What Lies Ahead

Twelve

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."