Winter sorrow
The stone walls of the Hogwarts staff room were heavy with an unsettling tension. It was a far cry from the jovial atmosphere that usually accompanied the holidays. The teachers had gathered, their usual cheer replaced with furrowed brows and whispered conversations.
Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled before him, eyes twinkling with an unreadable expression. Professor McGonagall stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly.
“Albus, I still don’t understand,” McGonagall began, her voice clipped. “Harry’s behavior—his detachment. It’s as though he isn’t even a child anymore. Eleven years old, and yet he—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “—he doesn’t feel like a child. Not the way we know children to be.”
Professor Flitwick, seated beside McGonagall, nodded in agreement. “I’ve noticed it too. He seems... older than he is. Wiser, yes, but in a way that goes beyond simple knowledge.”
“And that’s not all,” continued McGonagall, her expression hardening. “He hasn’t given a single detail about his time away, and we all know he didn’t have a typical upbringing. Not like any of the other students. No mention of family. His reactions to our questions are... unnerving.”
There was a quiet murmur around the table. Dumbledore remained silent, letting the tension build before he spoke.
“Harry is a unique case,” Dumbledore finally said, his voice calm but grave. “We’ve been aware of his unusual behavior ever since he arrived at Hogwarts. His history, however, is far more troubling.”
McGonagall’s eyebrows raised. “You mean the missing years?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “We’ve speculated for years. Petunia Dursley’s report of him as a runaway, the strange disappearance—nothing adding up. But we had no concrete evidence.”
Flitwick shifted in his chair. “And now he returns, not with the usual signs of trauma one might expect, but with a coldness... a detachment. It’s as though he’s built a wall around himself, one that we can’t break.”
Dumbledore's eyes clouded slightly, though his voice remained steady. “Indeed. His disappearance was highly peculiar. After the incident with the neighbor’s house—”
“The cannibalism,” McGonagall interjected, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “And Harry’s sudden disappearance the following day. We were all led to believe that a dark force was responsible, likely someone seeking to find him. We’ve been searching for him for five years, with no trace.”
“But why didn’t we find him?” McGonagall’s voice trembled with the weight of the question. “What happened in those years? And where did he go?”
There was a heavy silence, the weight of the unknown hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Dumbledore sighed, his gaze distant. “It appears Harry was taken by someone. Someone with a deep understanding of concealment magic, perhaps even darker forms of magic. Whoever took him has kept him hidden. And when he finally reappeared—he was different. Changed. Not just physically but in ways that are difficult to comprehend.”
Professor Snape, who had been sitting silently in the corner, spoke up, his voice sharp as ever. “I’ve observed him. He doesn’t act like a typical child. No, this... Harry Potter behaves like a child who has been forced to grow up too quickly. He is... methodical, calculating. And I don’t believe his past is as simple as it seems. We know nothing about the supposed ‘guardian’ he spoke of during the holidays.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, his voice solemn. “We do not know who this guardian is or where they reside. Harry has offered no details, and every inquiry we’ve made has been met with resistance. He is clearly protective of this person, but we cannot assume his silence means everything is as it should be.”
Flitwick shifted nervously. “But what about his time at Hogwarts? Has anyone observed anything... unusual?”
McGonagall frowned. “He’s been keeping to himself. He never participates in any group activities, not truly. He’s often off alone, and when he interacts with others, it’s with a chilling detachment. The way he keeps people at arm’s length—”
“The way he looks at others,” Snape added, his voice cool. “It’s as if he sees through them. Like a predator.”
The room fell into a quiet pause. No one dared to speak for a moment.
Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze heavy on the assembled staff. “There are many unanswered questions surrounding Harry Potter. But one thing we do know is that his time away from the wizarding world has shaped him in ways we cannot yet understand. And we must tread carefully. For all we know, he may hold more knowledge of darker forces than we can even imagine.”
McGonagall narrowed her eyes, her thoughts evident. “And what of his ‘guardian’? Is it possible they are the one who has influenced him so deeply?”
“I fear so,” Dumbledore replied, his voice low. “But without more information, we cannot act hastily. Harry is not a typical student. His silence is a shield. We must respect that, even if it makes us uncomfortable.”
Snape’s eyes flickered to the door, his voice laced with an edge of impatience. “What should we do, then? Continue as if nothing is wrong?”
Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. “No, Severus. We must observe him, but with care. He is already distrustful. We cannot afford to alienate him further.”
Professor McGonagall nodded gravely, her posture softening slightly. “And if we do find more information about this guardian?”
“We will proceed with caution,” Dumbledore said, his gaze distant. “Harry Potter may be the key to understanding much more than we have yet realized. But we cannot rush to conclusions.”
The room fell into a thick, contemplative silence. The meeting ended without further words, each staff member silently contemplating the mysteries that Harry’s presence—and his disappearance—had raised.
As they left the staff room, the weight of the unspoken hung over them all, knowing that, somehow, the boy they had been searching for five long years was sitting among them, no longer the child they expected, but something far more dangerous and unknown.