It was the calmness in Dumbledore's statement that forced Harry's sobs to fade into sniffles. Dobby was gone and there was nothing he could do to change that. He pulled himself onto his knees but the room began to tip nauseatingly from side to side as if they were suddenly on a ship deck. He slumped sideways and Professor Dumbledore caught him.
"You need the hospital wing," the headmaster declared urgently. He rose to his feet and stooping, picked Harry up gently from the floor. He paused for a minute, examining the clock face beside the door then shook his head. "Not during dinner," he muttered to himself.
Walking past his desk, Professor Dumbledore carried Harry across the office and, reaching a door, nudged it open with a bump of his foot. Inside was an adjoining living quarter large enough to hold two bookshelves, a small writing desk, and a grand four-poster bed that was neatly adorned with a deep violet duvet and matching hangings. The setting sun showed through two open windows on the west wall, washing the room in fading golden light.
Dumbledore sat Harry carefully on the edge of the spring mattress, holding his shoulders to keep him from falling sideways. Harry immediately doubled over, arms crossed protectively over his aching ribs. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath in an attempt to steady the swaying scenery.
"Can you tell me what hurts, Harry?" Dumbledore had knelt down in front of him, hands still rest reassuringly on his shoulders. "I don't want to lay you down until I know what may be injured."
Harry opened his eyes and found Dumbledore's blue gaze peering over those half-moon glasses. His thin lips pulled into a comforting smile and Harry felt himself relax. "M-my back and wrists," Harry stammered, trying to find his voice among the ache in his throat. "And…and I think my ribs are…are…" He tried to motion to the bones along his lift side but the movement of his arm took his breath away. He gasped and grimaced, tilting his head slightly as if it would help alleviate the pain. Gritting his teeth, he forced back a wave of sick that was rising threateningly in the back of his throat.
"It's okay," Dumbledore said quickly. Releasing Harry's shoulders, he tugged the duvet back at the corner revealing fluffy white sheets below, and grabbed a pillow from the headboard. "Here, lie down." He guided Harry to his right side, holding back the sheets for him to move under.
"I…I'll ruin the sheets," Harry said and then flushed with embarrassment. His body was broken and he was worried about getting blood on the bedding.
Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "I can get new linens, Harry. Lay down."
The cool, soft cotton enveloped him, stifling the heat that had been spreading across his aching limbs. He allowed himself to sink into the feather mattress as his eyes fluttered close in relief; he was safe, for now. Except, he couldn't ignore the intense throbbing that rippled across his back like waves on the ocean; pulsing in and out rhythmically.
"Thadeus," Professor Dumbledore called to a portrait out in the office. He had moved to stand in the doorway, leaning back against the frame, apparently wary of leaving Harry alone. "Find Minerva. She is either at dinner or in her room. Tell her I need her and Poppy in my office immediately. We will need a blood replenishing potion and a potion for dreamless sleep. If she doesn't have any on hand then find Severu…"
"No!" Harry had sat up, cold fear chasing away any pain he had been feeling. "Please! Anyone but Snape," he pleaded, eyes wide.
Professor Dumbledore's brows furrowed, apparently caught off guard by the sudden outburst. He studied Harry for a moment and then nodded. "Just Minerva and Poppy, Thadeus. And be discreet. I don't want anyone else to know about this."
Satisfied with his orders, Dumbledore returned to the bedside and coaxed Harry to lay back down. "Why not Professor Snape, Harry," he asked hesitantly as he pulled the covers back onto Harry's shoulder.
Harry felt his mouth go dry. He hadn't expected Snape to still be at Hogwarts. Surely, if he was working for Voldemort he would have left; fled in fear. Instead, he had remained and was now only a few floors away. The image of his sneering face as his hand tightened around Harry's neck rose to Harry's mind and he gritted his teeth.
"He's working for Voldemort," Harry forced out, eyes locked on Dumbledore, watching for any change in emotion. "He tor…did…did this." Unable to stomach the word torture, Harry fumbled for an explanation; for the right words to explain what the Potions Master had done.
An indiscernible look passed over the old man's face before he dropped his gaze, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. Every wrinkle upon his face was outlined in the dim reddening light, showing his true age. He seemed to be lost in thought for several minutes, eyes searching his clasped hands for his next words, and then he sighed and spoke slowly.
"Harry, I need for you to tell me everything that happened."
The sun had dipped beneath the window sill now, shrouding the room in partial darkness as the shadows overtook the space. In the dimming light, Harry could see the concern staring back at him in those misty blue eyes. Swallowing hard against the rising lump in his throat, Harry searched for the courage to begin his tale.
"By the time I got into the Chamber of Secrets she was already…already…" His words failed him as a fresh wave of grief rose to the surface, overtaking everything else. How could he possibly explain what had happened when just thinking about it cut him to the core? The images of her lying pale and lifeless on the stone floor were just as vivid now, like it had happened moments ago, not weeks.
However, he was saved from continuing as a sharp rapping echoed from the office door. Seconds later Professor McGonagall entered the room with Madam Pomfrey close on her heels. As she caught sight of Harry, the Professor's hand shot to her lips, stifling a gasp; Madam Pomfrey, however, went straight to work.
Crossing the room, she deposited two oddly shaped bottles onto the bedside table; one was a bright blue colour, the other a dark rusty red. Harry had just enough time to ponder which was which before the matron swooped down upon him, examining everything in turn as she gingerly pulled him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She spared a second to wave her wand and flickering flames burst into life on every candle wick in the room. She started with his face; her slender fingers tracing his cheekbone, applying just enough pressure to reignite the dull ache that had been there earlier. Muttering about deep bruises, she leaned in closer to study the purple splotches that accompanied the swelling.
"Shackles," she asked abruptly. Her hands had moved to his wrists now, cradling them gently as she looked at the lacerations along the arm. Parts of the dried blood had cracked open, making way for a fresh wave to ooze out.
Harry nodded but remained silent. Looking around, he could see that Professor Dumbledore was now standing by McGonagall and they were discussing something in a soft whisper. He strained to hear what they were saying but Madam Pomfrey was now diagnosing his condition out loud.
"Headmaster, he needs St. Mungo's," she said suddenly. Her attention had shifted to his back, and moving around to stand behind Harry, she gently pulled his shirt away. He let out a gasp of pain as her fingers brushed his burning ribs and she quickly pulled away.
"Is there nothing you can do for him, Poppy," asked Dumbledore.
"Whatever made these lashes was coated in some form of poison," she said, running her fingertips along one of the open whelps. Harry grimaced, biting back a yelp. "I could heal them, but it would take weeks and the scaring would be horrible. St. Mungo's has healers and remedies that could fix it in half the time. It would be much safer for Mr. Potter to be under their care."
"Can you safely treat him here?"
"Safely? Yes, but St. Mungo's would be…"
"I would prefer to keep him here as long as you can help him," Dumbledore interrupted, a finality in his tone that left the room silent for some time.
Madam Pomfrey had frozen, hand still poised on Harry's lower back. He could feel her staring in Dumbledore's direction, apparently shocked by his overruling.
"Of course, Headmaster," she said, finally finding her voice. "Should we move him to the hospital wing tonight?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "For now Harry will remain here."
Harry heard her suck in a shallow breath before answering in a tart voice. "If you wish. I will need to check on him twice a day to apply new ointment and change his bandages."
A coolness spread across Harry's back and something slimy rolled down his raw skin. His shirt disappeared, replaced by a tightly wrapped bandage. Madam Pomfrey bustled back around into view and with a wave of her wand the same sticky substance was applied to his wrists before the white gauze enclosed them. The agonizing pain dulled to a small sting and Harry was able to take in a deep breath without the annoying pull of skin.
Unstoppering the bottle with the red liquid, Madam Pomfrey poured a large helping into a nearby water goblet. She handed it to Harry, careful not to slosh any of the contents out, and instructed him to drink it all. Peering down, he could see his distorted reflection on the dark ripping surface and his nose snarled in repulsion. He held his breath and tipped the glass back, draining the entirety in one large gulp. It slid thickly down the back of his throat and he gagged despite himself.
She took the water goblet back and began to fill it with the other potion when Dumbledore stepped forward and raised a hand.
"Before Harry takes that potion, I need to have a word with him," he said calmly, giving Madam Pomfrey a warm smile.
"Make sure he takes it all," she said in agreeance. "I'll be back in a few hours to be sure the blood replenishing potion has worked."
"Thank you, Poppy."
She nodded and left the room without a word, the rapid click-clack of her shoes following her as she shut the door. Professor McGonagall sank into a chair at the writing desk while the Headmaster returned to sit on the edge of the bed once more. He helped adjust the covers as Harry swung his legs back into place and relaxed into the mattress.
"Now Harry, please continue. What happened after you found miss Weasley?"
After only a second of hesitation, Harry began the long story that spanned over the last week. He explained how the diary had slowly siphoned Ginny's life away over the year, giving form to Tom Riddle's memory, how they had ended up in Albania and found the shack where Voldemort had been hiding, and his stay a Lucius Malfoy's manor. They remained silent through it all, though Harry caught a glimpse of Professor McGonagall's worried glances in Dumbledore's direction. However, her biggest display of emotions came as Harry described Snape's involvement.
"Severus," she gasped, eyes widening beneath her round glasses. She turned to Dumbledore but he held up a hand, silencing her from further questions.
"And then Dobby found you," he asked, his voice steady as always.
Harry nodded, unable to speak. Had they found the empty cellar yet? Was Dobby suffering in his place right now? Ice flooded his stomach and he buried his face deep into the soft pillow.
"Thank you, Harry. You have shown a great deal of courage for someone so young. Now I can offer you a restful sleep, one without the worry of dreams."
This potion was much more enjoyable than the first. It went down easily with a hint of something sweet. Immediately, Harry felt himself becoming drowsy, his blinks becoming longer and harder to fight. However, he still had so many questions.
"Professor, what about the ministry," he asked, his voice thick with sleep.
"There will be time to discuss everything once you've had some rest," Dumbledore said patting Harry's leg and giving him a reassuring smile. He then turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, I need you to go offer my apologies with Poppy. I'm sure she isn't happy with…"
Harry never found out what she wasn't happy with. The dark room became hazy and before he knew it he'd slipped away into the dark abyss of sleep.
He awoke groggily to soft voices that seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion. It didn't matter to him what they were arguing about, all he wanted was to drift back off into oblivion. Clenching his eyes, he willed himself to go back to sleep but the next words rang in his ears, catching his full attention and driving sleep from his mind.
"Albus, how can you be sure Severus is truly on our side?" Professor McGonagall's voice was strained to remain a whisper. "He nearly killed Harry. Why did he even return?"
"Because I told him to, Minerva," came Dumbledore's short reply.
A long pause followed that statement, leaving a tense atmosphere that even Harry could feel. Parting his eyelids slightly, he saw the blurry outline of Professor Dumbledore leaning against the small writing desk, his arms folded across his chest. He stared pointedly at McGonagall before sighing wearily, his hand coming up to rub his eyes underneath the half-moon glasses.
"Severus came to me the night the Dark Mark returned on his arm. I gave him specific orders to do anything to regain Voldemort's trust. How could I have known it would be this?" His hand swept towards where Harry lay and he shook his head in disbelief, his voice cracking just a fraction.
"You couldn't have," McGonagall replied quietly. "But surely you don't mean for him to remain as the potions professor."
"What would you have me do, Minerva? Punish Snape for following my orders? This wasn't some easy decision for him."
"You and I are both aware of the malice he holds for Potter."
"And you and I both know that this was not in any form connected with that," said Dumbledore with a dangerous hint of disapproval.
Another minute passed in silence before Professor McGonagall sighed softly and spoke again. "I'm sorry, Albus," she said sincerely.
Harry could see the headmaster wave off her apology as both hands came down to grip the edge of the desk behind him. "I know you are only looking out for Harry's best interest, and for that I thank you. I can only hope that when the time comes, both of them will be able to work through this."
"Where did we go from here," asked McGonagall, worry evident in her words.
"We will handle everything as it comes, but as of right now, we are officially at war."