Found In The Snow

The night air was cold, biting through the layers of Hagrid's enormous coat as he trudged through the edges of the Forbidden Forest. His heavy boots crunched against the frosted earth, eyes scanning the treeline. It was a routine patrol, one he'd done countless times, making sure no dangerous creatures wandered too close to the castle grounds.

At his side, Fang trotted along—Hagrid's loyal, if not entirely brave, boarhound. The dog's nose twitched, sniffing the cold air, tail low but swaying with quiet curiosity.

But suddenly, without warning, Fang's ears perked up, and the dog bolted toward the darkened forest, his large form vanishing between the trees.

"Fang! Bad boy, come back 'ere!" Hagrid bellowed, gripping his crossbow instinctively as he jogged after the animal. His broad shoulders swayed with each heavy step, the snow crunching beneath him as he pushed through low-hanging branches.

"Stubborn mutt," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he followed Fang's trail.

Moments later, faint barking echoed through the forest—frantic, sharp.

Hagrid's expression darkened. Fang rarely barked like that unless something was wrong.

Crossbow ready, Hagrid approached cautiously, pushing aside the final curtain of low branches. His massive frame emerged into a small clearing—and what he saw made his heart drop.

At the base of an ancient tree, half-hidden beneath snow, was the limp form of a boy—small, frail, bound to the tree by thick ropes. His upper body was bare, pale skin marred by bruises, gashes, and blood that stained the snow crimson.

Fang sat nearby, whining softly, his tail low as he pawed at the boy's foot.

Hagrid's massive hand gripped the crossbow tightly for a moment, eyes scanning the shadows. No one else was there.

He approached cautiously, lowering the weapon as he got a better look.

The boy's face was nearly unrecognizable—swollen, bruised, blood smeared across his features, nose twisted unnaturally. His eyes were closed, breath shallow but present.

"Merlin's beard…" Hagrid muttered, quickly kneeling beside him. He tugged at the ropes, muttering under his breath, "Poor lad… what sorta monster did this to yeh?"

The ropes snapped under Hagrid's strength, and the boy slumped forward into his arms. His body was ice-cold, shivering, limbs twisted unnaturally—both legs clearly broken, hands swollen and mangled.

But he was alive.

Not wasting another second, Hagrid scooped the boy up into his massive arms, cradling him carefully against his chest. Fang barked once, then followed as Hagrid turned and sprinted toward the castle, snow crunching beneath his boots with every heavy stride.

His heart pounded harder than his footsteps, anger simmering beneath his concern.

By the time he reached the castle, the clock tower chimed faintly in the distance—nearly midnight.

Bursting through the castle doors, Hagrid made his way to the hospital wing, his breath heavy as he reached the infirmary. The door was shut; the light inside dim.

Banging the door open with his shoulder, he entered, placing the bloodied boy gently onto the nearest hospital bed.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hagrid's voice boomed through the room. "Wake up! I need yer help, quick!"

Moments later, the matron bustled from her quarters, sleep still in her eyes. But when she saw the boy, her face drained of color, shock flashing across her features.

"Good heavens!" she gasped, rushing to the bedside. Her experienced hands immediately examined the boy, checking his pulse, inspecting the injuries. "What happened? Who did this? Where did you find him, Hagrid?"

"I dunno," Hagrid replied, voice laced with worry. "Found him in the Forbidden Forest, tied to a tree. He was like this when I got there."

Pomfrey's expression hardened. "We need potions—splints—everything. Go fetch Professor Snape. And send word to Professor Dumbledore—and McGonagall too. The boy… he's a Gryffindor."

Hagrid nodded, already turning on his heel to carry out her orders.

Fifteen Minutes Later…

The infirmary door swung open again, this time with the arrival of Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, both wrapped in their cloaks, faces drawn with concern.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from tending the boy, her hands stained with blood, healing potions uncorked across the table.

McGonagall's sharp eyes fell upon the battered figure on the bed—and her breath caught.

"Cael…" she whispered, recognizing the young Gryffindor beneath the bruises and blood. "Dear Merlin… who did this?"

"I… I don't know," Hagrid admitted, his massive frame shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. "Found 'im tied to a tree, just outside the forest. Whoever did this… they wanted him to suffer."

Dumbledore stepped forward, his piercing blue eyes scanning the boy's injuries, his expression unreadable beneath his silver beard.

"Poppy, will he survive?" the Headmaster asked quietly.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look up, her hands already working swiftly to set bones, stop the bleeding, and pour restorative potions down the boy's throat.

"He'll live… but the damage is severe," she replied, voice tight with focus. "We'll handle the physical wounds, but I need to see his state of mind once he wakes. There's no telling the trauma he's endured."

The door creaked open again—Severus Snape entered, carrying a small crate of potions, his usual sneer in place.

He placed the crate on the table, glancing at the scene with practiced indifference. "Another Gryffindor playing hero in the Forbidden Forest," Snape remarked dryly. "Surprising? Not in the least."

McGonagall's glare could've cut through stone. "The boy was tortured, Severus," she snapped, her Scottish accent sharp with fury. "If you have nothing useful to say, I suggest you hold your tongue."

Snape's smirk faltered, and he said no more, retreating to the corner as Pomfrey resumed her work.

Dumbledore remained still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes lingering on Cael's fragile form.

"We will find who did this," McGonagall said fiercely, turning to Dumbledore. "I want the culprit, Albus. No child under my House will be left without justice."

Dumbledore nodded, his gaze unreadable, but his voice was calm and resolute.

"And we will," he assured her, eyes returning to Cael. "No act of cruelty within these walls goes unanswered."