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0683 Curiosity
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 10:39:31 +0000 UTCCuriosity shone in the eyes of everyone coming towards him as they rushed through the corridors of Hogwarts. Students lined the passageway, some standing on tiptoes to get a better view craning their necks, as if they all wanted to discover the truth of the matter from him.
Faced with their stares and hushed, excited sounding murmurs, a surge of anger welled up in Harry's heart. His fingers trembled, and he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. He was already angry enough about what had happened but now he was absolutely seething.
Hermione had been inexplicably attacked and was still in a precarious state between life and death. However, these people crowding the hallways weren't worried about Hermione at all, weren't concerned with whether she would ever wake up. Instead, they just wanted to watch the commotion, to witness the drama personally so they could recount it later in their common rooms with blown up details.
Harry was itching to draw his wand and give the students on both sides of the corridor a few harsh spells.
Although deep down, in a part of his mind not consumed by rage and grief, he knew this was human nature and Hermione wasn't their good friend. Still, he just couldn't control the hatred that sprouted in his heart. This feeling of hatred was like last year when he first heard that his parents had died due to the betrayal of their best friend.
"I hope you can control your emotions, Mr. Potter—" Professor McGonagall's said in a stern tone. She had sensed the hatred in Harry's eyes, but after her gaze briefly fell on the red scab of a cut on Harry's cheek from being scraped by a sharp stone on the ground during the explosion, her tone softened again. She lightly squeezed his shoulder with the arm that was holding him.
"You should believe in Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson. Miss Granger will recover—we must have faith in that and the culprit who attacked her will be brought to justice. He will spend the rest of his life in Azkaban—"
"Such scum doesn't deserve to go to Azkaban!" Harry interjected viciously. "He should be killed!!"
"This is not something a young wizard should say, Potter, Anyway, leave it to Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson. They will ensure the culprit faces consequences for this!"
Professor McGonagall sighed heavily in her heart and dragged Harry into the already crowded hospital wing.
The hospital wing, normally orderly and clean under Madam Pomfrey's thorough care, had been transformed into something resembling a field hospital after a battle.
In the center of this, Madam Pomfrey paced hurriedly between the beds, as she cast diagnostic spells, summoned supplies, and directed the few upperclassmen she'd pressed into service as assistants. Her movements were precise but rushed as she bound bandages with flicks of her wand and applied essence of dittany for the wailing young wizards whose skin had been cut by flying debris. Her round, plump face was flushed with exertion, anxiety and frustration.
Today was supposed to be a leisurely and comfortable Saturday for her as well, a day of quietness in the castle with most older students enjoying their Hogsmeade trip.
Apart from taking care of two first-year wizards whose ankles were caught and twisted by the mischievous moving staircases, there were only a few third-year students who needed to rest in bed due to severe colds worsened by a foolish snowball fight near the Black Lake the previous evening.
But she hadn't expected her leisure and comfort to end so abruptly. Just as she finished her morning ward rounds and was about to go down to the Great Hall for an early lunch, anticipating a hearty bowl of potato leek soup and perhaps a chat with Professor Sprout about the latest shipment of medicinal herbs, thunderous rumbling had sounded from the direction of stairs.
Then, before she could even process what was happening, one injured patient after another was being sent to the hospital wing before her disbelieving eyes. Professor Moody had even brought two Hogsmeade villagers with glass shards in their shoulders!
"Oh, merciful Merlin!" By the time she finally came back to her senses from the initial shock, her meticulously organized territory was already filled with injured people.
"Who can tell me what on earth is going on!" Faced with one young wizard after another waiting for treatment, their faces pale with shock or contorted with pain, Madam Pomfrey screamed as if she was having a breakdown as her voice rose above the noise of the crowded ward. "I need information, and I need it now!"
But no one seemed capable of providing a clear explanation, and gave only fragments and speculation about an explosion in Hogsmeade and something terrible happening to the Granger girl.
Although Harry felt that he was completely fine, Professor McGonagall still forcefully pressed him onto the nearest unoccupied bed as she called Madam Pomfrey to examine him.
Perhaps because there were too many people waiting to be tended to, or perhaps because the day's events had torn her patience, Madam Pomfrey's movements were unprecedentedly rough as she bustled over to him. When she was checking his eyes to determine if there were any signs of dark magic contamination, she almost twisted his eyelids off.
"How is it, Poppy? He was very close to Miss Granger at the time—" Professor McGonagall looked at Madam Pomfrey, who was moving back and forth over Harry with a worried face.
"I don't think there's any major problem, Minerva—" Madam Pomfrey pried open Harry's mouth without warning, making him gag slightly as she examined his tongue coating. "His pupils are responsive, reflexes intact, and there's no sign of curse residue on his skin or mucous membranes. Of course, the child has been a bit frightened, as is to be expected after such a traumatic experience.
A cup of hot chocolate milk with a dash of calming draught and a good sleep will restore his spirits. The milk is on the counter over there, Minerva, next to my supply cabinet. It would be great if you could give me a hand—I've barely had time to breathe since this madness began."
After completing her hurried but thorough examination, Madam Pomfrey went to deal with the glass shards embedded in the two unfortunate Hogsmeade villagers without a pause for breath.
Professor McGonagall squeezed through the crowd with effort to help him pour a mug of steaming chocolate milk from the large copper pot on the counter. The rich, sweet aroma wafted up to Harry's nostrils, momentarily distracting him from the chaos surrounding them.
And Harry finally had a chance to look properly at the scene of barely controlled chaos that the hospital wing had become.
Every person he knew at Hogwarts seemed to have appeared here.
Harry saw several of his roommates, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, waiting at the doorway, craning their necks to look inside. They hadn't been hit by the explosion, and hadn't even appeared at the scene. They had simply heard about the incident and came to visit them.
Ginny, Colin, Fred and George, members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, classmates from P.E. class. Harry saw that Cedric and Cho Chang were also in the crowd, looking inside. Harry knew they were all eager to know the inside story, but he didn't want to pay attention to them now. He didn't have any inside information to share either.
Ron was one of the more seriously injured among the wounded. His head was wrapped in a thick layer of white gauze, making him look like he was wearing some strange turban. Possibly due to excessive blood loss from a gash along his hairline, his face looked a bit pale, while he was still unconscious.
Madam Pomfrey, who had walked over to stop the bleeding from Ernie Macmillan's split lips with a precise dab of a silvery potion, took the opportunity to pull the curtain next to Ron's bed to let him rest better, shielding him from the curious gazes of onlookers. Then, Ron's freckled face disappeared from Harry's sight, leaving him feeling even more isolated amidst the crowded ward.
It seemed that there was nothing else to do except space out, to let his mind drift aimlessly through the fog of shock and adrenaline; Harry suddenly realized this as he sat blankly on the edge of the bed with his untouched chocolate milk growing cold beside him and in the midst of this noisy environment, his head was buzzing like a nest of disturbed hornets.
"How is Granger, Minerva—" The question, spoken in Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice, drew Harry's attention back to the present.
These affected students had been sent back to the castle by Professors Moody, Flitwick, and Sprout, who had been supervising the Hogsmeade visit. When the environment in the hospital wing became a bit more orderly, the teaching staff all gathered around Professor McGonagall to inquire about the situation.
"Albus said that Granger's injuries have been brought under control—" Professor McGonagall said softly with the physical support of Professor Sprout, who had placed an arm around her waist as she was panting from exhaustion after the physical and emotional strain of the past few hours.
Although she said that Hermione's condition was under control, everyone could hear that the matter probably wasn't that simple. This was especially apparent to Fake Moody, who had been in close contact with Hermione immediately after the explosion. He knew what the child had actually suffered and the situation might be very serious.
Fortunately, although there were many injured people filling the hospital wing to capacity, the harm they suffered wasn't particularly severe in most cases. Most people were just hit by a bit of the shock wave or struck by minor debris, resulting in cuts, bruises, and in Ron's case, a more serious head wound that nonetheless appeared to be responding well to treatment.
The real concern, the shadow hanging over them all, was Hermione's mysterious condition.
When Snape arrived, the hospital wing was much more orderly than it had been earlier. The onlooking young wizards outside the door had all been driven away by Professor McGonagall and the others to avoid disturbing the patients' rest.
"How is it, Severus?" Seeing Snape enter, the few professors resting in chairs immediately surrounded him. Professor McGonagall asked in a worried voice that carried clearly across the room, "Is there any new news from Albus? How is Miss Granger's condition?"
Harry, who had been forced to lie on the bed by Madam Pomfrey's stern instructions, moved his eyelids slightly and immediately perked up his ears, trying to catch every word.
"Granger has been sent to St Mungo's by Dumbledore, and the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic will provide round-the-clock protection to ensure her safety—" Snape glanced over Professor Sprout's shoulder toward the bed where Harry lay supposedly sleeping.
With one look, he could tell that Potter was eavesdropping on their conversation. However, he only twitched his hooked nose and didn't expose him. "Bryan has also left the castle. He said he was going to investigate this matter personally."
Bryan had only returned to Hogwarts late at night the day before yesterday and had stayed for barely two days before leaving the school again. Regarding this sudden departure, Professor McGonagall only pursed her lips slightly, a gesture that in another context might have indicated disapproval, but there was no anger in her heart.
Who exactly planned this attack on an innocent student, and what was their ultimate purpose?
The professors in the hospital wing walked to the far side of the room and started discussing these questions in hushed tones. Harry stretched his ears to their limit, but couldn't hear clearly over the ambient noise of the ward.
Harry slowly opened his eyes and looked towards Ron's bed once more.
The curtain shielding the bed was stirred by the breeze. Ron's pale face flashed in Harry's eyes and then was immediately concealed by the curtain again. The pale sunlight coming through the window was a bit too harsh to Harry's tired eyes and the wind blowing into the ward was very quiet, so quiet that it was a bit oppressive.
Another commotion suddenly sounded from outside the hospital door. Harry heard Hagrid's heavy footsteps from afar, each one causing tiny tremors in the stone floor beneath his bed.
In addition, the accented voices of Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff also fell into his ears. The heads of the visiting schools had clearly heard about the incident and had come to demand answers, perhaps fearing for the safety of their own students.
Professor McGonagall hurriedly walked past his bed, and told them to lower their voices for the injured students trying to rest. Harry quickly closed his eyes and turned his head to the other side, pretending to rest. But the fists clenched tightly under his quilt had already dug his nails into his palms.
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