A Storm waiting to break
The Hogwarts staff room was tense. The professors had gathered at Dumbledore’s behest, their faces a mixture of concern, confusion, and frustration.
The disappearance of Professor Quirrell had thrown the castle into disarray. Students gossiped in hushed tones, speculating wildly about their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s sudden absence. The staff, however, had far graver matters to discuss.
Dumbledore stood at the head of the room, his serene expression betraying none of the turmoil beneath. “Thank you all for coming,” he began. “We have much to discuss.”
Minerva McGonagall, seated to his right, was the first to speak. “Albus, I don’t understand. How could Quirrell simply vanish? And what does this have to do with Potter?”
Snape leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and his expression sour. “Of course, it has to do with Potter,” he drawled. “Everything seems to these days.”
“Severus,” McGonagall snapped, “this isn’t the time.”
“No, it’s quite the time,” Snape countered. “We’re talking about an eleven-year-old who not only managed to bypass a Cerberus but also defeated enchanted obstacles designed to challenge seasoned wizards. And now, Quirrell—whose allegiance was always questionable—has vanished without a trace.”
Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “Are we certain the boy managed it on his own? Perhaps he had... assistance?”
“From whom?” Snape shot back. “The boy doesn’t have allies like that. Unless, of course, you count the mystery guardian he’s living with during the holidays.”
The mention of Harry’s mysterious guardian made the room fall silent.
“I think we’re missing the most important question,” Pomona Sprout interjected. “Why would Harry even go through the third-floor corridor in the first place? What was he looking for?”
“That is precisely what we must uncover,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. “Harry has shown remarkable resourcefulness and courage, but his actions are troubling. He is clearly drawn to mysteries that are best left alone.”
“‘Remarkable’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Snape muttered. “Reckless, perhaps. Dangerous, certainly. And yet he refuses to tell us anything. Either he doesn’t remember—or more likely—he simply doesn’t want to share.”
Professor Sprout frowned. “But why? If he’s hiding something, what could it possibly be?”
Hagrid, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. “He’s a good lad, Harry is. But he’s different, yeh know? Even the thestrals took to ‘im. That’s not somethin’ that happens every day.”
“Ah, yes, the thestrals,” McGonagall said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Another concerning matter. If Harry can see them, it means he’s witnessed death. And yet, he claims not to remember—or refuses to say—what he’s seen.”
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his gaze distant. “Harry’s past is... complex. I believe he’s endured more than any child should. And while his reluctance to share is frustrating, we must respect his boundaries. Forcing the truth from him would only drive him further away.”
“And what of Quirrell?” Professor Sprout asked.
“Quirrell’s disappearance is deeply troubling,” Dumbledore admitted. “I have reason to believe he was not acting alone. His departure suggests that he—or his master—was seeking something within the castle.”
“Are you suggesting You-Know-Who?” McGonagall asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It is a possibility we cannot ignore,” Dumbledore said gravely. “If Voldemort is indeed involved, then Harry’s actions in the third-floor corridor may have been more significant than we realize.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the headmaster’s words settling over them like a heavy fog.
“So what do we do?” Flitwick asked, his voice unusually subdued.
“For now,” Dumbledore said, “we observe. We guide. And we protect.”
Snape scoffed quietly. “Protect Potter? He seems perfectly capable of handling himself, doesn’t he?”
“Severus,” Dumbledore said, his tone warning. “We cannot forget that Harry is still a child, regardless of his capabilities. He may be strong, but strength does not negate the need for care and guidance.”
The potions master’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing further.
As the meeting concluded and the professors began to disperse, Dumbledore lingered, staring out the window at the darkened grounds.
Somewhere in the castle, Harry Potter was likely carrying on as if nothing had happened. But Dumbledore knew better. The boy was a storm waiting to break, and when it did, the entire wizarding world would feel its impact.