CHAPTER 55: REVELATIONS

It wasn't the first time Matthew ended up in the infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey could have long established a ranking of students who visited her most often, in which he would have found himself in a good position, never able to reach the level of the Weasley twins. Yet, this time was different. Disoriented as he currently was, he was completely unable to know how long he had been there, where exactly he was, and with whom. At present, he couldn't find an answer to his questions. At the very least, he could affirm that he was no longer on the grass of the Quidditch field, unless it had become as warm and comforting as the thick blanket under which he lay.

The pain he felt in every part of his body was very real, as was the difficulty of even moving any of his limbs as if their weight had suddenly doubled while he slept. From head to toe, the sensation of being beaten with a club was undeniable, yet he still felt too weak to even express the discomfort with a groan. His eyelids were too heavy to lift, and the fatigue he felt encouraged him to seek solace in sleep rather than attempt to emerge from the lethargic state he had been plunged into.

Yet, he could still hear sounds, distant and incomprehensible to his poor ears, as if his head were submerged in a basin and voices were speaking above him. The origin of these sounds was unknown to him, just like everything else, but he had the impression they were voices. Given the difference in tone he managed to notice, he deduced that several people, likely men, were bustling around his bed.

After a while, he managed to determine the number of people discussing near him, then it took even more time to put a face to each of the voices.

"Pomfrey said he should have woken up half an hour ago," his father sighed, breaking the silence that had settled for several minutes.

Curiously, Matthew felt touched by his father's concern, but even more so by the hint of worry he could sense in his voice. James might have offered him everything he wanted and showed him all the affection and attention he desired, yet he still couldn't erase from his son's mind that he remained an absent and somewhat distant father in his life, more concerned about his responsibilities and lifestyle than Matthew's upbringing. However, today, James revealed something else, a facet of his personality that Matthew hardly knew but that greatly pleased him; he almost wished he had to constantly face danger and end up in the infirmary if it meant getting closer to James.

"It takes time to recover from a Cruciatus Curse," Dumbledore calmly explained. "There is no remedy to heal the effects of this curse other than rest and a good meal, and knowing Matthew's appetite, I am convinced he will be back on his feet quickly!"

"But... But you heard Pomfrey just as I did earlier," James insisted, casting a painful look at his son. "It's not just one curse but several he was subjected to, or he was under the effect of a single curse for a very long time..."

Matthew didn't see it, but James's expression as he turned to the headmaster was filled with profound sadness when discussing his younger son's health:

"The Longbottoms were tortured in the same way in the past, and you know how that ended," he said painfully. "I don't want my only son to become a vegetable..."

"Matthew is strong, he will overcome this ordeal," the headmaster reassured him.

"Are you implying that Frank and Alice weren't?" Sirius intervened with a grave voice.

"The difference lies in the fact that Matthew has a great task ahead; the prophecy clearly names him as the one who can defeat Voldemort, and it would be risky to imagine that Matthew could be permanently affected by a few Cruciatus curses before the war truly begins."

The prophecy... Matthew had almost forgotten to question why he was in the infirmary, but now that Dumbledore had brought up the subject, everything came rushing back to him as fast as an Apparition. Oh yes, now that he thought about it, he had almost lost his life in that blasted graveyard! The day had already dawned, and several hours must have passed since his return to Hogwarts, but he still remembered the duel against Lord Voldemort. A duel? Truth be told, he knew perfectly well that he had been pathetic against him, and even more so, he had certainly not honored his status as Hogwarts' champion. To flee like a coward, to be unable to stand up to the dark wizard, to feel so powerless and helpless in the face of this new and unexpected situation...

Matthew wasn't sure if the pain he still felt within him was the result of the multiple Cruciatus curses received or the deeper pain of shame overwhelming him as he remembered that encounter with Voldemort. Pitiful... Yes, that's what he was, and now that he knew the prophecy didn't concern him, he started to wonder if, after all, his weak magical abilities had been an important clue to his true status all along. The chosen one? Him? What a joke! He had never had what it took, and Dumbledore could say what he wanted about it; one would have to be foolish not to have noticed it earlier. So, being the chosen one, probably not, but an idiot, very likely.

"Severus still hasn't returned," Sirius commented to change the subject. "He might already be cozying up with his old buddies!"

"Severus knows where his loyalty should lie, and it certainly isn't with Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "I'm not surprised by his delay, and just like him, I had assumed that he couldn't come back from that first meeting with Voldemort in one piece; He has worked for me in this school for several years and would have had all the opportunity to kill me during this time. He stopped Quirrell from seizing the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort might even reproach him for not coming immediately when he called his lieutenants. By now, I'm certain he is not in a state to come back."

"Good riddance," Sirius exclaimed fiercely, glancing around distractedly.

Silence fell once again, and strangely, Matthew didn't feel the urge to break it by pretending to wake up from his sleep. Pretending to be asleep surprisingly had many advantages, and the desire to remain in this state for a long while was so strong that he felt ready to truly return to the arms of Morpheus.

Yet, at the same time, another discordant voice in his head, perhaps the voice of reason, whispered that he was once again acting like a coward. A coward, that's what he was, preferring to feign unconsciousness rather than confront a harsh reality, having to recount the tale of his wild adventures in the maze and then his encounter with Wormtail, Voldemort, and his followers, only to conclude his story by a duel from which he managed to extricate himself by displaying a cowardice known only to him. To wake up would mostly mean announcing to them that a terrible mistake had been made about him, that the chosen one did not lie in that bed, that he wasn't draped in a Gryffindor-colored pajama, and that he had never been part of this gigantic charade called the Triwizard Tournament. The real chosen one was elsewhere, Merlin alone knew where, but certainly not within the walls of Hogwarts, waiting like everyone else for news of the tournament winner.

No, the chosen one lived his life separately, probably with their mother and younger sister, far from the troubles and problems that this moribund survivor status engendered, away from the responsibilities that fell upon the true threat to the Dark Lord, far from all these machinations revolving around him without him being truly aware, so distant now from those adults who could have dictated his behavior, his life, his existence... Matthew almost resented him for not having been the chosen one sooner; at least he would have been relieved of a burden that had done him more harm than good for thirteen years.

"Free..." he suddenly thought, imagining what his brother was like now. "He is free, and I am trapped in a role that has become too big for me, in a costume that doesn't fit me, for a play where I should have played supporting roles..."

Freedom. Oh, how wonderfully that word sounded in his ears... At that moment, he envied his brother so much for being able to enjoy it at his leisure when he now felt imprisoned within the walls of Hogwarts, within Dumbledore's grasp, within the confines of his chosen one status... Harry would soon be of age, he might have finished his schooling by now, and could be starting the process of beginning a professional career, maybe even getting married? Living in the wizarding world or not, his brother still had an open field to head towards an uncharted horizon, where his destiny was not yet traced, while he had so far only seen his final battle against Voldemort, the result of which would play a major role in the destiny of the world itself.

But that destiny, he was now freed from it, unlike his brother who would soon have to take up the mantle and serve as a standard against Voldemort, even if it meant dying facing him... He only had to open his eyes, recount in detail the words of the Dark Lord, and immediately the headmaster's attention would shift away from him to the missing brother. Just the thought of shattering the idyllic picture he had of Harry's life away from them made Matthew smile; to give him a hard time, just one last time... It was exhilarating.

"He's waking up," Sirius exclaimed, noticing his nephew's legs starting to stir under the covers.

"Matthew?" his father immediately inquired, pulling his chair closer to the head of the bed. "Hey Matt, it's Dad..."

Matthew pretended to wake up from a deep sleep, his eyes still closed but his body moving easily on the mattress. Fluttering his eyes, he couldn't, however, simulate the dazzle of sunlight as his irises made contact with it, and it took him a while before his initially blurry vision stabilized enough to outline the contours of the silhouettes of the three men around his bed.

"Where... Where am I?" he asked cautiously, trying to appear as innocent as possible.

"In the infirmary, Champion," his father replied, running an affectionate hand through his hair. "You've been asleep all night... You really scared us!"

"Scared?" he repeated, slightly furrowing his brows. "But... But why?"

"Don't you remember the last task of the tournament?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Matthew pretended to ponder the question, his eyes lost in thought as he tried to give the impression of vainly attempting to recall why he was there. Then his gaze brightened, his eyes widened as his brows disappeared into the auburn locks of his hair.

"The tournament!" he exclaimed, looking at the three men with alarm. "Professor! The tournament was a trap, you have to listen to me!"

"Calm down, Matthew," the headmaster immediately replied as James tried to gently push his younger son back into the pillow. "Unfortunately, we're already aware of that part of the story, and believe me, we're sorry about what happened to you last night..."

"You're aware?" Matthew whispered. "But... How?"

Dumbledore and James exchanged glances for a few seconds, as if one sought an unspoken agreement with the other on how to gently explain the events of the previous day. Since Matthew's father preferred to remain silent and focus on the well-being of his younger son, Dumbledore resumed speaking:

"We understood that the cup was a Portkey shortly after you were transported elsewhere because of it," the headmaster recounted calmly. "One of the maze's guardians had previously seen the red sparks fired into the air, which the contestants were supposed to shoot to signal their withdrawal or their inability to overcome a challenge..."

"The guardian was me," interjected a fifth person whom Matthew hadn't noticed before because he was standing a few meters behind Dumbledore.

The Gryffindor immediately noticed the presence of Mad-Eye Moody, and unlike the others, he seemed particularly relaxed, almost happy. His magical eye swirled in all directions as he gently polished the barrel of his musket with a cloth, a faint whistle occasionally escaping his lips.

"Alastor immediately rushed in the direction of the sparks, and he returned a few moments later with Cedric Diggory," the headmaster continued, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves. "The cup had disappeared, and according to Mr. Diggory, you had also been there a few moments earlier, which led us to believe that you had also been transported elsewhere..."

The look he then directed at Matthew completely disoriented him; Dumbledore had never looked at him like this, as if he seemed... disappointed by him?

"What's done is done, and we cannot go back on your past actions, Matthew, but I still permit myself to express my profound disappointment regarding your actions towards the other Hogwarts champion. A victory within the rules was, of course, encouraged, but the glory of our school's victory would have been even greater if both champions of Hogwarts had emerged from the maze holding the cup together..."

"What does it matter to you?" Matthew retorted defensively. "He, at least, wasn't transported elsewhere because of that cursed cup, and maybe he would be dead by now if that hadn't been the case!"

"Of course," Dumbledore assured him. "I also share your view on this possibility. However, you see, the rest of the school is unaware that you nearly died last night... Mr. Diggory, carried away by his emotions, was eager to report to his peers that you behaved in a manner far beyond the ideals of sharing and fraternity of the Hufflepuff house by abandoning him in the face of danger... Gossip being what it is, unfortunately, the story has spread like wildfire throughout the school, and I believe that by now, everyone is aware."

Unintentionally, Matthew couldn't help but grimace at this news; already dragging behind him a rather poor reputation, this story probably wouldn't improve the image painted of him among the students. But maybe he could smooth things over somehow? Find an explanation for his behavior? Claim to have been under the influence of a spell, for example? The idea was tempting...

"We then awaited your return with a certain amount of anxiety," the headmaster continued. "Minutes passed without your reappearance, and your godfather was already getting in touch with the Department of Aurors to start a search and try to find you. But then you reappeared at that moment, covered in blood and trembling continuously. We sent you here for an emergency consultation, and we have been watching over you since then, waiting for you to wake up and provide us with some answers to the questions we've been asking ourselves for several hours..."

"Could we not wait before starting this interrogation?" James then asked. "He hasn't eaten anything since last night, and considering what he went through, a good breakfast might do the trick..."

"Every second that passes is a second lost in our fight against Voldemort, James," Dumbledore replied. "We know nothing of Voldemort's plans, how he managed to return to the world of men, and what might have happened that night which could give us some crucial information in our fight. We could just as easily wait for Severus's return, but I would prefer to know the details now rather than obtain them in an hour, a day, or even a week!"

"But... But he just woke up," insisted his father. "Couldn't we let him catch his breath for a few moments?"

"But the look Dumbledore gave him at that moment was enough to break his last defenses. Defeated, James simply placed a reassuring hand on his son's back, as if trying in some way to offer him physical support that went far beyond the simple words he knew he was incapable of uttering.

"If you would be so kind as to enlighten us, Matthew, we are all willing to listen," invited the headmaster in a polite tone.

Nervous, Matthew first looked at his father, whose reassuring smile slightly warmed his heart, before briefly glancing at Sirius and then Mad-Eye. Curiously, the latter seemed as interested in his story as the other two, and his two eyes that usually looked in different directions were fixed on him while he had simply stopped cleaning his weapon.

"I... The cup was a Portkey, but I realized it too late," he began, still not daring to look Dumbledore in the eye. "I didn't think to release it because I thought it was an additional part of the last task. I found myself in a cemetery on top of a hill... There was another one right next to it, and a manor dominated it..."

"A cemetery?" repeated James incredulously.

But Dumbledore silenced him with a gesture before indicating to Matthew to continue his story.

"Someone arrived afterwards, carrying a bundle in their arms... The man then started attacking me to try to immobilize me, but I valiantly defended myself!" he asserted, trying to infuse all the confidence he could muster into his voice. "We fought for about ten minutes, and I almost defeated him, but he was cleverer than me and blew up a tombstone behind me to distract me and hit me with a spell."

Internally smiling, Matthew couldn't see how Dumbledore could doubt the truth of his words. Considering telling them about Voldemort's return, wouldn't it be better to try to improve his own image a bit?

"He then removed the hood that hid his face, and I could see that it was actually Wormtail!"

"The traitor!?" cursed James, jumping up. "If I had been there, he certainly wouldn't have left that cemetery alive... I hope that's the case?" he added, turning again to Matthew.

To his dismay, Matthew shook his head negatively in response, and as his father sat back in his chair with a sigh of frustration, his son briefly felt regret regarding Pettigrew's fate.

"He lit a cauldron and then began performing a ritual," he said heavily as he recalled that moment. "First, he threw the bundle he was carrying into the potion, and it looked like a small baby... Then he added three ingredients to his potion..."

At this point, Dumbledore seemed more interested in Matthew's account than the others. The old wizard suddenly leaned forward, risking almost falling off his chair, and joining his hands at chin level, he listened with genuine attention to his student's words.

"He began by using bones from the grave I was tied to," recounted Matthew. "He said they were the father's bones that would bring back the son."

"Tom Riddle Sr...," murmured the headmaster thoughtfully.

"Then he said that the servant's flesh would revive his master... And he cut off his own hand..."

Though each person present despised their former ally with all their being, each grimaced in disgust upon discovering how far Peter was willing to go out of loyalty to his master... or out of fear of him.

"He then approached me, freed my arm from the ropes that held me captive, and said that the enemy's blood, taken forcibly, would resurrect the one who fights against him... And he stabbed me with his dagger..."

Unable to bear it any longer and disregarding the potential pain for Matthew, James immediately seized his son's arm. Swiftly removing the bandages, he stared with shock and horror at a wound in an advanced stage of healing that had taken up residence on his son's skin. A wound that, strangely, bore strange redness in places that, when combined, formed a mark that everyone could recognize from having seen it many times in the past...

"The Dark Mark!" James yelled, staring wide-eyed at his son's forearm.

"Shh, James," Sirius immediately hissed, casting a quick silencing spell around them. "No need to shout, we've seen it too..."

"Will... Will he be marked for life?!" stammered Matthew's father, turning to Dumbledore.

"I don't think so," he replied, analyzing the mark with his wand for a moment. "It's probably an effect of the ritual performed, but the skin is simply swollen and reddish; it's not like the tattoos the Death Eaters have."

James appeared slightly reassured, yet his eyes continued to alternate between the mark his son bore and Matthew himself, as if he wavered between the possibility that Matthew might have been marked as a Death Eater and the fact that he was, after all, his son, innocent until proven otherwise of whatever had happened to him the day before.

"Continue, Matthew," Dumbledore invited once more.

"I... I saw him go back to the cauldron and he poured a few drops of my blood in it," he recalled after a moment of reflection. "There was a lot of smoke, but after a while, I saw a figure appear... I saw HIM..."

His words cast a chill over their small group, and reassuringly, James pressed his hand on his son's shoulder, although Matthew sensed a certain awkwardness in the gesture. Clearly, his father wasn't comfortable expressing his emotions! Nonetheless, he chose to capitalize on the situation, using his own acting talents to conjure tears at the corners of his eyes, creating the perfect illusion of a young man deeply shaken by what he had been through... even though he truly was.

"He started inspecting his... His body," he murmured, breathing heavily. "Then he started talking to himself, wondering who among his followers would have the courage to return to him..."

"Would you have any names to give us?" Sirius immediately asked. "Azkaban might soon be getting a few more inmates!"

"I do have some...," his nephew assured him. "But they arrived later. Just before that, he started talking to me, saying he was pleased I was there to witness his return. But then... he asked my age, and when I told him, he suddenly became angry and tortured Wormtail!"

The three adults around him appeared perplexed, each internally wondering why Voldemort felt it necessary to know Matthew's age; perhaps he took pleasure in killing a fourteen-year-old? But that didn't explain why he had tortured Pettigrew...

"He...," Matthew continued, sniffing. "He said that..."

The words seemed reluctant to leave his mouth, as if the truth was too hard to bear, even for him. Admitting this could have consequences right at that moment when he would give them this vital information for the upcoming war, a war where he suddenly went from the forefront to a supporting role when his older brother, hitherto relegated to the background, was suddenly thrust into the spotlight to play the lead in a play that hadn't been written for him... at least not by Dumbledore.

"You can tell us everything, Matthew," the old man reminded him, attempting a smile that quickly disappeared into the long strands of his white beard. "You know that here you are safe, surrounded by people who only want the best for you..."

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