Dead. And at that angle? Alive.

Back to the pit

Despite Albus long and extensive experience dealing with disasters, the matter of Harry Potter still felt like a heavy and guilty defeat to him. He had always suspected magic as dark as had been performed on the boy, first at a young age and then again at the end of the summer, would sooner or later reveal unforeseen and certainly dire consequences. An educated guess, from Harry's uncanny parseltongue proficiency, as well as from the tale of his nightmares that he had gathered from his two friends, had allowed him to infer some sort of connection between Harry and Voldemort. He had concluded this matter required the highest caution and prudence, and that Harry being securely held in Azkaban in the meantime would give him time to think and act for the best. The reports from auror Tonks spoke of Harry taking his captivity with resilience for one so young, and he had believed this would be for the best.

How wrong he had been.

With a heavy and grim heart, he pushed the door of his office, hoping for a couple quiet hours of reflection before the inevitable chaos that would ensue from the morning paper delivery.

On a chair by the fire, her dressing grown wrapped tightly around her, was waiting a very distraught looking Professor McGonagall.

'Albus,' she muttered, getting quickly on her feet at the sight of the bleak Headmaster.

'Minerva,' he greeted her.

She watched him slowly shedding his travelling outer robes and take his seat behind his desk. Or rather slump in there, displaying a weariness that made him look very much his old age.

'You were gone so suddenly. I didn't know what to think. I feared...'

'Something very grave has happened tonight, Minerva. Something that is besides my power to change and besides my reach to influence.'

***

The chimney spluttered, the flames turning from the smouldering red of glowering ambers to a deep shade of green. Nagini hissed her displeasure and moved languidly from her spot at the feet of her master where she had been pleasantly dozing in the warmth to wrap herself around his shoulders. He distractedly passed his hand on her nose and scales in a soothing motion.

He had asked her to stay close after she'd come to him a few hours prior with a most disturbing tale. About some human daring to attack her, about being moved out of the manor. The tracking charm he kept on her told him no such thing, and was remaining unbroken.

'Avery,' he whispered to the head that had suddenly appeared amongst the flames. 'I hope your intrusion is justified.'

'Master,' the man answered shakily, bowing his nose into the ashes, 'it's about Potter. I... I managed to sneak an early print of the Prophet out of the office.' The man stammered.

The head disappeared and was replaced by a hand, proffering the paper. With a raised brow at his follower rather unhelpful declaration -there was hardly a day where the Prophet was not talking of Potter one way or another-, he bent to pick up the paper that would flood the British Wizarding World in just a couple of hours. He could make Avery suffer for his discourtesy later if he judged necessary.

A glance to the cover and the man was forgiven.

***

'Mr Weasley, Miss Granger. Have a cup of tea.'

A prefect had roused them up rather earlier than they would have, saying them McGonagall needed a world with them. That's how the two Gryffindors found themselves in pyjamas, in their head of house office before breakfast was even due. Ron was obviously fighting dozing off, but Hermione was wide awake, a foreboding feeling twisting her guts.