Rumors And Tensions

The next morning dawned grey and heavy over Hogwarts Castle, the snow still falling lightly across the grounds as students shuffled sleepily into the Great Hall for breakfast.

The usual clatter of cutlery, chatter, and laughter filled the vast hall—until whispers began to ripple across the tables, faint at first, then louder, growing like wildfire.

"Did you hear?" someone muttered near the Ravenclaw table.

"A Gryffindor was found near the Forbidden Forest."

"They say he's dead…" a Hufflepuff whispered dramatically.

"No, no," interrupted another, eyes wide, "I heard werewolves attacked him, tore him apart."

"Are you a fool ?" came a Slytherin's scoff, "It was the Acromantulas. Everyone knows those spiders roam the Forest. He barely escaped and to be fair he might have deserved it ." In which the Gryffindor start to insult the Snakes for what they were saying 

"I heard it was the Centaurs," another voice chimed in. "They kidnapped him, tried to enslave him or worse."

The Great Hall buzzed with tension, students exchanging rumors, faces pale with fear or curiosity.

Then, the towering doors at the front of the hall creaked open, silencing the room as Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore entered, both wearing grim expressions.

They moved to the front, McGonagall's sharp eyes scanning the students, Dumbledore's usual twinkle absent from his solemn face.

The hall fell completely silent.

Dumbledore raised his hand, his voice carrying calmly but with undeniable weight.

"Last night… one of our students was found near the Forbidden Forest… tortured, half-frozen, and bound to a tree."

Gasps echoed through the hall. McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight.

"We have yet to identify the culprit behind this cruel act," Dumbledore continued, his gaze moving across the tables. "But rest assured, we will investigate thoroughly. The victim—your fellow Gryffindor—is… Cael Vale."

From the Gryffindor table, the silence shattered.

"Oh no!" the Weasley twins shouted in unison, leaping to their feet, faces filled with shock. Fred spoke first, eyes wide, "Professor, is he alive?"

"We searched for him last night!" George added hurriedly, "We thought he was just off practicing somewhere!"

Katie Bell, sitting nearby, covered her mouth in horror. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet exchanged alarmed glances, both speaking at once:

"Who would do this?!"

"What happened to him?!"

"Was it the Forest creatures? Did someone lure him there?"

The hall burst into chaos, students whispering, shouting, theories flying like sparks from a fire.

McGonagall's voice cut through the noise, sharp as a whip: "Enough! Sit down! No more noise!"

The hall obeyed, the weight of her authority undeniable.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, continuing in his calm, measured tone, "I understand your fear… your concern for your fellow student. But let's not descend into panic and speculation."

His eyes grew more serious, his gaze briefly lingering on the Slytherin table.

"I sincerely hope the culprit is not one of our own students," Dumbledore added, "I do not believe any of you possess the cruelty required for such a disgraceful act… if it's one of us that did it than we might force to expel him or her and we hope the truth will reveal something that we don't force to do ."

At the Slytherin table Colby Frey was sweating as he new it was his brother's doing and he looked up but didn't see his brother at the table, After the Prank incident his brother got very violent and started to talking with himself and always repeating the name of the boy with obsession, that's how he knew as Professors name the victim,

At the far end of the Slytherin table, Cassandra Vole , also stiffened when she heard Cael's name.

Her fingers clenched beneath the table, thoughts racing. What happened to him? Who would dare attack him? she wondered, suspicion gnawing at her gut. Her eyes drifted to three Slytherin boys further down the table, watching them closely. They were whispering, exchanging smug glances.

She narrowed her eyes, shaken but already calculating. She considered Cael her academic rival—someone worth watching, not someone to see broken and bloodied.

Her lips pressed into a thin, worried line as Dumbledore's voice continued.

⸻

Later That Morning – The Headmaster's Office

The circular office filled quickly as the faculty gathered around the towering desk, concern etched into every face. The portraits of former headmasters whispered amongst themselves, their painted eyes watching the tense scene unfold.

James Potter stood beside Professor Sprout, arms crossed, his expression hard.

Snape leaned silently in the corner, dark eyes unreadable, his arms folded beneath his robes.

Professor Sprout broke the silence first, her voice quivering with emotion. "Albus… who could've done this? The poor boy… when I saw him with Madam Pomfrey, his injuries…" She shook her head, visibly upset. "Is this the work of Dark wizards? Are they back?"

Dumbledore exhaled softly, his face grave. "I do not know… but I intend to find out."

Professor Sprout's eyes misted as she looked toward the window, her shoulders heavy with sadness.

James Potter's voice cut sharply through the room, filled with bitter certainty: "If he's a Gryffindor, then it's obviously a Slytherin behind this."

Snape's head snapped up, eyes narrowing like daggers. His voice was cold, laced with venom, "Slytherins are not bullies, Potter." He took a step forward, his robes swaying. "It's your lot who run around hexing others for fun. It's your nature to humiliate, to taunt—don't stand there preaching."

James's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with challenge. "We didn't bully… we punished those who deserved it."

Snape's expression darkened with fury, his hand twitching as though resisting the urge to reach for his wand.

Dumbledore's voice intervened like a sudden gust of calm, cutting through the rising storm.

"Gentlemen… enough," he said firmly, stepping between them. "We are not here to trade insults. We will discover the truth… but for now, we must be patient."

He glanced at Madam Pomfrey's report, setting the parchment on his desk.

"If we cannot find the culprit before Cael wakes… then we will hear the truth from him directly."

The room settled into a heavy silence.

James and Snape exchanged one final, seething look before falling quiet, the tension palpable.

Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the window, snow still falling softly outside.

"Until then," he added quietly, "we must remain vigilant."

As the heavy oak doors of Dumbledore's office creaked shut behind the last departing professor, a tense stillness settled over the room. Without wasting a moment, Dumbledore rose from behind his grand desk and, with a flick of his wand, summoned the castle's ghosts. They materialized through the walls — silvery, translucent forms drifting into the office, their faces marked with faint curiosity and concern.

"I need to know," Dumbledore began, his voice calm yet edged with quiet urgency. "Has anyone seen anything unusual? Anyone suspicious wandering the halls last night… or at any point yesterday?"

The ghosts exchanged glances, their ethereal forms flickering faintly in the candlelight. One by one, they shook their heads.

"Nothing, Headmaster," Nearly Headless Nick replied solemnly. "I've kept to my usual patrols — not a whisper of trouble."

The Grey Lady, her expression distant, added, "There was no disturbance in the upper floors… not that I sensed."

Their responses deepened the crease in Dumbledore's brow. If the castle's spirits — the ever-watchful, untiring remnants of Hogwarts — had noticed nothing, then perhaps the incident was the work of someone, or something, from outside the school.

Before the thought could settle, a voice echoed from the wall. One of the painted portraits — a sharp-eyed witch with silver streaks in her dark hair — leaned forward from her frame, her painted gaze focused on Dumbledore.

"I took the liberty of questioning the portraits near the library," she announced. "That's where the boy was last seen."

Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes turned to her. "And?"

"Madam Pince confirmed it as well," the portrait continued. "She recalls seeing the boy there, searching for a book. But…" Her painted expression darkened. "The portraits reported seeing only a blurred figure approach him. They couldn't make out a face. The figure cast a spell — something quick — and the boy collapsed. Then they carried him away."

A murmur rippled among the other portraits, and even the ghosts seemed momentarily unnerved.

"At the time," the portrait admitted with visible regret, "we assumed it was a foolish prank… students playing games. Otherwise, we would've informed you immediately."

Dumbledore's face remained composed, but the glint behind his half-moon spectacles sharpened. His voice, though steady, carried unmistakable weight. "From this moment forward, instruct every portrait in this castle: If they see anything suspicious — anything out of place — they are to report it at once. To the professors… and directly to me."

The witch in the painting nodded firmly, her eyes grave.

The room fell silent once more, the ghosts drifting back toward the walls, the flickering candlelight dancing across the ancient stone. The discussion was over — but the unease lingering in the air suggested that the real questions had only just begun.