Disclaimer: I am not J.K Rowling
Chapter Eleven: News
The sun began to rise and early-morning light filtered through the windows several hours later, but not one of them had moved from their positions. Harry had stayed on the bed- immobile save for the small twitches and shudders he gave in his sleep. Minerva was positioned awkwardly in the chair, as she'd fallen asleep for a few minutes and slipped slightly down the seat; Poppy was sitting up straight, her eyes never leaving Harry's face; and Albus' head was down, looking at his hands.
The quiet and stillness was interrupted, however, as a man in black robes suddenly appeared in the Wing, knees buckling underneath him as he reached the assembled adults. Poppy immediately jumped to her feet and helped him into the nearest bed, across from where Harry slept, and Severus Snape collapsed weakly against the pillows, breathing harshly. Albus stood up and walked up to him, sitting down on another chair next to the bed frame.
'How bad was it?'
Severus stared at him, and if the situation hadn't been so grave, the Headmaster's question would have been mildly amusing.
'You have no idea,' he said dryly. 'He is-' Severus winced as Poppy handed him a strengthening potion and he incorporated himself to swallow it, '-furious that the boy has gotten away.' He suddenly remembered that the child in question was lying across from him and he immediately sat up straight.
'Albus, how is he-'
Albus didn't answer. It was Poppy who spoke.
'We do not know,' she said sadly. 'We do not know.'
Minerva sniffed behind her and wiped a tear from her cheek.
'I'm. . . sorry.' Severus tried to say.
'For what?' said Poppy. She suddenly looked angry. 'You did nothing you could not help, Severus Snape, and if anyone is to blame, it is those bastards that did that- that did this- to a nine year old boy!'
Severus hung his head, but said nothing for a few minutes.
'Has he. . . woken yet?'
'No,' Albus spoke. 'And I think that for now, it is better that he doesn't.'
A short while later, Poppy decided that they needed to eat something and prepared a small tray of breakfast and tea. None of the other Professors complained, and slowly ate their way through the food. Snape had regained enough of his energy to be able to walk around, and- upon Poppy's request- had agreed to go back to his quarters to brew several potions for Harry. Seconds after he'd passed through the doors of the Hospital Wing, Albus- too- stood up and declared that he should speak to the rest of the staff and let them know what would be happening over the next few days.
'Severus, Severus!'
The man in question turned around to see Albus running after him down the corridor, if that was even possible at his age.
'What is it, Headmaster?'
'Severus,' repeated Albus quietly. There was a short pause. 'I'm sorry, but I need- your memories- if you can. I need to know what happened. It is vital to Harry's well being.'
Snape stared at him. His memories? The boy would wake up soon- surely Dumbledore didn't need the memories from both of them?
'What about Po- Harry?'
It didn't seem right to call the boy by his surname after what had happened to him.
Albus sighed. 'Severus, I do not know in what state he will be when he wakes up. He's been through a terrible ordeal, and-'
'Fine.' Snape brought the tip of his wand to his temple and thought hard as he slowly extracted the memories of his meeting with Voldemort, and of the torture he had witnessed and committed himself.
'Thank-you, Severus.' Albus seemed very tired as he uncorked a flask and deposited Snape's memories inside, and Severus suddenly realised just how old the man was.
'It's the least I can do,' he said, voice low. Then he spun around- robes whipping around him- and strode off down the corridor.
Albus stared after him sadly, then started walking up to the Staff Room. He needed to speak to the rest of the Hogwarts teachers and let them know what had happened. They cared about Harry as well, and they had a right to know what was really going on- why Harry hadn't been seen for over three days. He would eventually have to tell the Minister as well, of course. Although Bagnold was rather sensible and had been Minister during the previous war, Albus wasn't looking forward to telling her that they may be about to start another.
The halls were empty of students, as it was still the summer holidays- they would be back in three weeks, on September 1st. The castle was completely silent and devoid of life, and Albus felt a pang of sadness. Harry should be there- running down the corridors and jumping down the staircases, but instead he was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious and barely alive.
He reached the Staff Room and opened the door. Although a lot of the teachers took a break and left Hogwarts during the mid-year holidays, everyone was always present in the last few weeks before term in order to prepare their classes and attend to other work. They looked up at him as he entered, waving and calling out hello, but Dumbledore didn't smile.
'Is everything alright, Albus?' Professor Sinistra asked as Dumbledore lowered himself down into a red armchair by the dead fireplace. She was sitting at a desk, a book open in front of her.
'I am afraid it isn't,' Albus began quietly. There would be no delaying it, he would cut straight to the point. Everyone's focus had shifted to him- they listened with rapt attention. 'Several days ago, Harry was taken by Death Eaters from the grounds.'
There was a short pause, and then the room was filled with gasps and yells of shock and surprise.
'Death Eaters?' cried Professor Kettleburn, speaking for all of them. 'I thought Death Eaters were finished? You-Know-Who disappeared eight years ago, Albus!'
Albus bowed his head. 'Yes. Death Eaters, and they weren't acting alone. They were following orders.'
'You don't mean-?' began Professor Amildaf- the current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher- catching on quickly.
'Voldemort has returned.'
The room burst into shouts and cries again:
'Returned?'
'Dear Merlin!'
'He was dead, though, wasn't he?'
'I knew he would come back someday, Charity, it was inevitable-'
'What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?'
'You-Know-Who cannot be back. . .'
'Unbelievable-'
'Silence!' Albus stood up, arms raised. 'Please. Let me explain. Voldemort was never gone. I have my. . . theories. . . as to what happened that dreadful night eight years ago, but now is not the time to hear them. Voldemort has spent the last near-decade in hiding- too weak to carry on and attempt anything against the Wizarding World. His Death Eaters were caught and incarcerated, and the world returned to normal. We were lead to believe that all was safe, that the danger had passed. But he was never gone. This whole time he has been sitting under the surface, and now- after all these years- he has finally managed to return. Voldemort is strong again, and Harry has spent the last three days being tortured by him and his followers. We managed to rescue him early this morning, and he is currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing, under the care of Poppy.'
There was a stunned silence as everybody absorbed what he'd just told them.
'Please, I beg you to listen. This is not a game. I have always suspected that Voldemort would one day return, and now he has.'
'He's really back?' said Professor Sprout, astonished.
'Yes.'
'And Harry?'
Albus nodded. 'He is in a terrible condition. Poppy did all she could, but we don't know how he will be when he wakes up. The cruciatus. . .'
'They used crucio?' exclaimed Professor Flitwick. 'On a nine-year-old boy? Albus, that's-'
'I know,' Dumbledore's voice was thick. 'We suspect. . . it was more than once.' They knew for certain it was more than once, but Albus didn't think everybody needed to know all the details.
'Good grief,' whispered Professor Vector.
Everyone bowed their heads, too stunned to speak, slowly trying to take in the multitude of information- slowly trying to take in the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, and that Harry had been tortured by him. By him- Lord Voldemort!
'You are certain then, Dumbledore?' asked Proffesor Sprout, after several minutes of silence.
'Yes, Pomona. I am afraid there is no doubt.'
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