Safe and sound at Hogwarts
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Hogwarts ~~ Headmaster's office ~~ Morning before dawn of November 1st 1981
Perched atop a vertiginous entanglement of staircases, the tower of the grand staircase housed three smaller annex towers, arranged in a cascading manner, as if sprung from a fairy tale. These towers offered a stunning view over the secret gardens of Hogwarts, where one could marvel at the verdant roofs of Hufflepuff and the Black Lake, like a dark mirror, majestically extending beneath the castle's foundations. This quaint cluster of towers, a true eagle's nest above the world, was the sanctuary of the headmaster, a place imbued with mystery and power.
The headmaster's office, a circular room bathed in light and magic, was a veritable cabinet of curiosities. At sunset, one of the many windows captured the last rays, transforming them into a cascade of red light that set the space ablaze with its fiery reflections. The atmosphere was alive, punctuated by the tinkling and whispering of silver instruments, witnesses to experiments and enchantments. Among them, a singularly complex artifact, now in ruins, exhaled lazy smoke, a reminder that even here, perfection remained elusive.
At the heart of the room, a desk of undeniable majesty captured the gaze, its feet carved into elegant talons, as if it were ready to soar into the mists of legend. This imposing piece of furniture, crowned with a grand seat inlaid with rare woods and adorned with complex patterns, evoked more the throne of a sovereign from ancient tales, a witness to epic stories and decisions etched in history.
On a shelf, in almost solemn tranquillity, rested the Sorting Hat, guardian of fates and silent advisor to the young souls venturing into Hogwarts. Its presence, steeped in mystery, added a layer of timelessness to an atmosphere already charged with tales and magic.
Behind the door, a golden perch, a splash of opulence amidst the sobriety of wood and bronze, offered a striking contrast. Upon this perch, Fawkes, the phoenix with a plumage of flames, seemed to meditate. From his slightly opened beak, melodies wove a veil of serenity in the air, enveloping the room in an aura of peace and contemplation.
The walls, silent witnesses of bygone eras, were adorned with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, whose eyes seemed to follow movements with a dormant curiosity. These faces, framed in noble wood, formed a silent assembly, watching over the office and its occupants. Phineas Nigellus Black, Dexter Fortescue, Dilys Derwent, Everard, and Armando Dippet, Dumbledore's predecessor, were among these faces, each bearing the marks of their era and wisdom.
In a corner, discreet yet imposing, a cabinet held its mysteries. Locked away, it housed a Pensieve, an object of contemplation and reflection, once belonging to Dumbledore. The latter, master of these premises, had left behind this memory tool, a bridge between the past and the present, inviting one to dive into the flow of memories, where truth and dreams intertwine.
To the right of the desk, stood a fireplace of remarkable proportions, connected to the mysterious web of the Floo Network, a true artery of the wizarding world. This fireplace, much more than a mere hearth, was a gateway to the unknown, a link between places and the souls of the magical community.
The mantle of the fireplace was a veritable theatre of eclectic objects, each telling a story, a fragment of Hogwarts' soul. At the centre of this collection, the school's crest stood majestically, its shield proudly bearing the motto "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus". These words, carved in stone, resonated like an echo from centuries past, a constant reminder of the wisdom and courage needed to navigate the tumultuous waters of magic.
Overlooking this assembly, a stone dragon, broad and imposing, seemed to sleep, its forms enveloping the top of the fireplace. Its nostrils, finely sculpted, let out wisps of smoke, breathing surprising life into the stone. This creature, frozen in eternal slumber, was a silent guardian, watching over the secrets and dreams locked within the walls of this office. Its existence, on the border of the real and the enchanting, reminded all that magic is everywhere, ready to awaken at the slightest stir of the world.
Suddenly, the tranquility of the room was shattered by the spectacular appearance of an emerald flame in the fireplace, crackling with an intensity that shook the very foundations of the office. The noise, as sudden as a clap of thunder, startled Fawkes, the phoenix, abruptly torn from his ethereal dreams. His eyes, narrowed in displeasure, fixed upon the fireplace from whence this uninvited intrusion came.
Albus Dumbledore emerged from the fireplace, cradling Minnie, the Potter's cat, purring as loudly as a Ford Anglia, in his arms. Following him, Rubeus Hagrid, an imposing and comforting figure, and Sirius Black, clutching his godson with protective affection, made their entrance. The headmaster's face twisted into a slight grimace at the sound of Fawkes' discontent, aware of the discomfort caused to his winged companion.
"My apologies, Fawkes. I had lost track of how late our return was," Dumbledore confessed with a gentleness tinged with regret. The phoenix, in a gesture that seemed to grant his forgiveness, nodded solemnly before curling back into the cocoon of his daydreams.
"What are we to do now, Professor?" Sirius asked, his concern palpable as he held his godson even tighter, as if to shield him from the uncertainties of the world. "My flat isn't suitable for..."
"We shall discuss that later, my boy," Albus gently interrupted, raising a calming hand. "For now, I suggest you and Harry get some rest. A guest room has been prepared for this purpose."
With these words, the wise headmaster of Hogwarts gestured towards a discreet door, opening onto a welcoming room, barely visible next to the fireplace. Sirius and Hagrid, although familiar with this sanctuary of knowledge, raised their eyebrows, surprised by this hitherto unseen door, revealing yet another facet of the unfathomable mystery surrounding the headmaster's office.
" Headmaster? where's tha' door comin' from?" Hagrid inquired, his wide eyes betraying his astonishment at the sudden appearance.
"Ah, Hagrid, Hogwarts has always been responsive to the needs and wishes of its staff, especially those of the headmasters, and even more so in this office," Dumbledore replied, his smile tinged with enigma, his eyes twinkling with gentle mischief. "But now, it is time for each of us to find rest. Good night to you all."
With these words, the wise headmaster headed towards a discreet door, ascending to his private quarters, a space away from prying eyes, where time seemed to stand still. Upon reaching the balcony, the old man allowed himself a moment of contemplation, admiring the dawn's early light painting the sky with gentle hues. In this moment of tranquility, Minnie, curled up in his arms, seemed a living treasure, a comforting presence in the cradle of his hands.
Meanwhile, in the quietude of the office, Sirius and Hagrid exchanged a knowing look, a nod sufficient to express the inexpressible. Hagrid, with his gruff voice tinged with tenderness, wished Sirius and young Harry a good night before departing, his massive silhouette blending into the shadows, beginning his descent towards the shelter of his hut.
"Let's go to bed, my bambi," Sirius whispered, his gaze filled with tenderness resting on Harry, peacefully asleep in his arms. "If only..."
His throat tightened once again, thinking back to the tragic events of the previous night. After a few seconds, he composed himself, knowing he could no longer wallow in sorrow for he now had a child to care for. He stepped forward and opened the door, observing the interior with care.
The room, bathed in the softness of light wood, exuded an atmosphere of serenity and warmth. The grand four-poster bed dominated the center, inviting rest, while a small child's bed, a promise of softness and security, stood nearby. Large drapes, in a deep red, framed the window majestically, filtering out the early morning rays.
Sirius, with rare delicacy, placed Harry in the small bed, his gesture tinged with infinite tenderness. He then proceeded to close the drapes with his wand, a barrier against the dawning light, wishing to preserve a few more hours of tranquility before the day's awakening.
However, a wave of hesitation seized him, a diffuse sensation, almost forgotten, that he had overlooked something important. His gaze swept the room, stopping on a basin filled with warm water, an incongruous detail in this nocturnal setting. Realization struck with the suddenness of lightning: he needed to clean Harry's forehead and remove the traces of the healing balm.
With a sigh, a mix of resignation and responsibility, Sirius once again lifted the child, gently waking this cherished being. Harry, his eyes fluttering in the dim light, observed his surroundings with childlike curiosity, his gaze searching for something.
"'Da? 'Da!" Harry exclaimed, desperately searching around him. "'Da! 'Da!"
Harry's eyes, filled with troubled innocence, welled up with tears, his small, broken voice calling in vain for a father who could not respond to his calls. Sirius, heavy-hearted at the sight of this distress, attempted to reassure the child with soft words, promising the return of a father in an uncertain future.
"Harry? We're going to clean you up and then you can go back to sleep. Daddy will come to see you later, okay?"
"'Kay," the child replied, accompanied by a shy smile, his little arms reaching up to Sirius, seeking comfort in his embrace.
Sirius, though tormented by the unfulfilled promises of those words, knew he could not shatter the child's gentle bubble of innocence with the harsh truth, not yet. He took the child with fatherly tenderness, removed his clothes, and placed him in the basin, the warm water enveloping the child's skin. Harry squirmed in all directions, joyfully splashing his godfather to the sound of their laughter.
After the bath, the child now clean, Sirius summoned the clothes he had retrieved from the Potters to dress him. Harry wriggled a bit, turning the dressing session into a game. Finally soothed and clean, Harry was returned to his bed, where he quickly succumbed to sleep, overcome by the day's emotions and fatigue.
With a precise flick of his wand, Sirius erased the traces of Harry's joyful mess, the droplets evaporating and the wood returning to its dry state as if they had never been there. He then perched on the edge of the bed, adopting a thoughtful demeanour as he reflected on the bath he had just given.
The healers at the hospital had been right, and despite the excision of the scar and the healing balm, the mark had returned, albeit more faded and barely perceptible. This dreadful lightning-shaped scar reminded Sirius of the previous night's tragedy, and knowing the Ministry and the foolishness of wizards, he knew it would become a beacon in the darkness for those who had fought against Voldemort.
Shaking off these dark thoughts with a head shake, Sirius sought comfort in the evening rituals. His wand, a faithful companion to his thoughts and actions, danced between his fingers, transforming the fabric of his robe into a soft pyjama, an echo of the quest for normality and rest he so dearly desired.
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Hogwarts ~~ Great Hall ~~ Around 8 A.M of November 1st 1981
Of all the rooms in the majestic castle of Hogwarts, the Great Hall, with its fame surpassing the ancient stone walls, stood as the pulsating heart of magic and history. Its grand oak doors opened onto a space whose splendour evoked the most fantastic tales.
Inside, the floor, like a giant chessboard, was paved with stones cut into large squares alternating between shades of dark and light grey. These slabs, silent witnesses to the footsteps of generations of wizarding apprentices, added an almost solemn dimension to the room. The hall extended into three distinct parts, each with its own aura and character.
To the right, a room bathed in light, thanks to immense windows that offered an unrivalled view of the vast grounds of Hogwarts. Two large fireplaces stood there, crackling with a warm fire that continuously warmed the hearts and minds of the students.
To the left, another room, mirrored to its sister, also housed two large fireplaces. Doors opened onto the inner garden, strewn with topiaries and statues with an unobstructed view of the dormitory roofs of Hufflepuff House. Other doors led to a more intimate room, adorned with portraits where few people went, except perhaps the professors.
Between the two wings of the Great Hall, a third room unfolded, majestic and imposing, like a central stage where the fate of many wizards was played out over the years. Four massive pillars, standing like stone sentinels, marked the boundaries of this space. Atop each of these pillars rested a statue, noble and proud, embodying the totem animal of each of the four houses of Hogwarts. The proud lion of Gryffindor, the cunning serpent of Slytherin, the loyal badger of Hufflepuff, and the wise eagle of Ravenclaw watched over the hall, symbolizing unity in diversity and the collective strength of the school.
Four long solid wood tables, aligned lengthwise, occupied the central space. Reserved for students, they were arranged by house: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. At the end of the hall, on an elevated platform, was the teachers' table (called the High Table), facing the students, with a grand ornate chair in the centre for the headmaster of the school. In front of the central tables, a golden lectern in the form of an owl occupied the space, dedicated to the headmaster's announcements, and occasionally, those of the Hogwarts staff.
The stone walls of the hall were illuminated by torches and bronze lanterns, the magical fire fuelling them continuously for centuries, casting a soft and warm light. Large stained-glass windows added a touch of colour, with scenes from the life of Hogwarts and emblematic figures of the magical world engraved in the glass.
But the most remarkable feature of the Great Hall was its enchanted ceiling, which reflected the outside sky in real-time, whether it was light blue dotted with fluffy clouds or dark and stormy. This enchantment, breathtaking in its beauty, gave the impression of being in the open air while remaining sheltered from the elements.
Finally, the entire hall, especially the centre, was illuminated by floating candles, hundreds of candles that remained eternally lit without ever extinguishing or melting, except by the headmaster's command. Legend had it that if there were no headmaster, then the candles would extinguish and would only relight in the presence of a legitimate headmaster recognized by the castle itself.
It was in this room that many students and the entire teaching staff were currently enjoying breakfast. On this holiday, with classes cancelled, many students joyfully indulged in the morning feast, some still sleeping in their dormitories, unworried since they had the whole day to themselves.
Amidst the comforting aromas of a traditional English breakfast, a culinary mosaic unfolded, inviting one on a journey through ancient traditions: succulent sausages, kippers exuding its unique aroma, creamy porridge drizzled with golden honey, glistening fried tomatoes under the dim light, and slices of toasted bread, golden under a generous layer of marmalade. Black pudding, a true enigma for the uninitiated palate, proudly sat alongside cereals with whimsical names - Cheeri Owls and Pixie Puffs, a playful nod to the Muggle world - fluffy crumpets like morning clouds, and pumpkin juice, the iconic beverage of the magical world.
Some students noticed an unexpected seat that had appeared between the headmaster and the deputy headmistress, not to mention the ginger cat which, with almost comical audacity, afforded itself the privilege of savouring milk from a bowl meant for humans. The more perceptive among them understood that something was different, and significant enough to unsettle the professors.
At the High Table, the numerous professors enjoyed their breakfast with a distracted air, some holding back tears, others simply joyful or pensive. Albus Dumbledore, the wise and powerful headmaster, had convened them half an hour earlier in the staff room to announce the events of the previous evening. Among the staff, three professors stood out, marked by palpable sadness, their deep connection with the Potter family echoing through their silence:
Firstly, there was Minerva McGonagall, with her imposing silhouette and piercing gaze. Her natural dignity, enhanced by an emerald green robe, was accentuated by her square glasses and her impeccably tight bun, symbolizing discipline and determination. She was primarily known for her role as the deputy headmistress of the school, but also as the head of the Department of Transfiguration, a distinguished professor in this field, and, according to some, the most important role, Head of Gryffindor House, the house of the brave and courageous.
Not far away, Horace Slughorn, with his more modest yet no less imposing stature, evoked warmth and conviviality. His round belly betrayed a penchant for the pleasures of the table, while his eyes, a cranberry red, sparkled with intelligence and mischief. His moustache, like a banner fluttering in the wind, added a touch of dignity to his jovial face. His clothes, made of rich velvet adorned with golden buttons, reflected his taste for luxury and refinement, making him a paternal and reassuring figure for the students of Slytherin, of which he was the proud head. He was also recognized as the Potions Master, teaching at Hogwarts and leading the school's Department of Potions.
Lastly, Filius Flitwick, whose small stature did nothing to diminish the greatness of his mind, was a veritable well of knowledge. His grey hair and plentiful beard, like a cloud of silver, framed a face radiant with kindness and wisdom. His robe and hat, in harmonious grey-green, reflected his affinity with charms, which he had been teaching for years. As the head of the Department of Charms, he had the privilege of leading Ravenclaw House, guiding his students with unparalleled benevolence and patience.
These three souls were deeply marked by the events, sharing a bond with the Potters. James, the exemplary student, had captured McGonagall's admiration to the extent that she had considered making him her apprentice, a rarely granted honour. Lily, on the other hand, shone with unparalleled brilliance, becoming Slughorn's protégée and subsequently Flitwick's devoted apprentice, her thirst for knowledge and talent in enchantments promising to push the boundaries of magic. In fact, she visited him every Tuesday and Thursday without fail for three years, using the Floo Network, to perfect her apprenticeship. She was on the verge of completing her apprenticeship and becoming a Charms Mistress.
As the teaching community shared a sense of relief at the downfall of a looming shadow, a fourth professor stood apart, engulfed in a sea of dark and tumultuous thoughts. Severus Snape, an enigmatic figure draped in black, embodied a character of contradiction and complexity. His austere demeanour, with his distinctive nose and deep black eyes, concealed an inner world tormented by underlying currents of affection, regret, and guilt. A professor and master of potions, he had begun teaching in September 1981, joining the potions department under Horace Slughorn's supervision at Albus Dumbledore's request. It was anticipated that he would succeed Horace Slughorn upon his retirement.
The young Severus Snape was still tormented by the evening, the lifeless face of the woman he had loved for years reappearing every time he closed his eyes. However, he would never dare to confess his feelings or the reason for his turmoil. Admitting his presence on that fateful night could plunge him into the depths of Azkaban, a risk he could not afford to take. Thus, he remained a solitary spectator of a world that celebrated a victory tainted for him by an immeasurable loss.
Suddenly, hooting resonated through the hall, and the sky came alive with a multitude of owls and hawks. A breathtaking aerial ballet unfolded under the ancient vaults, as the winged messengers of the magical world dove towards their recipients with unerring precision. The usual murmur of morning conversations was overwhelmed by a melodious hooting, heralding a day unlike any other.
Students, accustomed to this morning ritual of correspondence, watched with astonishment the unusual influx of birds, their curious gazes following each movement with fascination. The tables were soon covered with copies of the Daily Prophet, falling from the sky like a shower of news. The surprise was universal when even those who were not subscribers found the newspaper before them, the front page boldly proclaiming the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
For his part, Albus Dumbledore regarded the newspaper with mild astonishment, before remembering the evening. His ever-vigilant mind made the connection with the presence of Rita Skeeter at the Ministry the night before. Despite recognizing her budding talent for journalism, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel some apprehension about the haste of this publication, especially at such a delicate moment. He could sense, through the castle, which communicated with him thanks to a bond uniting school and headmaster, the approach of Sirius Black, carrying the young Harry Potter.
The hall was soon swept up in a wave of emotions, reactions mixing in a tumult of sounds and gestures. Expressions of astonishment clashed with cries of triumph, while a few faces, darkened by the shadow of their families' association with the forces of evil, reflected deeper distress. These children of Death Eaters understood that their families would soon be hunted down and brought to justice for all their misdeeds.
The professors, who had learned the news in advance, couldn't help but discuss among themselves, pointing out certain parts of the article with interest. They still kept an eye on the students, ensuring that no excesses occurred on this day, knowing full well that some minds could become heated. Especially between the students of Gryffindor and those of Slytherin.
As conversations flourished and the atmosphere remained cheerful, a silence spread among the students. The professors observed the silence with astonishment, all except Albus, who had sensed Sirius Black's entrance without even looking up. He noted with amusement that Minnie had stopped lapping up her milk to stare at the entranceway. The headmaster prepared in advance for what was to come, inwardly cursing Rita Skeeter for disturbing his peace.