Note:Sorry it's taken so long, I got caught up in other projects. I originally wanted to split this chapter into two pieces, but I couldn't find a good breaking point.
A warm summer breeze blew through the open window bringing with it the sweet smell of grass and afternoon heat. The familiar sounds of evening floated up along with it from the courtyard below; children laughing as they hurried back to the castle before curfew, crickets chirping, and the sweet goodnight song of birds as they bedded down for the night. It would have been a pleasant evening had Harry not been stuck in bed with nothing to preoccupy his wandering mind.
The potion he had taken the night before had definitely done its job. He had slept all night without even the smallest of dreams, only awakening to have his bandages changed, though he barely remembers it. It was nearly three in the afternoon when he had roused himself fully from sleep, his stomach protesting angrily for some form of food.
Professor Dumbledore had apparently kept watch over him the entire time; Harry had found him pacing back and forth across the room, hands clasped behind his back. Upon seeing Harry stir, he had quickly inspected the bandages and, finding everything in order, made a stack of sandwiches magically appear on a tray beside the bed. Harry had devoured the stack, thankful for something to subdue the beast within his stomach.
Now, Harry was propped up by two over-sized pillows, the latest edition of Bloomberg's Best Brooms resting against his raised knees. He scanned the pages filled with all different sorts of broomsticks, pausing occasionally to read about an interesting model. However, even the promise of a new racing broom coming this summer couldn't keep him from thinking about his current predicament.
A soft rap of knuckles against wood echoed in from the office next door, drawing Harry's attention away from the article he was reading about the history of Cleansweeps. His eyes flicked to the open door and back to the pages, fixing unblinkingly on the small print. He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch the noises coming from the headmaster's office; a click of the door handle turning, the soft footsteps across the threshold, and then the cold draw that made his heart stutter.
"Headmaster," said the voice of Severus Snape.
Harry's hands clenched around the magazine he was holding as images of tearing skin and blinding pain consumed his thoughts. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he reminded himself that he was safe, nothing was going to happen to him here. He relaxed, and turned his attention back to the door, staring at the open frame. Dumbledore was talking but the sound had become muffled and despite his full concentration, Harry couldn't make out the words.
Setting aside Bloomberg's magazine, Harry slowly pushed himself away from the pillows, swinging his legs tentatively over the mattress edge. He used the corner post of the bed to hoist himself into a semi-standing position and then slowly, painfully, he shuffled his feet towards the door. The whelps along his back seared in protest, but he wanted, no needed, to know what had happened after he had left.
Out of breath and trembling, he made it to the door and slumped sideways into its frame, bracing himself as his numb legs gave way. He leaned his head against the cool wood, closing his eyes as an onslaught of bright stars obscured his vision. It took several deep breaths to relieve the problem and chase away the ringing in his ears, but he finally could hear the conversation happening in the office.
"Angry is an understatement," Snape replied to a question Harry had apparently missed. "No one was allowed to leave once the boy was discovered to be missing. I assume he is here somewhere."
"Yes, Harry is safe within the castle," Dumbledore said but offered no further explanation. "What happened after that?"
"It took little time to figure out the house-elf was guilty. The Dark Lord used it as an example and killed it instead."
Harry felt a lump form in his throat and, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, fought back the cry that wanted to spill out. He knew it was coming; he knew that as soon as Dobby had left the Headmaster's office he was dead, but to hear it confirmed… Harry's stomach turned.
A long pause proceeded Professor Dumbledore's next request, allowing a deep silence to fill the room and time for Harry to regain his composure. His words came calm and precise, but there was no mistaking the hesitation.
"Severus, I need you to tell me what happened to Harry."
"I'm sure Potter has already told you," Snape said coldly.
"He has, "Dumbledore agreed. "But, I would like to hear it from you as well."
"And why is that?'
"The form of torture…"
"I did not choose the method of torture." The coldness in Snape's tone had turned suddenly to anger. "The Dark Lord was very specific on what he wanted. I had to find a way to prove my loyalty without bleeding the boy dry."
"And the choking?"
There was a sound of a chair clattering loudly to the floor and pounding footsteps. Harry took a chance and peered around into the office. Snape was standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest and a livid sneer darkening his face. The chair that he had been previously occupying was lying on its side in front of the Headmaster's desk.
"I left on your orders. I stood before the Dark Lord and received my punishment for not returning to him sooner because you told me to wait." The man brandished a finger at Dumbledore as if it were a weapon, his voice rising with his temper. "I tortured a twelve-year-old boy because you told me to convince him no matter the cost. And now you have the nerve to sit there and…"
The office door burst open cutting Snape's rant short as a breathless Professor McGonagall rushed into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and she set a withered hand atop her chest as if she could calm its rapid movements with just a touch.
"I'm sorry, Headmaster but the Minister is at the gates," she said quickly. Her eyes swept quickly from the overturned chair to Snape's red face, a look of suspicion knitting her brows.
Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat and quickly rounded the desk. Touching Mcgonagall's shoulder he addressed her first.
"Minerva, go meet Cornelius. Stall him for as long as possible," he said hastily.
In the bustle of orders, Harry let his attention shift to Snape who was still standing with his arms crossed, surveying the commotion breaking out in front of him. His black eyes flicked up, meeting Harry's with an icy glare. Hatred like nothing Harry had ever felt before bubbled up inside him and he bit his lip to keep from yelling. Snape, however, shook his head and looked away.
"Severus, we can finish this conversation later," Dumbledore said as Professor McGonagall hurried from the room.
"As you wish, Headmaster," said Snape with a hint of sarcasm. He swept his long black cloak behind him and followed after McGonagall.
"Harry?"
Harry had been so focused on watching Snape leave that he hadn't realized Professor Dumbledore had spotted him in the doorway. He jumped slightly and turned his wide eyes to Dumbledore who had moved to assist him back to bed.
"Sorry, Professor. I heard voices," Harry began sheepishly but the old man waved him off.
"It's all right, Harry," he said softly and ushered him back under the covers. He swept to the other side of the bed and drew the hangings around with a rattle. "I need you to listen to me very closely now. Whatever you hear, whatever is said, I need you to stay completely still and silent in this bed. Do you understand?"
The urgency in Dumbledore's voice forced an uncontested nod from Harry despite the many questions rising to his lips. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile and drew the remaining curtains closed, casting Harry in shadows. He would be lying if he said his heart wasn't racing; he could practically feel it in his temples.
A loud bang reverberated across the room as a door was thrown open.
"Where is he, Dumbledore?" came an angry voice Harry did not recognize but assumed to be the Minister of Magic.
"I am sorry, Headmaster," McGonagall was speaking now, winded but still as sharp as ever. "I tried to tell the Minister that you were busy…"
"My dear woman, I am the Minister of Magic!"
"That gives you no right to barge into this office!"
"That will do!" Dumbledore's voice rang over the squabbling pair, silencing them instantly. "Thank you, Minerva. If the Minister is so desperate for a conversation, I will gladly oblige."
A long silence followed these words, punctuated by a sharp snap as the door was closed once more. Harry narrowed his eyes, staring blindly at the purple curtains ahead of him, willing his pulse to calm just enough so he could hear the voices over its frantic pounding.
"I know he is here, Albus," Fudge was demanding in a low growl.
"Cornelius, I..."
The sound of footsteps came into the living quarters, rushing from one side of the room and then back to the other. Harry hunkered down into the blankets like a small child waking from a terrifying nightmare, scared that at any moment the curtains hiding him from view would be pulled back.
"Cornelius!"
Dumbledore's voice boomed out like a cannon firing just as a hand-pulled back a piece of the fabric surrounding the bed. Harry held his breath as a small sliver of the room came into view. Fudge was standing there, hand outstretched as it held back the curtain, but his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore in a gaping stare. Catching Dumbledore's eye for a fraction of a second, Harry saw the brief shake of the head that told him to remain still.
"I will happily sit down and have a civil conversation about this matter, however, I will not tolerate you pilfering through my personal things."
"Tolerate? Albus, I have reason to believe that you are hiding a wanted cr…boy."
The slip of Fudge's tongue did not go unnoticed as he had hoped. So was that it then? Did the entire ministry consider him a criminal? By the piercing look in Dumbledore's eyes, he had caught the sudden change in words as well.
"So this is the hill you choose to die on, Cornelius," Dumbledore asked incredulously. "That a twelve-year-old boy is a criminal?"
Harry could see Fudge stiffen before turning his entire body to face Dumbledore, his hand letting go of the curtain to rest firmly on his hips. A trickle of relief allowed Harry to take a deep breath, but he knew it was far from over.
"The boy was the last one to enter that chamber, he speaks parseltongue; how many more coincidences do you need?"
"He is twelve," Dumbledore reiterated, exasperation clear in his tone. "He has only been at Hogwarts for two years and yet you think he's capable of magic that most adults don't even know."
"I…"Fudge paused, unsure of how to respond. "I can't explain how dark magic works, but that's neither here nor there. I am here because of a tip that Potter is in this castle."
"And who was your informant, hmm? If I were a betting man, which I am, my galleons would be on Lucius Malfoy."
"It doesn't matter who…"
"Do you wonder," Dumbledore continued as if Fudge hadn't spoken, "how Mr. Malfoy would be privy to such information?"
"So you admit it," Cornelius yelled like a mad man winning an argument. "You admit the boy is here!"
"Even if he were, I wouldn't tell you."
A long pause followed the statement, casting the room into a tense silence that even consumed the soft chirps of the birds outside the window. Harry held his breath, afraid that even the slightest exhale would disclose his location. He would have given anything to peer through the curtains to see what was going on, but he held steady. Finally, Fudge broke the silence.
"Obscuring justice? I would never have dreamed you would stoop so low for the boy."
It wasn't above a whisper, but the words hung between the two men like a thick fog before Fudge stepped towards the door. The boards creaked beneath his shoes, and Harry could hear him come to an abrupt stop.
"I'll be back with Aurors…"
"Cornelius, I am willing to let you speak with Harry, but it will be under my conditions," implored Dumbledore.
"Your conditions? This isn't a game, Albus. A girl is dead!"
"And Harry can tell you exactly what happened but it will be here, in my office," Fudge made a noise but Professor Dumbledore raised his voice, drowning out the protest. "And, there will be no Aurors; just you, Harry, and myself."
"Why would I agree to this," Fudge asked in disbelief.
"Because this is the only way you get your answers. Harry is terrified and he has been through hell. I won't let you compound it by using him as a scapegoat."
It took a long minute for the Minister to answer. He seemed to be mulling it over in his head, searching for a better solution; when none came, he conceded.
"Two days. I'll be back in two days and I want answers," he growled, apparently unhappy about being coerced into such an agreement.
"And you will have them, "Dumbledore replied shortly.