TWENTY SEVEN - Dark Times
Harry awoke with a start as a flash of lightning lit up Fleur's cosy bedroom through the window, illuminating the sleeping faces of his two loves. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms were raised with the sheer amount of static energy in the air. He took a deep breath, smelling the strong scent of ozone through the slightly ajar window.
His movements caused Fleur and Hermione to stir beside him, the latter pushing herself up and rubbing at her eye. Her bed hair was messy and the t-shirt of his that she had stolen during the summer and yet to return, being much too large, had slipped to expose a bare shoulder.
"What are you two doing?" mumbled Fleur sleepily, failing in her attempt to pull him back to bed. It was cold, and she was a cuddle-bug.
"I think it's time," Harry whispered in hoarse excitement.
"Time for what?" she asked, in English this time and marginally more awake.
He didn't respond in his haste, nearly tripping as he climbed out of the bed, with his foot having gotten caught in the covers. Tugging it free, he yanked more of the duvet off of the girls as he intended.
Fleur made a noise of protest and grabbed it before it got too far, pulling it back over her to stave off the biting chill in the air. Now wide awake and sitting up while holding the warm blanket to herself, she spoke again, clearer and a tad peeved.
"Where are you going?"
"What could you possibly be doing at this hour?" added Hermione with a yawn, having now also been awoken.
"It's tonight!" He answered, pulling on his shoe.
"What is?" pressed Hermione with slight annoyance.
He realised he was being too vague, so he moved his hand to point at the window. "There's a thunderstorm going, my potion should be ready now!"
Hermione's eyes widened in realisation. The last step to becoming an animagus.
He'd hidden a crystal vial filled with the mandrake leaf amongst other ingredients someplace where it couldn't be stumbled upon, waiting for a storm like tonight. If the potion turned out to be red, it would have worked. That's why Harry was in such a rush, he needed to get to the vial.
As Hermione made the mental connection, Fleur had already begun following Harry's lead and got dressed with almost as much fervour as he did. She was probably more eager to see his transformation through than he was. As not to fall behind, Hermione hurriedly joined them.
Once they left Fleur's room, Harry retrieved the map and looked it over to make sure the path was clear. He would be beyond upset if he had to start the entire animagus process over from scratch because someone went and interrupted him.
Thankfully they didn't have to travel very far as the only requirements for storing the vial was somewhere quiet and dark, so he'd simply stashed it in a broom closet on the seventh floor near the Room of Requirement, where he also planned on undergoing the transformation. He'd decided against hiding it within the room on the off chance its own magic would interfere with the delicate process.
Entering the ironically dusty broom closet, he immediately made for the furthest stack of shelves from the door and reached under the lowest row. He felt the vial still in its place and released the sticking charm with a wordless Finite. The three of them were with bated breath as he removed it. As soon as the light of their Lumos charms touched the vial and the red hue could be seen, they exhaled a collective breath of relief.
Harry grinned excitedly and held up the vial. "I'm all set."
"Exquise!" Fleur pulled him to his feet and kissed his lips, all but dragging him from the room.
"Any thoughts on what it might be?" asked Hermione as they moved to the Room of Requirement.
Harry took a seat on a thick rug in the centre of the room and swirled the red liquid in the vial. He had a feeling he knew more or less what his form was going to be. At this stage of the process, if he focused, he could feel another heartbeat beneath his own, and it was strong. If he drew on that feeling and closed his eyes, he could almost see the animal it belonged to. It was definitely not a mouse, that was for sure.
"A box of 'oneydukes if it's a bird," bet Fleur with a grin, nudging Hermione, who giggled at her audacity.
"You have none left! Now you're trying to get your hands on mine."
"Arry will share 'is with me," countered Fleur shamelessly, throwing a flirtatious smile at him and earning a raised eyebrow and a chuckle of amusement.
Before he could get distracted any further, he removed the cork on the vial and whispered the final incantation.
He looked towards the girls for one final bit of encouragement, then took the leap and downed it in one gulp. Oddly, the potion tasted like nothing and for a moment he wondered if it even worked. The questioning gazes from Fleur and Hermione mirrored his thoughts.
Barely seconds later, he found that it did in fact work as he doubled over with an intense and burning pain spreading out from his stomach, startling his two lovers.
He couldn't hear them though, the only sound he heard was the second heartbeat growing stronger until it eclipsed his own. Every beat felt like it shook his body, he felt it in his bones, in his head, even his vision faded in and out to its rhythm. He saw flashes in his mind, bright green slitted eyes, and a slim, powerful form. He heard a growl, a deep rumble that he realised was coming from deep within his core.
Colour washed out of the world around him as his eyes stung, and his skin grew hot, itching fiercely. He was vaguely aware of the fur, smooth and blacker than the darkest night which grew from him. The pain numbed too and suddenly it seemed as if he were floating.
Several moments passed before he felt fully aware again. He moved his head and startled when he saw how Fleur and Hermione loomed over him with awed expressions on their faces. They looked weird, the colours were odd, like watching an old film with the weird washed out hue. Despite it, they were crystal clear.
He took a breath, and sneezed, there were so many scents, the remnants of Fleur's favoured perfume which still lingered on her skin, the light smell of sweat, and clean clothes. Hermione's sugar free breath-mints, and the French wine which they'd shared a glass of in Fleur's room. It was a cocktail of different scents which were uniquely theirs, and behind it he could smell the stone of the floor and the metal odour of the iron fixtures.
"Harry?" Hermione spoke tentatively. His ears flicked in response, it was such an odd sensation that he lifted a hand, no– a paw to scratch it. Seeing his paw brought his mind, and recent events to the forefront. He rushed, on all fours, to the nearest wall which had a large mirror. The girls followed close behind him.
In the reflective screen, was a gorgeous panther, fairly small – around the size of an average dog – and dark enough to be nearly impossible to see on a moonless night. His tail flicked, swishing on the floor, and drawing his attention to it. He had a tail! Now that he was aware of it, he willed it to move and found the action so alien, yet familiar. It was actually a rather fun sensation.
The girls appeared behind him in the mirror, both looking fascinated and cautious at the same time. He turned and called out to them, only to blink owlishly when instead of their names, all got was some weird sound between a growl and a mewl.
Fleur, ever the adventurous one, got down onto her knees and reached out a hand, and while her movements were at first a bit hesitant, it quickly morphed into eager joy when she scratched behind his ear and he leaned into it. A deep rumble was drawn out from the inner depths of his chest.
She laughed beautifully. "He is purring!" She exclaimed, slipping into French.
Hermione, the lovely worry-wart, bless her, was able to put her excitement aside. Her brow was pinched together as she came closer. "Harry–? Are you alright?"
Unable to communicate normally on account of his lack of a voice, he did what the newly animalistic part of him screamed to do. He licked her face.
She yelped and fell back on her ass, as Fleur descended into a manic fit of giggles, wrapping her arms around his thick feline neck. "He's warm," she said before sniggering. "Gabrielle is going to be so 'appy, zhe real 'Arry is also a cat now."
He growled.
"A big cat."
He stopped growling. His tail swished on the smooth floor.
"Can you turn back?" asked Hermione. He realised she wouldn't be able to relax until she knew he could go back and forth with ease. To ease his beautiful bookworm's worries, he followed the instructions Sirius had given him.
Visualise your human self, start at the hands, see them turn back in your mind and will it. He did so, and felt his paws begin to change. To his relief, it didn't hurt, feeling more like a tingle. Soon his one paw was a hand again, then his other. The more he changed back, the faster it became. Around a minute later, 'Harry' was sitting on the floor.
"Phew," he grinned proudly, but exhausted.
Hermione had a relieved and loving smile on her face, with an equal amount of pride in her warm brown eyes. She came in and kissed him.
He cupped her cheek, and deepened the kiss, grinning against her lips when she let out a sigh of enjoyment. A sharp twitch ran up his spine like someone poked him in the side causing him to yelp and separate from Hermione.
Turning, he found the culprit, Fleur was holding his tail, wiggling it back and forth with mirth in her eyes and a barely restrained laugh.
"You forgot zhis," she said, and it was Hermione who broke the silence that followed with a snort.
In the weeks that followed, Harry spent hours upon hours practising his transformations until he was comfortably capable of switching back and forth. While he wasn't as proficient as Sirius or Professor McGonagall were, he figured if given enough time, he would eventually come within range of their level of skill and mastery. For now he needed a few seconds to change into his animal form and at least twice as long to turn back.
To Hermione, the fact that his animagus form allowed him to keep his recognisable green eyes was most amusing. It seemed that panther's were among the few animals wherein green was the most common eye colouring. To Harry, that fact was only marginally as fascinating as the change in his eyesight. He swore he could see clearer , especially at night.
One thing Sirius had warned him against was that becoming an animagus created a connection between his inner animal and his waking self. Some traits, he'd said, would carry over, thankfully those were primarily enhancing rather than drawbacks. In his case, he had found that his sense of balance had greatly improved, and according to Fleur he moved with more grace than he did before. He was almost silent when he walked, and each movement was steadier, with a fine control that you'd only usually find with people who had an incredible awareness of their body in space, like a dancer, or a gymnast.
Madam Pomfrey had even commented on how smooth his wandwork had become. Something she'd attributed to practice, being unaware of his newfound ability of course.
She was currently observing him as he tried to find the root cause of a patient's sudden blurred vision. The simulacrum lay with its now unfocused eyes open.
Harry held an expression of deep concentration as he went through the possibilities, from the most likely to the obscure. He was considering the heart as the true cause and was running through what he knew about said organ in his mind.
As he worked, Madam Pomfrey took the opportunity to rest her legs. She'd had a busy day and appreciated the chance to savour a nice cup of tea.
The sound of the door opening had them glance over. Harry didn't spare anything other than a quick acknowledging smile when he saw it was Daphne.
"Miss Greengrass?" greeted Madam Pomfrey, placing her cup of tea on the side table. "Can I help you?"
She shook her head politely. "Sorry, ma'am, I was hoping for a few minutes to speak with Harry."
That drew his attention. He stopped what he was doing and looked to Madam Pomfrey for permission. Being in the middle of a lesson, it was entirely up to her.
"Five minutes, no more," said his teacher, standing up to stretch her legs and give them some privacy.
"Thank you," Daphne replied gratefully.
Harry put his wand down, not really minding the short break from his exercise. It would do good to let his brain rest for a bit.
"Greengrass," he greeted her politely, noting the nervous air about her. Whatever it was she wanted was causing her undue stress. When he wondered why, his thoughts immediately went to her sister. "Is everything alright? Astoria?"
She smiled gently at his concern, a rare expression on her otherwise stoic facade. "She is fine, this is about her, though."
"I'm listening," he replied, relieved that nothing serious had happened to her sister.
"Sirius Black," she said, surprising him. "You're living with him– he's made you his heir?"
Harry was caught off guard by the remark and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "He has, why?"
"It's not strictly about him, more what he represents."
"The Black family?"
"Hm," she nodded. "I asked my father to put in a formal request, but he's refused." Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed, and for a brief moment he let his mind wander to some of Fleur's sordid romance novels and the absurd marriage betrothals in them. He smoothened his expression to hide his thoughts.
"I want to be allowed into the Black family library," she hastily admitted. "The Blacks have amassed one of Europe's greatest collections on the subject of the Dark Arts. The chance is slim, but there's a possibility that something in there coul—"
"Save Astoria," he finished for her.
She nodded, gladdened that he connected the dots so quickly.
"That's right. I realise, I'm asking a great deal, I know, bu—" She grew agitated, the propriety she'd learned and practised all her life was being pushed aside. Even Harry knew that what she was asking was tantamount to requesting family secrets. These were the sort of exchanges that simply did not happen. It was no wonder her father had refused to approach Sirius.
But Harry knew his godfather, he knew the type of man Sirius was. He also knew that Sirius had no real love for his family, and so wouldn't bat an eye at parting with their knowledge if it meant saving a young girl's life.
"I can't make any promises," said Harry. "I'd write to him, but I think this is something best done in person. Regardless, it's going to have to wait until Christmas."
Daphne let out a breath she'd been holding. "Thank you, that's already more than I could ask."
"What exactly are you hoping to find?" he pressed. "We could help— Hermione's been eager to go through Sirius' library, an extra set of eyes never hurt."
She hesitated for a bare moment before deciding. "I suspect the Black family has some of the more restricted tomes. Things even my father, and those before him have been unable to find."
Her reasoning was sound, and his own research into Astoria's condition had yielded scarce little on the methodology behind how a blood curse is created, and placed upon someone. With how malicious the magic was, it was no surprise that the Ministry would do what it could to ensure such knowledge never saw the light of day.
"As long as we're careful," he said. "I don't think Astoria would appreciate you getting hurt. Some magics take things from you. There won't be much point in living if you're nothing but a shell." His studies on curses and the lingering effects of delving into dark magic can be devastating. Not all the residents of the permanent spell damage ward at St. Mungo's were put there by other people.
Daphne's sapphire blue eyes stared at him unwaveringly. "I'm well aware of the risks. I'll do anything to save my sister." Stressing her devotion.
"Sorry," she deflated. "I've heard the same warnings from my parents for years…"
"You don't have to explain," he waved her off. "Just remember, you're not doing this alone."
"I will— Thank you."
Madam Pomfrey exited her office, signalling the end of his short break. "I'll see you around," said Harry to Daphne as she readied to leave.
She said her goodbyes to him and Madam Pomfrey, along with another thank you to the old matron for allowing her the time to speak with him.
"Take care, Miss Greengrass," his teacher sent her off, "and do ask your sister to try and enjoy the feast tonight. The elves are preparing quite the Halloween spread."
Dumbledore stood on the stone path that led up to an old cottage in one of Britain's oldest muggle villages. The home, which would previously be a picturesque example of quaint, but comfortable countryside living now emanated a malice so thick even the birds and insects avoided it. He looked up at the sky, at the stars which seemed dim and more distant than ever, despite the bright full moon. How fitting, he thought, that the moon would once more bear witness to horror on All Hallows Eve.
With a deep, solemn breath, he continued up the path to the front door, and knocked on the thick English oak. It creaked open barely a moment later to reveal Alistair Moody, along with Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a hooded individual.
"Albus," greeted Moody gruffly. "You're late."
He stepped inside without offering a response, and passed Moody who grunted. The smell of blood in the building was thick, clinging to the back of the throat.
"Dumbledore," greeted Kingsley respectfully.
Amelia barely barely acknowledged his presence beyond a glance, too preoccupied with the scene that was the reason for bringing him in. It was gruesome, and even with everything he had seen in his long life, it made him wince in disgust and pity.
A woman, barely into her prime was strung up, runes carved into her skin and her torso cut open. Around her were more runes drawn into the walls and floor and ceiling. Small cotton bags, tied closed and soaked in blood were arranged in a circle around her. Albus didn't have to open them to know what was inside. Pieces of the missing people.
'Can you fall no further, Tom…' thought Dumbledore as he stared at the scene in sadness. He noticed a small glint of something in between her parted lips. With a lack of squeamishness, he pulled down her jaw. There, seared to the inside of her mouth was a broken ring with a carved stone inlaid into it. He recognized that ring.
Deftly, he retrieved and pocketed it without the notice of the Unspeakable who was preoccupied with studying some of the runes. It did not miss the notice of Moody and the others though, but before Amelia could question him, he gave her a curt shake of the head and a mouthed 'later'.
"This is ingenious," said the hooded man with barely hidden excitement, as he copied down some of the runes.
"Curb your interest, Einrich." Dumbledore fixed him in place with an admonishing glare. "A woman has died, one who's daughter is as of yet uninformed."
The unspeakable didn't reply, knowing better than to test the old headmaster.
"It's happened," said Amelia with resignation. "The dark mark on the prisoners, now this… He's back, isn't he?"
Dumbledore looked at Amelia with foreboding before he turned his cold blue eyes away to stare at the dead woman's face, which even in death had an expression of pure terror.
"I fear you are correct."
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. The treacle tart on his plate which would usually survive no less than three forkfuls, remained untouched.
He'd been entirely distracted all the way through the feast, despite Hermione's best attempts to distract him. Fleur had even picked up on it from all the way up at the teacher's table. She kept glancing at him with a worried crest in her brow, until Professor Flitwick nudged her and gave her leave to go down to the student tables.
She wasted no time and departed the staff table to squeeze in between Harry and Neville, causing the latter to fluster slightly. She briefly grasped Hermione's hand behind his back for a moment in a loving greeting, sharing her worry through their eyes and reassuring her girlfriend with her presence, before leaning in close to Harry and speaking softly in French.
"What is the matter, my love?" She chose French in case it was something he didn't want anyone to overhear.
"It's nothing, really," he answered her in English, letting her know that it wasn't anything private. "I'm just uneasy… Halloween's are never quiet, not here, and not in a good way."
Fleur recalled the stories Harry and Hermione had told her, as well as the memories she'd seen in the pensieve during the holidays. "And now you worry zat tonight is going be the same?"
He sighed and scratched his head. "I'm being silly."
"Non," Fleur shook her head, surprising both Harry and Hermione. "You 'ave good instincts. Maybe it is nothing, or maybe you feel something in zhe air— per'aps you 'ave a talent for foresight." She didn't mention how since becoming an animagus, his instincts felt sharper.
Hermione glanced towards Dumbledore's empty chair. "You don't think it's to do with him, do you?" She leaned in to whisper 'him'.
Harry held her hand beneath the table, squeezing it comfortingly. "I want to say no, but honestly, when hasn't it been?"
Ron pointed his fork at Harry's forehead. "Your scar usually hurts, though, don't it? When he's up to something, I mean?"
Harry rubbed at said scar with his free hand. It hadn't stung since the graveyard— since his meeting with his mother.
The large doors of the Great Hall suddenly opened, immediately silencing the bustle of the feasting students. A woman who Harry didn't recognize entered, the maroon auror's uniform, along with her deep brown hair were darkened by rain water.
Hermione held Harry's arm at the wrist and stiffened. She didn't have to vocalise what the newcomer meant.
With hastened steps, the auror crossed the room without as much as a glance towards the students. She reached the staff table as Professor McGonagall stood to receive her, gesturing towards the side room door, the one Harry had gone through when his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire the year before.
Umbridge of course hurriedly stood and tried to insert herself in between, but was caught flat-footed by the auror giving her a hard stare.
"Official auror business, Undersecretary Umbridge." There was a coldness to the woman's voice that showed a clear lack of care for the pink-clad scourge.
Whoever this auror was, she was not at all cowed by Umbridge's position. It was actually impressive, the sheer authority this auror demanded. She even superseded Professor McGonagall's presence in the room.
In a surprising turn, Umbridge actually looked towards McGonagall, as if she expected her to extend an invitation. It was not going to happen of course. Her refusal was too much for Umbridge. This event coupled with the headmaster's absence infuriated her. As soon as the door of the side room closed behind Professor McGonagall and the auror. Umbridge stormed out of the Great Hall, likely on her way to the Ministry, despite the late hour.
The deputy headmistress wasn't gone for longer than a few minutes, and when she returned, there was a somberness to her that she failed to hide even after decades of experience in schooling her emotions. There was no need for her to ask the hall to quiet down when she took the podium. The silence was already thick with trepidation and curiosity.
"I am sorry, but I must ask students to please return to their dormitories. Prefects, please ensure that there are no stragglers. The Headmaster will address you all tomorrow."
It was so abrupt that Harry was convinced something truly dreadful had occurred. Even the students who normally would have raised an issue, simply stood and prepared to leave without complaint.
Hermione, being a prefect, had her responsibilities, so she kissed Harry and Fleur before grabbing Ron to round up the first year's. Before she could leave, Harry let her know that he was going to walk Fleur back to her room.
As everyone was filing out, Harry noticed Professor McGonagall call Hermione. A quick instruction from the old woman and Hermione went to the first year Gryffindors. He watched as she collected a confused and now scared girl. It went mostly unnoticed in the crowd of students leaving the hall.
…
Harry and Fleur walked with very few words spoken, both of them were troubled by the night's, they kept close, drawing comfort from each other.
When they arrived at her room, she gave the password and let them inside. Harry had left several things in her room at this point. There were almost always books, or notes or bits of clothing, shirts or sweaters mostly, of his or Hermione's that could be found. But what Harry grabbed now was his father's cloak. The silky material felt cold in his hands, as it always did. He'd let Fleur borrow it recently so that she could sneak out of the Gryffindor dorm. Since he was supposed to have already returned to his dorm, he figured he would use his cloak and avoid any nuisance along the way.
"Go straight back," Fleur all but ordered, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. She too was worried now. His feeling earlier, coupled with the auror and McGonagall's dismissal of the feast had set her mind racing.
"It's going to become dangerous now," she said softly. Memories of a graveyard and a horrible, cruel voice which had been the resident of many nightmares since. They'd been able to put Voldemort out of mind until tonight.
"I'm sure of it, he's been too quiet." He held her to him. She always felt warm, but even so, she trembled.
"I hoped it would stay that way. Quiet is good… Safe." Fleur switched to French, it made her feel more at home.
"It wasn't going to last, he'll never give up." It was only a matter of time until Voldemort made an attempt on him.
"I won't lose you, either of you," Fleur said with such conviction that the air around them grew warm as her fiery nature affected the environment.
…
Harry regularly checked his map as he walked the corridors beneath his cloak. It was as he did so that he drew to a pause, there on the map was the Minister for Magic, Fudge himself, being led by Umbridge. They could only be headed to the headmasters office, but the headmaster was abse– or not.
In Dumbledore's office were the Headmaster himself, along with Professor Snape, as well as the head of the DMLE, Amelia Bones, and lastly, a Nymphadora Tonks.
Harry looked behind him, in the direction of Fleur's room. She'd asked him to head straight back, but a glance at the map in his hand and his mind was set. He'd apologise to her, but he wanted answers.
With a run that was hard to do beneath his cloak, and his intimate knowledge of the secret passageways that snaked through the school, he was able to get ahead of Fudge and Umbridge, albeit barely.
He waited, invisible at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. It was a scant few minutes before harried steps echoed through the passage, followed shortly by Fudge who appeared stressed and angry, with Umbridge who's pressed lips and gleeful eyes spoke of excitement. The sycophant that she was would only be excited to follow behind the heels of her master.
Harry let her give the password to the Griffin statue, and climbed the winding steps behind them. It was tricky in the narrow staircase, but he deftly managed to squeeze through the door into Dumbledore's office before it swung shut.
The air in the room was thick enough that you could run a knife through it. Even the portraits on the walls were eerily still. Professor Dumbledore stood behind his desk at one of his book shelves, while Snape was off to the side and Amelia Bones was near the window, and lastly the auror from the great hall beside her. That would be Nymphadora Tonks, then.
Perhaps it was the fact that nobody was seated which added to the atmosphere. The severity of the expressions on the faces would be the other reason.
"What is the meaning of this!" Demanded Fudge, glaring at Dumbledore. "Auror's at Hogwarts, and I understand that you've disturbed a crime scene!"
"Under special request from both myself, and the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Madam Bones. "The nature of the crime warranted his expertise."
Umbridge jumped at the opportunity to try and get her two cents in. "Albus Dumbledore is merely the hea–"
"Chief Warlock, " Dumbledore cut her off. "And as such, can be consulted by the Auror's, should the need arise."
"And what could you possibly have to offer? It's nothing more than a murder perpetrated by deranged fringe members of our society."
The auror beside Madam Bones barely managed to hide her scoff. Barely. Umbridge sent her a look that could kill.
"It is time you pulled your head out of the clouds, Cornelius," said Dumbledore to the agitated Minister. "The signs are there for you to see. Tonight is merely the beginning."
Fudge shook his head hard. His voice quivered as he raised it. "I'll hear none of this! He is not back! It was not him at the third task, and it was not him tonight!"
Dumbledore looked at the potions professor who had remained quiet. "Severus."
He didn't need to elaborate further, as Snape rolled up his sleeve. There it was, the Dark Mark, the black ink of a skull and snake. The nail in the coffin that Harry needed to see, but it was not enough for Fudge.
"A trick! Tricks and lies!"
Amelia cut in then. "Guards at Azkaban have confirmed the mark's return."
Fudge, Harry soon witnessed, was far more paranoid and delusional than he could ever have thought. "You're all in this together! Enough! Enough! I'll see you sacked for this, Bones!"
He didn't give them a chance to speak again, and turned on his heels to storm out of the office. Umbridge quickly followed, but not before throwing one last glare at Dumbledore who merely stared back at her with a cold indifference in his piercing blue eyes.
When the door shut and the two were gone. Snape looked over to the Headmaster and was about to speak when Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him.
"Eavesdropping is unbecoming," he looked directly at the corner nearest to the door.
The rest of the room snapped to attention, with both Auror's going for their wands, only to freeze when Harry removed his cloak.
"Good evening, Harry."
"Potter!" snarled Snape, as both Madam Bones and the other auror gaped.
Harry ignored the potions professor, his attention solely on Dumbledore. The details of what he'd learned were still raw in his mind.
"He's really back, Professor?"
Dumbledore nodded solemnly.
"How?"
"A ritual, one that took the lives of far too many, most recently the mother of one of your housemates."
Harry recalled the little first year girl that Professor McGonagall had pulled aside and his heart twisted in grief. Her life had just been turned inside out and for nothing more than the need of a monster who refuses to accept his death.
Fawkes, who was always fond of Harry, trilled from his perch before flying over and landing on his shoulder. The beautiful Phoenix must have had a burning day recently as he was far smaller than usual, but even so, his presence was a balm to the soul.
"Might I ask you for a favour?" asked Dumbledore, peering into Harry's eyes, and continuing when he saw the agreement within them.
"Miss Clemons has no family left bar the bonds she has forged. Please, see to it that she is well looked after within Gryffindor House." He looked sad as he continued. "There is only so much we as the staff are capable of."
Harry's heart ached with concern for the newly orphaned girl. It wasn't that he was troubled over whether to accept, because it was nothing more than what he would already have done. He nodded.
"Thank you," said Dumbledore, gratefully, before he turned his attention to the auror besides Madam Bones.
"Miss Tonks, my dear, please escort Harry safely to Gryffindor tower."
"Aye aye—"
"It's alright, Professor. I can make my own way back. I— I think I'd like to be alone right now."
"Very well," agreed Dumbledore.
The auror's face had a flash of disappointment, so Harry looked at her apologetically before he said his goodbyes to the room.
He wasn't lying when he said he wanted to be alone. He faced the path towards Gryffindor tower, where all the students would be gossiping, trying to guess what tonight's turn of events meant. He felt no desire to be a part of it at that moment and chose a different way. He let his feet carry him with no set destination in mind, past the statues, suits of armour, and paintings that called Hogwarts their home. None saw him on account of his cloak.
When he reached the large doors of the hospital wing, he almost felt the need to laugh. Of course his blind strolling would lead him here. He pushed open the door, knowing full well that there was no chance he was sleeping tonight.
END CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
28, 29 available a / Office_Sloth if you want to read ahead. Thank you!
