Chapter 439: The Casualties
The investigation into the Malfoy family was officially underway, launched in the violent wake of the "Quidditch Melee." Harry and Draco had both been admitted to the hospital wing immediately following the madness of the match.
Nearly every player on the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams had emerged with some form of injury; a passing wizard might have mistaken the game for a full-scale duel. Harry and Draco, however, were by far the worst off. Harry had a fractured arm from being forced into the railings, a head injury from a mid-air collision that ended on the ground, and a leg in a heavy plaster cast after delivering a kick that sent Malfoy flying several yards.
The Gryffindors were buzzing with gossip, though the general consensus was that it had been "firm, but fair competition."
Wizardly 'barbarism'? Sean mused, watching the fallout.
When Justin and the others arrived at the hospital wing, they peered through the gap in the door to see Harry looking like a war veteran: his left hand and right leg were encased in stone-white plaster, and a thick bandage was wrapped around his forehead.
Unfortunately, while Madam Pomfrey was a kind witch at heart, she was a stickler for the rules of recovery.
"Only five minutes, Madam, please. We're worried about him," Justin pleaded.
"Absolutely not," she snapped.
"But you let Sean in..." Ron pointed out, his brow furrowed in a look of exaggerated grievance.
"Yes, well, naturally. Little Green was delivering a fresh stock of potions, which is an entirely different matter. Now, clear off; the patients need silence."
Madam Pomfrey bustled away, though in her haste, she neglected to fully latch the door.
"Excuse me, is there a convention of heads at this door?"
A familiar voice spoke from behind them. The four heads—Justin, Hermione, Neville, and Ron—all whipped around at once.
"Professor Dumbledore!" they whispered in unison.
"Ah, yes. I believe that is my name," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Shall we go inside and have a look?"
The group followed him eagerly into the ward.
"Good heavens, Harry! You were so reckless!" Hermione cried the moment she reached his bedside, staring into the one eye Harry had left visible.
"Malfoy..." Ron growled through gritted teeth.
Their arrival interrupted Sean, who had been busy arranging a set of phials on the nightstand. He looked between a cast-bound Harry and a Draco Malfoy who was wrapped so tightly in linen he resembled an Egyptian mummy. It was a toss-up as to who looked more miserable.
Following Sean's gaze, the group went silent. Draco was indeed encased from head to toe, leaving only a single, furious, and quite indignant eye to glare back at them.
"Malfoy... oh... blimey. He looks awful," Ron noted, his tone shifting. "Though he deserves every bit of it," he added for good measure.
"You've arrived just in time," Sean said, looking at the group. "A few minutes later and you'd have missed the show."
"What do you mean, Sean?" Ron asked, his heart hammering. "Is something wrong?"
"In a few minutes, Harry will be discharged," Sean said simply. He tapped his wand against Harry's leg cast; the stone shattered and fell away in a pile of harmless dust.
Harry's leg was perfectly whole, the bone having knit back together as if by magic—which, of course, it was. Madam Pomfrey had once told Harry she could mend a bone in a second; it seemed she had been quite literal.
"Is that it, then?" Ron asked, scratching his head. He looked at Harry and lowered his voice. "The whole school is talking about the match. We couldn't see much from the stands once the rain picked up—what actually happened up there?"
The true story proved to be far more thrilling than the rumors. Harry recounted the frantic chase for the Snitch, the mutual sabotage, and the final desperate dive. Neville, Ron, and Hermione listened with rapt attention, occasionally gasping or wincing at the more violent details.
"Legendary!" Ron cheered, punching the air as the story concluded.
Just then, Madam Pomfrey marched back into the center of the ward.
"You've been here nearly fifteen minutes! Out! Everyone out!" she commanded. "And you, Harry, dear—I trust you haven't forgotten how to walk. Up you get!"
The group assisted a slightly wobbly but fully healed Harry out of the infirmary. Harry felt like a returning conqueror. He liked the feeling; after what Lucius had tried to do to Ginny, seeing Draco wrapped in bandages for the next week felt like a form of cosmic justice.
But Harry's eyes kept drifting back toward Sean. The Ravenclaw hadn't said much during the storytelling. What did he think of the situation?
There was so much to tell him—the specifics of the brawl, their absolute certainty that Lucius Malfoy was the one who had planted the diary...
But as Sean finished packing his jars, he fell into step beside Professor Dumbledore. The two were deep in a hushed conversation. Harry could see the Headmaster's beard twitching and his eyes narrowing as they walked. Unable to help himself, Harry followed them surreptitiously as they turned the corner.
The group had split up, and the corridor was now silent.
The Headmaster's Office.
The door was unlatched. Sean stood inside, looking toward the entrance just as the heavy oak doors were slammed open with such force they bounced off the stone walls.
Lucius Malfoy stood on the threshold, his face a mask of cold, unadulterated fury. Clutched under his arm was a trembling, bandaged Dobby.
"Good evening, Lucius," Dumbledore said with perfect composure.
Lucius marched into the room, the draft of his robes making the torches flicker wildly. Dobby followed in his wake, hunched over and staring at the seams of his master's boots with a look of helpless, absolute terror.
"So, Dumbledore," Lucius spat, his voice low and dangerous.
"The matter is concluded, Lucius," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Unsurprisingly, the truth aligns quite closely with the recent reports."
"Oh?" Mr. Malfoy barked. "And who is the culprit?"
"The same as last time, Lucius," Dumbledore said. "Though this time, Lord Voldemort attempted to act through a proxy. Specifically, through his diary."
Dumbledore glanced at Sean, who was holding a small black notebook with a jagged hole burned through its center. The Headmaster watched Lucius's reaction with clinical precision.
"I see..." Malfoy said slowly.
"Are you not curious, Lucius? How such a diary managed to find its way into the school?" Dumbledore asked, his voice pleasant but his eyes fixed on Malfoy's.
"How should I know how that foolish little girl obtained it?" Lucius sneered.
"I am inclined to believe you gave it to her," Dumbledore said, his eyes narrowing. "Information provided to me by a wizard who is incapable of lying suggests as much."
[End of Chapter 439]
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