“Coventry,” Dumbledore greeted, clasping the newly arrived witch’s hand in both of his. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Welcome back to Hogwarts.”

“Aye, Albus, an’ ye too. Tis good ta be back. How have ye been keepin’?” Coventry Cook replied, removing her traveling cloak and handing it to Dumbledore, who was waiting patiently to hang it up for her.

“Well enough,” Dumbledore replied, pulling out a chair for her. “Please, have a seat.”

The witch smoothed her robes beneath her and sat in the proffered chair, nodding her thanks.

Dumbledore made his way around his desk and took a seat as well. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Coventry.”

“Aye, ye said 'twas important,” Coventry responded.

“It is,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I only wish I could have brought you here under better circumstances.”

Dumbledore reached for a now well-worn scroll of parchment, one he had read over countless times in the past several hours. “An unfortunate situation has arisen with a student that requires a healer with superior skills and the utmost discretion.”

Dumbledore glanced once more at the parchment, before focusing on the attractive young witch seated before him. “As an acclaimed healer and a member of the Order, can I trust that you will keep this conversation, and any future ones on the subject, strictly confidential?”

“O’ course, Albus,” Coventry assured. “Ye have me word as a healer an’ a trusted friend,” she said, reaching out her hand to cover the headmasters.

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well, then,” he said, sliding the scroll in her direction, but not releasing it. “The identity of the student in question must be guarded at all costs. I cannot stress this enough, for this is no ordinary student.”

Coventry nodded. “Privacy in these cases is always strictly guarded.” She tilted her head before continuing. “Can I assume then, since ye contacted me, that we are discussin’ a case o’ child abuse?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Healing wizarding children who have suffered abuse and trauma is your specialty, is it not?”

“Aye, 'tis.”

Dumbledore rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose, a headache pounding behind his eyes. “Here is the list of his injuries,” Dumbledore said, finally releasing the scroll into Coventry’s custody. “Our medi-witch ran this diagnostic scan last night.”

Coventry accepted the parchment and read over the extensive list. To her credit, Dumbledore noticed, she remained professional. “I will need ta meet him before I can decide how ta best help him, ye ken?”

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed. “I need to speak with him first, and then I can arrange for you to see him. I also have a couple of staff members quite capable of assisting you. One is the medi-witch I mentioned earlier. The other is our potion’s master and resident Dark Magic expert.”

“I did notice the use of a Blood Quill,” Coventry observed. “I am curious as ta how he fell victim ta such a dangerous an’ illegal dark object.”

Dumbledore rubbed his forehead wearily. “I am sure you will have many questions, Coventry. Permit me to answer them in time, if you will. If it is amenable to you, I would much prefer for you to meet your new patient and get started with your evaluation immediately so that we can chart a course for his care.”

“O’ course, Albus,” Coventry said. “Assumin’ I can help the lad, I am at yer disposal.”

Dumbledore was rising from his chair as she spoke, but at her phrasing, he paused. He studied the healer before him, an idea forming in the back of his mind. She was in her early-thirties, if memory served, with a thin athletic build and an attractive face. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and highly skilled. A small smile crept across Dumbledore’s weathered face.

“I think you may be of great help to more than just my student,” Dumbledore replied cryptically. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to visit the hospital wing.” Checking his watch, Dumbledore added, “Let us meet again in one hour’s time. Do feel free to partake in our delicious breakfast and tour the castle as you wish. However, I must ask that you refrain from mentioning the purpose of your visit, should anyone inquire.”

Breakfast arrived at his bedside, and Harry heartily tucked in. Classes would be starting soon and he was wondering if he’d be released to attend. He felt well enough, no worse than he did before he’d broken his wrist. Just as he was pondering this, Dumbledore entered the hospital wing.

“Good morning, Harry. It’s nice to see you awake.”

Harry gulped down the food he had in his mouth, causing himself to choke and cough, before managing to croak out a “Hullo, professor.”

Harry thought Dumbledore still looked graver than usual; the sparkle in his eye was notably absent. He shifted over a bit as the headmaster sat on the edge of Harry’s bed and rested a hand on Harry’s knee.

“First and foremost, Harry, I owe you an apology, although I fear it can never be enough. As I said last night, I had no idea that your relatives had treated you so badly.” Dumbledore’s eyes shone with remorse and guilt. “Still, I take full responsibility for what happened to you as it was my job to ensure your safety and well-being while you were being raised, and clearly, I failed. For that, Harry, I will be forever in your debt.” Dumbledore rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He looked utterly exhausted and Harry wondered if the wizard had gotten any sleep at all.

“It wasn’t your fault, professor,” Harry replied. “Maybe if I had been more like Dudley…”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said sternly, “Never make excuses for abuse. There are none. Nothing that happened was your fault, nor could it ever be.”

Not knowing what to say, and hoping it would suffice, Harry nodded.

The headmaster didn’t quite look convinced, but he went on. “I am sure you have many questions, Harry, but first I would like to tend to your old injuries.”

“Sir?”

“It seems that your relatives inflicted quite a bit of damage on you over the years.”

Harry noticed how Dumbledore winced when he spoke that truth. Regret radiated from the old wizard.

“It also appears that, unbeknownst to you I am sure, you used elementary magic to stabilize many of those injuries. Although the broken bones and damaged organs were not fully healed, they were mended enough for you to go on. Am I correct in my assumption?”

Harry thought about it. He remembered the broken arm that Vernon had given him for burning a strip of bacon one morning. His aunt had still made him tend to the garden all day, and clean the living room, so that by the time he went to his cupboard and collapsed on the threadbare, stained mattress that evening, he was in tears from the pain. But somehow, the next morning, although his arm still hurt, the bone had clearly mended somewhat. He was able to use it at the very least. It was, once again, one of those things he could never quite explain. Harry suspected his relatives knew it as well, which was why they never bothered themselves over inflicting hospital-worthy injuries upon Harry in the first place.

“I believe so, sir,” Harry finally responded.

Dumbledore nodded. “While that rudimentary magic saved you, there are still many internal remnants of those injuries, which, if left untreated, will certainly cause you trouble as you age. Though Madam Pomfrey is an excellent medi-witch, her talents lie in healing more immediate injuries and illnesses.” Dumbledore squeezed Harry’s knee. “As such, I feel it would be wise to consult with a healer who specializes in cases in like yours.” Dumbledore gazed meaningfully at Harry. “Child abuse cases.”

Harry felt a sickening swoop in his gut. He had no desire to have yet another person become aware of what had happened to him.

“Were it any other student, I would send him or her to St. Mungo’s. But as you know, Harry, you are a special case, and I think it would be best to refrain from alerting the magical world at large.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, heartily agreeing. The last thing he needed was to have the Daily Prophet write up this angle of his life.

“As such, I have contacted a healer who also happens to be a former student of Hogwarts, and more importantly, is affiliated with the Order. She has the experience and knowledge to help heal old wounds, and she can be trusted to use the utmost discretion.”

Harry felt uneasy and wondered, not for the first time, if Dumbledore trusted others too easily.

“If it is alright with you, Harry, I’d like for her to meet with you later this morning.”

Harry wasn’t sure he had much choice in the matter, but he nodded anyway.

“That’s settled then,” Dumbledore said, taking back his hand to brush some lint off his robes.

“Now, about Dolores Umbridge,” the headmaster continued, his expression hardening. “I am outraged that any teacher in this school would use a dark object on a student. Blood Quills are old magic and are highly illegal. Even Cornelius Fudge, for all of his faults, will be unable to overlook such a crime. And against children no less,” Dumbledore said scathingly. “And, no, Harry, you were not the only student affected. I have personally verified at least three other accounts, and I am sure there are more. Furthermore, the Aurors removed the dark objects from Dolores’s office last night and are holding them as evidence.”

“Is Umbridge still here?”

“At present, yes. But I have contacted the Ministry and they are investigating,” Dumbledore replied. “What happens next, I am not sure, but I can promise you that she will never use a Blood Quill or any other dark object against a student again. At least not in my school.”

Harry found that somewhat reassuring, but knowing how difficult it was to find DADA teachers, he wondered if Fudge would get her off and send her back with some different, but equally awful, means of punishment.

“Next, I believe you asked me last night about spending summers at your relatives.”

“Yes,” Harry replied tentatively.

“I’m afraid it is more complicated than you can possibly know. If it were just a simple matter of making other living arrangements for you, I would do so in an instant.” Dumbledore removed his glasses and polished them on his robes. “As it is, however, being able to call number 4 Privet Drive your home has offered you a protection from Voldemort that I have been unable to match. In other words, Harry, it has kept you safe—from Voldemort, at least.”

It was clear to Harry that the headmaster was struggling with the definition of the word “safe” after what his relatives had done to him.

“What do you mean, professor?”

“You see, Harry, when Voldemort tried to kill you, your mother stepped in front of you, shielding you from him. She chose to sacrifice herself in hopes of keeping you safe. This sacrifice lives on in your blood, and in the blood of your mother’s sister, Petunia. As long as you can live with your aunt and call it home, Voldemort cannot touch you.”

Dumbledore placed his glasses back on, peering at Harry through their half-moon lenses. “That, Harry, is the reason I left you on their doorstep all those years ago. That is why you have needed to return there each summer. And that, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, “is why I must insist that you continue to return there each summer until you turn 17. In short, Harry, Petunia’s home is the best protection I can give you from Lord Voldemort.”

Harry felt sick to his stomach. It was too much to take in. His mother had given her life for him. Her sacrifice lived on in the home of his cruel aunt and sadistic uncle. And most of all, no matter what they did to him, Dumbledore was still going to send him back. He felt betrayed, but not surprised. When had his life ever been simple? He looked away, hoping that Dumbledore would take his leave so he could process all that he’d been told in peace.

“There is more, Harry. Some of it for the better, and some for the worse. In order to keep those wards in place, your aunt must be living in the place you call home. Thus, while we can pursue charges against your uncle for abusing you, it may not be wise to do so for your aunt, lest she too ends up in prison and the protection against Voldemort be lost.”

Dumbledore let out a long sigh, staring momentarily into the distance. Looking back at Harry, he continued. “So while it pains me greatly to do so, I think we must consider that Petunia Dursley’s continued presence, and your ability to call Privet Drive home, may very well be the thing that keeps you alive.”

Harry puffed out a breath of air, and, under his breath muttered, “Yeah, if they don’t kill me first.”

Dumbledore replaced his hand on Harry’s knee and squeezed in a gesture of comfort. “Harry, I am a man of many mistakes, but I can assure you of this. I would never willingly send you back to a dangerous situation without good reason. Furthermore, I would never do so without ensuring your protection first.”

With very little confidence, Harry replied, “How do you intend to do that, sir?”

“I have many ideas, but first and foremost, you will not be returning their alone. Someone will be with you in that house, and out, at all times, so that your relatives will be unable to insult or injure you. There are other ways too, of course, and we may implement some of those as well. Nevertheless, rest assured that when you do return to Surrey, the circumstances will be much improved.”

“Who will accompany me, sir?”

“As I said, I am not sure yet. It may be a member of The Order, or a professor. It may even be a classmate of yours, or a house elf, or a combination of the above. Whoever it is, you will be included in the decision when the time comes.”

Harry wasn’t sure how well this would work. He couldn’t imagine the Dursleys tolerating yet another “freak” in their home. On the other hand, he knew Dumbledore could be quite persuasive. Given the choice between granting a fellow witch or wizard house space, or going to prison for abusing Harry, his aunt just might find the former more tolerable.

“Now,” Dumbledore said, “If you are feeling up to it, I will fetch Healer Cook so that the two of you can meet.”

Harry looked at the remnants of his unfinished breakfast—his appetite had vanished. Closing his eyes he pondered, not for the first time, how his one simple act of vengeance had spun so far out of control.