confronted by an unforgiving werewolf. That was obviously the last thing he wanted. Minerva didn't bother to mention the fact that Remus, no matter how much he hated Cornelius, wouldn't attack the other man. She rather thought it was fair that he be scared out of his wits after causing one of the students from her own House a great deal of trouble and misery. Especially since that student was none other than Harry Potter, the other pupil aside from Miss Hermione Granger and young fourth year that she found herself quite fond of, and whom she considered family, not that she would ever admit that aloud.
"I. . .Um," stuttered Cornelius Fudge. "Minerva, now that I've delivered the news to you I believe I should g-go. I think you're more than capable of telling A-Albus yourself, yes, you'd be more suitable to that than I."
"What news?" said Remus, dropping his unflinching gaze on the previous Minister to look at his friend with an alarmed expression. "Is it about Harry? Did something go wrong? He wasn't captured by Death Eaters, was he?"
For a moment Minerva was tempted to tell him about the most recent news that there were rumors circulating around that an attempt on kidnapping Harry would soon happen, if Sarah's word was anything to go by. But then she remembered that Fudge was there and decided it was best to keep quiet until they were alone. One never knew who could ever really be trusted after all. "The Dark Lord is striking once more." said Minerva at last.
Remus was alert at once. He crossed the room to stand in front of Minerva in three long strides, frowning. "How do you mean?" he said quietly, ignoring the look of suspicion that swiftly slid across Fudge's face as he watched Remus, his face ashen with dread.
Eyeing Fudge cautiously, Minerva said in a clear voice, "He has been attacking Wizarding communities with scarce populations and hidden locations." She paused to let her words truly sink in. "But that is not all. I fear that Voldemort" - she grimaced - "is looking for something important if he has suddenly taken to attacking isolated wizards."
"Does Albus know of this?" questioned Remus in an unsettled voice as he looked at the clock on the wall. He definitely looked worried now. Minerva couldn't blame him, for she was quite worried herself now, about what it was the Dark Lord was searching for.
She gave a single shake of her head. "No. Fudge told me of the news moments before I called you over. But I suspect that Albus might still be interviewing. . .someone. I do hope he hurries and is on his way soon though, there is only so much time we have. And - I fear that another attack might soon be on its way. Let us pray I am wrong. In the meantime, we all have much to discuss." At this she gave Fudge a meaningful look which the man instantly cringed at.
"Uh, oh yes. Right you are, Minerva!" said Fudge cheerfully. He attempted a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. In fact, Fudge was thinking that right about then he'd rather be stuck in the same room with Scrimgeour than the stern Hogwarts Professor and the werewolf. Honestly, together they made him feel insignificant and small, which rather irked him to no ends. He might've not been the Minister now but he was still someone to be respected. And so far, the werewolf and Professor were acting as if he were some kind of simple low-class wizard.
As if to prove his point, he was offered a mere stern smile from the Professor before she turned her sharp gaze to the mysterious stack of papers on her desk. How she had work to do even after school was over for the summer, Fudge had no idea, for he himself had preferred to do his work before hand as to not have work interrupt his time of hard-earned enjoyment when he'd been Minister.
"I'm thinking that the Order should be alerted to this," said Professor McGonagall, turning back to her desk and pile of papers. With a frown she sat down in her chair before looking at Remus with a contemplative look. "Yes, they should all be alerted at once to the new movements of the Dark Lord lest they do something that will unknowingly play into His traps. If they aren't already on the move, that is." She ignored Fudge's small gasp.
Remus glanced at Fudge then back at the Professor. His gaze obviously screamed, Why are you speaking so openly in front of Fudge, of all people? Professor McGonagall simply pursed her lips.
"That might turn out to be a wise move," Remus agreed after a rather lengthy pause. He hesitated then nodded slowly. "Yes, it will indeed be wise to inform the Order of what is going on at the most likely fitting moment."
Nobody said anything for a moment. Cornelius looked on with an uncomfortable look from his chair, Professor McGonagall continued writing on a piece of apparent blank parchment, and Remus simply stood there, getting all the more agitated as the seconds slowly ticked by and no one spoke. Remus coughed loudly. "Should I inform Kingsley of the most recent events so far, Professor?" said Remus. "I think it would be best if we alerted some of the Order to your prediction."
Professor McGonagall's hand, which had been furiously writing down a list of ingredients that Flitwick had kindly asked her to purchase, paused in mid-air and she lifted her head, a contemplative look on her face. "That might well be nice."
"If I am correct, I believe Kingsley Shacklebolt is on a mission with another squad of Aurors right now."
"Yes, yes, thank you for your opinion," said Remus coolly. "But right now, we have a more dire situation at hand than a couple of Death Eaters. Dare I say, we might have You-Know-Who's other possible weakness here."
Cornelius fell silent once more; Professor McGonagall shook her head at Remus but didn't bother disagreeing with him.
Harry Potter gave a long, tired sigh as he stared up at the dark ceiling where he was currently sprawled on the bed inside Fred and George Weasley's room in the Burrow. After Dumbledore dropped him off and left and Mrs. Weasley left back downstairs after leading him into her sons' room, he'd been alternating between feeling gloomy and outright wretched to happy and relieved. Happy and relieved to finally see the Weasleys, whom he considered his family. The Dursleys honestly didn't count since Harry hated them and the rest of his blood family was dead. The Weasleys were more of his family, with their love and kindness towards him, than the Dursleys had ever been in all the years he'd spent with them and their burning hatred and disgust for him rolled into one. And then. . .And then he felt gloomy when he started thinking of what had occurred during his fifth year at Hogwarts.
Sirius had died.
While he'd struggled to come to terms with the loss of the death of the godfather he'd spent so little time with, before he was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry's stomach twisted horribly, and grief and anger filled him), Harry also constantly found himself thinking of how stupid he was. Of how it was all his fault. Sirius's death, Cedric Diggory's. . .His parents. . . He knew that it was wrong to feel like this but he couldn't seem to stop. Whenever he thought of Sirius's limp body falling into the mist he felt like he was slowly cracking apart after receiving one too many blows, ready to shatter and spiral piece by broken piece into oblivion. It hurt, all of it. If it weren't for him all those people that had died would still be alive instead of underneath the ground, never to move or breathe or speak again.
Everyone told him it wasn't his fault all those people who were not here anymore had died but Harry doubted they actually all meant it. Some shot him accusing looks when they thought he wasn't looking and whispered behind his back. None of what they said surprised him anymore. But it did make him hurt and angry. And that, feeling angry, made him feel alive again. It was the only thing that drove him forward these days.
In fact, he glared out the Weasleys' window now as his mind raced furiously.
It wasn't like he'd asked to Harry Potter, the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World! All he'd ever wanted was to be just him, to be just Harry. He didn't want to be a hero. That job could go to whoever wanted it so bad, to whoever wanted all the misery and glory and death. But he wanted a peaceful, happy life, not one where the people around him - people he loved - were constantly dying and crazy lunatics were trying to kill him and his friends. Yet he had to. He had to fight a fight he feared he would ultimately end up losing because he couldn't stand the idea of not fighting, of giving up, and then leaving thousands of people, who looked to him with misplaced faith that he'd save them, under Voldemort's cruel rule. If there was any chance that he could rid this world of Voldemort once and for all, Harry would take it in a heartbeat. Even if it cost Harry his very life, which was now a very likely possibility, thanks to the prophecy. The prophecy that had led to his parents dying and to Harry being labeled the Boy-Who-Lived.
Breathing a deep sigh through his nose, Harry turned his head away from the view of the dark inky sky outside. A stone rolled in the hollow place in his stomach. Without knowing how or why, he had the strong suspicion that something bad was going to happen, something tragically dreadful. . . But he had not the faintest idea what.
He groped underneath his pillow where he'd placed his wand earlier when he'd first entered Fred and George Weasley's room. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he'd dropped his wand, but then his hand touched solid wood and he breathed a sigh of relief, curling his hand around it tightly. Good. He couldn't bear it if he lost the only thing that was his protection nowadays.
Everything is going to be okay, thought Harry fiercely. He ignored the dull pang in his heart as he pulled his blanket over his head. It's nothing. I'm just sleepy, is all. . . And then Harry fell asleep, the nagging sense that things were not okay but the complete opposite in the back corner of his mind.
With a scream, Brielle landed hard on her back. The small green pin that'd been clutched in her hand rolled away as she unclenched her fingers in shock. Hard, solid concrete touched her back, she winced as a painful ache began throbbing throughout her body. She would be sore and be covered in bruises come a few hours, no doubt, considering that she'd been born with, unfortunately, sensitive skin, that the merest hit from a ball with enough force left a dark blue welt on her skin. Her stomach turned over Feeling suddenly very nauseous, Brielle turned her head and, uncaring for the moment of as to where she was, retched onto the cold, stony floor. With a gasp, she laid her head down, letting her flushed face and streaming tears mix with the cold brick tiles underneath her cheek.
"Oh, how very unfortunate," said a deep voice from somewhere above her.
Brielle's eyes snapped open. Fear, sharp and bitter, had her sitting up scrambling to her knees, even as black dots danced in front of her eyes, and she scurried away from the voice. She reached hastily into her pocket. Where was her wand, where was it? She was positive she'd put it in there after she'd placed her bags inside her pajama shirt's own little pocket. Clenching her hands, Brielle rose shakily to her knees. She hadn't left her aunt behind to die only to die herself. Not today. "Stay back," she rasped, voice trembling, and she looked up to get her first look at the owner with the deep voice, wand raised.
She was met with the clear, twinkling blue eyes of a man with half-moon glasses, a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache, instead of another figure cloaked in black robes like Brielle had expected. This man didn't look dangerous or like he wanted to hurt her, much less kill her. He actually looked more like a sweet, elderly grandfather, not a murderer. Confusion spread through Brielle.
"I. . .Who are you?" she asked. It wasn't lost on her that she was the intruder, not the other way around, but she was still alarmed. Her eyes flickered to the wand inches from the man, lying innocently on a grand wooden table. The hold on her wand tightened.
"The better question, I think, would be, who are you?" said the man calmly. He grabbed the wand, carvings resembling clusters of elderberries ran down its length, which was presumably his. Brielle tensed but he simply gave a flick of his wand and the pool of bile on the floor disappeared. Her cheeks flushed. "There. Now, why don't you kindly take a seat so we may discuss your rather unexpected. . .appearance, Miss-?"
"My aunt said to look for an Albus Dumbledore," Brielle said quietly, making no move to sit down. She wouldn't say her name, no matter how much she was tortured, if it came to that, until she knew who this peculiar man was. "Are you him-Albus Dumbledore?"
A sort of quietness settled over the air and Brielle watched the elderly wizard before her, wariness coursing through her veins. "Yes, that is I," he said at last. His face was somber. "Am I to correctly assume that your aunt was Joanne Leighn and that you are her niece?"
"Yes." Was, not is. So he knew.
Albus Dumbledore nodded slowly. He knew without a doubt now that Joanne Leighn was dead, Brielle was completely positive of it. The twinkle in his eyes faded slowly as he took in Brielle's tear-streaked face, crinkled blue pajamas, and shaking body, a finger gently stroking his long beard in obvious thoughtfulness. Aunt Joanne's death obviously wasn't as distressing news as it was to Brielle, but there was a certain amount of sadness in Albus Dumbledore's eyes that convinced Brielle of his sincere unhappiness over her aunt's death. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace but the warmth did nothing to subside the chill that had seeped into her bones. Nothing would, probably. "Well, any news Professor McGonagall has of Voldemort can wait for now, surely. Come, Ms. Leighn. We must first get you warmed up, for surely you are freezing in your nightclothes, and checked for any signs of injuries before we may have room for conversing about your sudden arrival here at Hogwarts. Follow me."
Placing a gentle hand on Brielle's back, he steered her out of the room and down a flight of stairs leading out into a dark, icy corridor. Brielle's teeth chattered as she followed Albus Dumbledore down this hallway and that, her bare feet numbed by the floor's stone. She couldn't honestly tell the difference between all the doors and corridors that they passed, they all seemed to look the same. Just as she was convinced that they'd just been going in circles the whole time, Dumbledore stopped in front of a set of double doors. Brielle tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as he opened the doors and walked in, his robes billowing after him.
Brielle followed in his wake slowly, eyeing the dozen or so beds with plain white curtains each on either side of the room, guessing that this was an infirmary. Grief clutched at her as she realized that Madam Wilkin, the one who'd healed and taken care of the sick and wounded in Wringburg, was likely dead. Madam Wilkin had always been a stern but kind woman with the type of smile that could make one feel cared for or scared witless when angered. She'd also been Brielle's friend for as long as she could remember, letting Brielle watch when she healed someone, letting her do it herself at times. It'd been watching her cure Aunt Joanne from feverish hallucinations due to eating enchanted mushrooms that had gotten her interest in getting a career as a mediwizard.
"Poppy?" Dumbledore called out loudly, holding out a hand to stop Brielle from walking further. She stopped.
"Is something wrong?" Brielle narrowed her eyes at the dark room, weary. For all she knew, this could be a trap and this wasn't actually the Albus Dumbledore that her aunt had raved so much about. After all, she'd seen Aunt Joanne take the guise of Klair Martine, a wealthy half-blood witch who'd lived in Wringburg for half of her life, by drinking the Polyjuice Potion to Apparate to London to attend to some "business" several times over the course of three years. She'd pretended to be several other people over the years, never sticking with one. You could never trust anyone to not recognize you as someone supposed to be dead or missing, she'd said. And she'd landed someone in muggle prison out of misplaced suspicion thanks to that. Aunt Joanne hadn't talk about trust for weeks to month afterwards. Shaking her head at her own paranoia-it was nothing she was sure-Brielle glanced at Dumbledore, feeling guilty. The night's events were getting to her.
A sudden bang had Brielle jumping. Dumbledore merely smiled. "Dumbledore, what are you doing, don't you see that it's late?" a woman's voice snapped, a little bit groggily. Brielle refrained from yawning herself. She'd only slept two hours before You-Know-Who's people attacked Wringburg and murdered the only family she had left. She was both physically and mentally drained. There was a small sound and then the room was suddenly bathed in candlelight from the several scones on the walls.
"Ah, Madam Pomfrey!" Dumbledore cried cheerfully at the witch's stunned look. "So sorry for interrupting-"
"Odette?" Madam Pomfrey breathed. Brielle stared at her, bewildered. This woman who Brielle guessed was the mediwitch for the infirmary, had known her mother? The woman, Madam Pomfrey, squinted, shook her head firmly, as if trying to clear her head. "No. Dumbledore, Odette Leigh is dead. Who are you, missy? What business do you have here, late at night?"
Madam Pomfrey pulled her bathrobe tighter around her, tapping one slipper-covered foot against the ground. Words refused to come out of Brielle's mouth when she opened her mouth. Seeing this mediwitch, her face lined with strictness through the fatigue from being woken up in the middle of the night, reminded her oddly of Madam Wilkin. The purple bathrobe reminded her of the one Aunt Joanne owned, had owned, Brielle realized, except it'd been adorned with white streaks very much resembling falling stars at the sleeves. Seeing her face, Dumbledore said gently, "Poppy, kindly stop questioning this poor girl. As you can well see, she's been through a tough ordeal. She is, kindly put, in shock, and needs absolute bedrest. Some tea would be quite fitting right about now, given the circumstances, don't you think?"
The words were a hint aimed not so subtly at the elderly witch. And so Madam Pomfrey slipped into her role as the school healer and medic.
Clucking her tongue, she grabbed Brielle's arm and led her to the bed closest to her office. Once Brielle was lying on the bed, pillows fluffed up to a comfortable softness, Madam Pomfrey raised her wand. She made several gestures that Brielle knew were used to check for open wounds, broken bones, pain. "I'm covered with bruises," she said quietly, causing Madam Pomfrey's wand to pause mid-air.
"What, where?" she demanded.
"Back. My back, I mean, they're covered with them. I have sensitive skin you see, landing on concrete gave me those."
"Quick, turn around." Madam Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore, who waved merrily at them both before turning to leave, and drew the curtain around Brielle's bed closed. "Well, what are you waiting for, girl, spelled-out instructions? Let me see your bruises! They don't hurt much do they?"
Brielle showed Madam Pomfrey her back reluctantly. It wasn't that she was necessarily shy of being undressed in front of people, but there were seven long, thin scars on her back. She'd had them for as long as she could remember, and she hated when people saw them, for they all assumed she'd been whipped or some other nonsense though the truth was, Aunt Joanne had been as clueless to those scars as Brielle ever was. Nothing they'd ever tried let loose on the truth behind Brielle's scars. As a newborn, her mom hadn't let Brielle out of her sight once, Aunt Joanne said, not until the day she died downstairs. And then when Aunt Joanne fled from the Leighn Cottage where Brielle'd been born (the Death Eaters cast the Mark over the cottage after painting the walls with Leighn blood), Aunt Joanne hadn't left Brielle by herself for no more than two hours' time, and even then, only with Madam Wilkin or ridiculously high security. There simply was no explanation for the scars.
Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey didn't mention the scars.
"These bruises, no doubt, will be completely gone by morning." said Madam Pomfrey gaily. She waved her wand over Brielle's back and nodded in satisfaction, stepping back. "There you go. You can turn around now, Miss. . ."
"Leighn." responded Brielle, turning back around, pulling her shirt down quickly. "Brielle Leighn."
Rigid silence settled for a long moment. Then finally, Madam Pomfrey said, "I assume your mother was Odette Leighn?"
"Yes."
This time, the silence didn't last as long. "Your mother was a great person, you know, her sister too, always running around together, laughing, helping people-But Odette was something quite else. Kind, yes, but with an incredibly sharp mind. And a knack for trouble. She knew to recognize threats before anyone else, yet she was a frequent patient here. High with fever, covered in boils, scraped knees and elbows, you name it, a daredevil she was, always throwing herself into any situation. But she more than made up for that by assisting me in mending nasty hexes, something I scarce do. Or she did, anyways, until Joanne, overprotective fool that she was, urged her sister to quit, going on and on about her safety and such." Madam Pomfrey's voice was exasperated but noticeably warm.
Brielle didn't say anything. She'd never really known much about her mother, except what little Aunt Joanne had told her, but even then, the details were minor: her mother had had Brielle's dark hair and sensitive skin, was kind, intelligent, bold, a Quidditch fan. Nothing really significant to help Brielle ever conjure up a clear image of her mom.
"Uh, well, that'll be all." Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat, mistaking Brielle's silence for awkwardness. She probably thought Brielle knew all of this already. "Well, Dumbledore is probably off talking to Professor McGonagall, seeing as your arrival is quite unexpected, as you may well know, but he'll be back in due time, I'm sure. Now, why don't you get back under those covers and I'll go fetch a vial of Sleeping Draught for you. That will, of course, be consumed only after Dumbledore has returned from wherever it is he went to and has spoken with you. Understood, young lady?"
Nodding, Brielle sank back against the bed, wrapping the cool bed sheets tight around herself. Her bones felt hollowed out. "Understood," she mumbled.
Madam Pomfrey analyzed her sharply for a moment, making sure her patient was safely in bed and not about to run off to who knew where, then, her sleeping cap along with her wand in one hand, she gave a curt nod and marched briskly away. Brielle waited a moment after the mediwitch had gone, then she slid the sheets down to her waist and dug her hand into her pocket. Out came two little bags, one grey, one black. She picked up her wand, lying on the tabled besides the bed. "Engorgio," she whispered, pointing her wand at the little black one that was hers. It quickly grew back to its original size, landing softly on her lap, but Brielle didn't pay it any mind. Her gaze was now focused on the grey bag. The one that had belonged to Aunt Joanne for more than half of Brielle's life. The bag holding the only things that Brielle now had of her aunt.
She curled her hand around it gently as a yawning pit of sorrow and remorse filled her whole body so it felt like she was falling. Falling, falling, falling endlessly, never to touch solid ground again. A strangled sob burst from her mouth and she pressed her closed fist against her cheek, curling into her side. Tears started seeping from underneath her closed eyelids but she didn't bother trying to stop them.
Aunt Joanne shouldn't have died today, Brielle thought. She should be here with me, not. . .dead. She shouldn't have left me all alone. What would she do now? How was she ever going to survive in this world all by herself, when all she'd ever known was the life that she'd had at Wringburg, under the watchful eye of Aunt Joanne and Madam Wilkin? And especially in a world being overrun by a terrifying, evil dark wizard? How am I ever going to complete what I'm supposed to?
Brielle didn't move when she heard Madam Pomfrey come back nor when she set down the vial of Sleeping Draught on the table gently. She kept her eyes glued to the purple liquid inside the bottle, which was really nothing more than a smear of purple due to the blurred vision her tears gave her.
Only seconds later, it seemed, there were other footsteps nearing her bed. No. Not one pair of footsteps, but three. Holding her breath, Brielle waited to see who these footsteps belonged to. Unconsciously, she gripped her wand underneath the sheets.
"Ah, this young lady here will be the one I was telling you so much about, Minerva, Cornelius," said Dumbledore's joyous voice. How could he be so happy during dark times like these? And Cornelius? That name, for some odd reason, sounded strangely familiar. Where had she heard it before?
"She looks to be sleeping!" said a second voice, male. "How are we talk to her now? We obviously can't question someone who is asleep. I say we douse her with a bucket of cold water, that should wake her up in no time at all."
Question? These people that Dumbledore had brought with him were going to question her? Well, there was no way she would allow herself to be treated like a prisoner
"That won't be necessary," replied Brielle, wiping her cheeks hastily and looking up. Her first impression of the two persons Dumbledore'd brought along with him was that they looked angry. But no, that wasn't right. The witch in the emerald-green robes had her black hair (which had streaks of gray in it) twisted up into a tight bun. Beneath her square glasses, she had a very stern face, and Brielle instantly knew that this was definitely not someone to cross. Next to her side, there was a wizard. He looked shrunken, his hair gray and balding. His face had a sort of crumpled, exhausted look to it that made Brielle suspect he'd been through a lot recently.
"Merlin," gasped the witch with a startled face. "Dumbledore, you were right, she looks very much like her mother!"
"That she does," agreed Dumbledore. He smiled down warmly at Brielle. She met his gaze unflinchingly, even over conscious of the fact that her face was a mess from her crying, and his smile grew wider. "Ms. Leighn, would you care to introduce yourself to these people here at my side?"
Brielle nodded cautiously, plastering a smile on her face. "Hello there. My name is Brielle, Aubrielle Leighn, I mean. But please, simply call me Brielle."
The short wizard grimaced (it looked like he wanted to be anywhere that wasn't there) but extended his hand towards her nonetheless with a weak attempt at a smile. Brielle shook his hand briefly before he pulled back and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nice, very nice, to meet you, Miss Leighn. I. . .I am Cornelius Oswald Fudge-previous Minister of Magic, at your service." He gave a little bow.
"Alright," said the witch, Minerva, walking past the previous Minister. She accessed Brielle for a second, and Brielle got the feeling she was going through a test of some sort. Apparently she seemed to pass though, because the witch gave Brielle a warm smile that eased her hard features into something almost soft. Brielle relaxed, glad to know she wasn't about to be fried by the elderly witch. At least not today. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Brielle Leighn. I am Professor McGonagall. You will find you'll make lots of friends and lasting memories here at Hogwarts, rest assured. And I am positive we will get along just fine, no matter which House you are sorted into. You seem like a very lovely girl. I am sorry for the loss of your aunt, Joanne was always such a happy spirit."
Brielle's smile wavered. "Thank you, P-Professor," she muttered. This woman was kind. Had everyone known her aunt? It sure seemed like it, judging by the understanding look on the Hogwarts Professor's face. She breathed in deeply. "And I'm sure Hogwarts is an incredible school. My aunt-she talked well about it."
Dumbledore nodded. "Now, Brielle," he began seriously. Professor McGonagall and Cornelius Fudge straightened, their eyes suddenly more alert. Brielle was instantly suspicious. Looks like those were never good signs, and she was proved right when Dumbledore continued. "It is time for us to have a little chat about what happened tonight."
"I'm sorry?" Her stomach knotted. Not this, not right now, she didn't honestly feel like she could stomach being questioned about her aunt's death.
"I know it must be hard, but this is important to knowing what it is Lord Voldemort wants, Brielle, otherwise I'd wait a few weeks before I broached a topic so sensitive," said Dumbledore gently, his eyes softening. With a swish of his wand, he conjured up three comfortable-lloking chairs, and he, along with Professor McGonagall
Brielle swallowed. Her throat had gone all dry, her skin itchy. "I. . ." Professor McGonagall looked at her encouragingly, her eyes full of a silent question, so Brielle build up what courage she had and began speaking, her voice trembling only slightly. "Okay. Yesterday-I'm guessing it's now early morning-Aunt Joanne and me-all of Wringburg as well, actually-woke up when the Dark Lord's people, the Death Eaters, started attacking us while we were all asleep, thus defenseless. Since Aunt Joanne and I lived on the opposite direction where the Death Eaters attacked first, we had more of a warning than those on Perellie Street. I awoke to screams and, confused, I went to look out the window. It was there that I saw them. . .the Death Eaters, they tortured people, my friends, before killing them, dropping them from the sky, slitting their throats, killing their loved ones first-"
"Soon after, Aunt Joanne came bursting into my room. She knew what was happening before I did, and she was afraid, so afraid. Aunt Joanne wasn't one to easily be scared, so I was quickly terrified. I packed her stuff along with mine and then we began to go downstairs, planning to flee, I think, but then there were Death Eaters downstairs, too. When she ushered me back into my room, locked the door, and told me about the portkey, I knew-I knew we were going to die. Or I thought we were. Aunt Joanne kept telling me about my living on and meeting Albus Dumbledore, not including herself in there, and I was suspicious because it seemed like she knew she wasn't going to make it. And. . .she didn't. She didn't. Once they broke in, Aunt Joanne put all her effort into trying to save me, regardless if she got hurt or not. I-I couldn't fight back." Brielle blinked away her tears angrily. "My body felt like it was frozen, I wanted to move but I couldn't, I was so scared. Ten years of learning how to fight all for nothing! My aunt, she got tied up, yet she still tried to help me. I knew, we both knew, that she was going to die but that I didn't have to. She told me to leave her behind but I didn't-I didn't want to. But I had to, I had to. . . So I left her, I let her die, I watched someone plunge a sword through her chest, and I came here. I had to survive in order to talk to Albus Dumbledore and do what I'd been born to do, she said. . .What good that did me in the end though? The only family I had left is now dead."
Dumbledore cut in sharply. "What?" he said. Brielle looked at him, confused. He stared back at her with an ashen face. What was he talking about? "What did you say? Did you say were born to do something? Were you given a specific role in this world?"
Brielle, unsure if she was supposed to speak of this, said quietly, "Yeah. A prophecy was made six days before I was born, just four miles away. Aunt Joanne didn't know it was about me until she read my mom's diary two years later after her death and found out that she'd been lying when she said it was about some other girl that couldn't be me because I hadn't been born as a new year began, although in truth it actually said that the prophecy referred to a girl born as the year faded away, which meant December as that was the month the year faded into a new one."
Professor McGonagall exchanged a somber look with Dumbledore as she finished talking.
"What's going on? Dumbledore, I demand you explain." snapped Fudge, voicing Brielle's own confusion. She didn't get it. Why did the Hogwarts Headmaster look as if some terrible secret had just come to light? Or as if someone they'd thought missing was actually dead?
Ignoring him, Dumbledore turned bright blue eyes to Brielle. "You, I assume, were born in December?"
"Yes, sir. December 29, 1979."
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"And your mother. . .You said she knew that this prophecy you just spoke of referred to you? She lied to her own sister about to whom it spoke about, she didn't tell her, even though they shared almost everything?"
"Um, yeah, I mean, yes."
Looking dazed, Professor McGonagall whispered hoarsely, "Albus, the prophecy, the prophecy, the one that Miranda Plighten spoke of - you don't think. . ."
Stroking his beard slowly, Dumbledore heaved a long, tired sigh. That sigh sounded tired, as if in it, it carried the weight of too many things to bear. "Yes, Minerva," he said in a loud, clear voice full of bemused wonder, as Fudge and Brielle both leaned in, anxious, waiting to hear what he would say next that could be so important, "I believe we just found the key to helping one Harry Potter defeat Voldemort."