Pressing Shadows.
The air in the staff room was heavy with quiet tension. The warmth from the fireplace did little to thaw the unease settling over the gathered professors. Dumbledore sat at the head of the long, polished table, fingers tented, his expression unreadable.
It was McGonagall who finally broke the silence.
“We cannot allow this to continue,” she said firmly, setting down her teacup with a sharp clink. “Potter has avoided giving any clear answers for two years now. First, the Philosopher’s Stone—”
“A matter we agreed to let rest,” Dumbledore reminded her gently.
McGonagall exhaled sharply through her nose but inclined her head. “Fine. But the Chamber of Secrets was an entirely different matter. He sealed the entrance. We still do not know what transpired in the chamber. He refused to say anything beyond confirming the monster was dealt with..”
Snape leaned forward, his dark gaze sharp. “And now we have an escaped convict who supposedly wants to kill him, yet Potter remains as infuriatingly closed-lipped as ever. He did not even reply to Fudge’s letter.”
Professor Flitwick, who had been quiet until now, swung his legs over the edge of his chair. “To be fair, the boy has never been particularly expressive.”
Lupin shifted in his seat, brows drawing together. “He isn’t just reserved. He’s calculating.” He hesitated, then glanced toward Dumbledore. “I was in his train compartment when the Dementors boarded.”
Several heads turned toward him at that.
“He didn’t just react poorly,” Lupin continued. “He collapsed.”
McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“That is not uncommon,” Dumbledore said, though his voice lacked its usual twinkle.
“No,” Lupin agreed. “But what concerns me is what the Dementor forced him to relive. His reaction wasn’t one of overwhelming grief, like someone hearing a loved one’s final moments. It was different. The Dementors feed on despair, but Potter—” He shook his head. “I don’t think he has ever known a moment of safety in his life.”
Snape’s sneer faltered just slightly.
Trelawney, who had been staring vaguely into the fire, suddenly spoke.
“There is a darkness around that boy,” she murmured. “Not like the Dark Lord—no, no, not the same. But it clings to him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And it watches back.”
The room was silent.
Dumbledore sighed. “I am aware of the concerns surrounding young Harry. But pressing him too hard will only drive him further into secrecy. For now, we will observe.”
Snape scoffed. “Observe while what? He continues to withhold vital information?”
“Patience, Severus.”
Snape’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.
Lupin exhaled, his fingers drumming absently against the table. “If he is hiding something, Headmaster, we need to consider that it may not be out of defiance, but necessity.”
McGonagall’s fingers curled around her teacup. “Then we must ask… necessity for whom?”
No one had an answer.