HARRY POTTER STORY: Lions in snake den

Part 28

Harry sat in the cool shadows of the Slytherin common room, the dim green glow casting an eerie light across the stone walls. He was alone, and that was how he wanted it. The echoes of what he had seen and endured in the graveyard clung to him, swirling in his mind like ghosts he couldn't shake. He kept his face calm, his thoughts well-hidden, but inwardly he felt a chill that refused to leave him. The quiet of the common room was broken by the low, familiar voice of Professor Snape. "Mr. Potter," he said, his dark eyes meeting Harry's. "The Headmaster has requested your presence in his office."

Harry's face didn't change, but he felt a flicker of resentment twist inside him. He'd been expecting this summons. Even so, the idea of facing Dumbledore, with his probing eyes and gentle questions, filled him with an unease that was hard to name. Nodding silently, he rose, following Snape through the winding corridors of the castle. They walked in silence, Snape's footsteps steady beside him, and for a moment, Harry appreciated the professor's restraint. Snape didn't ask him how he was or press him for details. He seemed to understand, in his own way, the importance of silence. When they reached the stone gargoyle, Snape murmured the password, and the statue leapt aside. Harry turned to find Snape studying him, a glint of something unreadable in his expression.

"Be careful with your words, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his tone low. "It's not always wise to trust... everyone."

Harry held Snape's gaze, his expression unreadable, but he felt the warning sink in. With a short nod, he turned and made his way up the spiral staircase. As he stepped into Dumbledore's office, Harry noticed that the usual warmth of the place felt muted, as though even the Headmaster sensed the weight of what had happened. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, hands folded, watching him with that penetrating gaze that seemed to look right through him.

"Harry," he began softly.
"Mr. Potter," Harry corrected, his tone clipped, his face carefully neutral.

He wasn't here as a child looking for comfort. He was here on his own terms, and he wasn't about to let Dumbledore's familiar tone break his guard. The Headmaster's eyes flickered for a brief moment, but he inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore continued, his voice steady but gentle, "I realize that you have been through something harrowing tonight. I won't ask more of you than you're prepared to give, but it's important that I understand what happened. Only what you feel comfortable sharing." Harry took a slow breath, feeling his fingers tighten on the arms of his chair. He kept his gaze level, his mind carefully piecing together the words he wanted to say—and the details he wanted to keep hidden. "The Triwizard Cup," he began, his voice as steady as he could make it. "It was a Portkey. When I touched it, I was transported... to a graveyard."
Dumbledore's face remained calm, though Harry saw something in his eyes shift. He waited, giving Harry space to continue.
"He was there," Harry went on, his voice lowering. "Voldemort. And his followers. The Death Eaters. They... used my blood to bring him back." He paused, his jaw tightening as he kept his emotions in check. "And then... he challenged me to a duel. I managed to escape."

The Headmaster's expression was grave, his eyes shadowed as he listened. He didn't interrupt, didn't press, but Harry felt his attention, the quiet pull of expectation for more. But Harry kept his face unreadable, a wall between them. He knew what Dumbledore wanted—the details, the vulnerabilities he might glean from every word, every hesitation. But Harry wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
"So... Voldemort is... fully restored, Dumbledore said, his voice barely a whisper. There was a weight to his words, a sadness, but Harry didn't allow himself to soften. He had seen too much, endured too much. He wasn't about to open himself up now, not to Dumbledore.

"That's right," Harry replied shortly, his tone edged with finality. Dumbledore hesitated, his eyes lingering on Harry's face, as though searching for some crack in his composure. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," he said at last. "I realize how difficult this must be." Harry nodded, his expression still cool, detached. "If that's all, Headmaster." Dumbledore seemed taken aback, a hint of sadness creeping into his gaze. But he didn't press further. "Yes, Mr. Potter. That will be all. Please... take care of yourself." Without a word, Harry stood, turning and heading for the door. He didn't glance back, didn't give Dumbledore any indication of the turmoil that simmered beneath his calm exterior. As he walked down the staircase and back through the silent corridors of the castle, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction.