Cantus Dimindium Argenteum by Mogu2mochi

With the early sunlight pouring into the room of white sheets come the songs of red-breasted robins. Their chuckles reverberate throughout the silent infirmary, blissful ignorance penetrating the cold walls. The Order along with the handful of teenagers settled down at the opposite corners to the Malfoys in the infirmary; hushed debates and quiet words of comfort, sandwiching exchanges of doubtful looks. The creeping snakes of red have been purged, and any evidence of what might have happened before daybreak has vanished as well, only the usual spotlessness remains.

The Professor has yet to leave her chair behind the half-opened partition, staring dejectedly at the white covers that are fully covering the stillness under, with one hand cradling the bloodless fingers. Her usually fierce eyes ran dry of emotions hours ago, yet continue to keep vigil and brush across the pale hand mechanically, almost like how a muggle would iron out the creases from an expensive shirt.

Dumbledore is nowhere to be seen, presumably up in the tower trying to take care of the aftermath, call for a meeting whatsoever, there was a brief staring match between the School matron and the older man moments before she retreated to her office, proclaiming she needs to collect the unmoving figure's files, which she has been searching for at least an hour, while paper shuffling and sniffing noises seep out of her office.

"He may only be your spy, Albus. But he is also friends with them for more than a decade. Call them, that's the very least you can do for him now ." She said, with a buried fury behind her blank tone.

Harry thinks about how funny and weird he is looking now, the invisibility cloak still wrapping tightly around him, leaving a bodiless head popping among the people surrounding him. The warm hands on his shoulder, two arms circling his, and a reassuring hand squeezing his invisible trembling knee.

And the many hands of the dead holding onto his throat, pulling his neck down.

Is this what Voldermort feels like too? Having a wicked sense of humor next to the corpses he piled up?

Seemingly to answer his thoughts, a burst of pain shoots through his scar, and a renewed sense of mirth forces itself into his mind, he feels happy, and he feels happy for him, as his lips pull into an unwilling gill, the terrified whimper transforms into a snicker. Eyes immediately turn to his direction, gleaming with varying levels of concern.

"Harry?"

"I—I'm" he desperately stifles any sound or imagery of joy, clutching his mouth. "I killed— I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

Someone is using the corner of his cloak to wipe his tears, so tenderly, but he flinches away, as he does not deserve such things, he tries to struggle his way out of the hugs he is being pulled into,

but the comfort is too tempting, so he gives in, and cries anew. The presence in his head taunts him one final time before the pressure at the scar fades completely, making Harry even more terrified of himself than ever.

The ends of a black robe float into his sight, Harry almost jumped in surprise and relief, thinking he is still alive, and most probably going to sneer at him, he hates that look of disgust very much, but it's ironically an anchor of normalcy.

Professor McGonagall kneels to his level, and slowly wraps her arms around him without a word, pulling him onto her shoulder, rubbing small circles at Harry's shivering back. He can smell the mild soapy scent — the after-effects of a Scouring charm, and the horrid hint of metal he thought was supposed to be gone. He can feel the professor's jaw clenching and relaxing repeatedly as if trying to push words out but failing over and over again. Harry hesitantly hugs her back, hoping his touch won't kill her as well.

"You're safe."McGonagall finally breaks the silence, "And that's all he wanted." she whispers hoarsely.

"The professor is right Harry, we'd only want to see you safe and sound." Mr. Weasley puts a hand on Harry's arm, while the others hum in agreement. His best friends circles around him tighter, Harry is still mad at them, but can't find the energy to push them away either. In response, their head of house wraps them all together. It reminds the boy of one of those historic documentaries he watched in muggle Primary school, cement pillars holding up the shaking roof of a sanctuary, vibrating from the impact of bombs, alas, it collapsed and buried deep along with the dead under layers of debris.

Yes, he is safe now. At Hogwarts with his friends, family, and professors who have done nothing but support and look after him. But what about the others? Ron and Hermione were given information involving the war; the rest of the Weasleys, the professors, Sirius, Remus, and even some Aurors, are all here for him, which means Harry has already pulled them with him into Voldermort's radar. Even the Dursleys, the daily "Harry Hunting", the booming "FREAK" that wakes him up every day outside of the cupboard like an alarm clock. They, too, risk their lives against a powerful and insane wizard to provide shelter for him. Suddenly, the skillet to the head doesn't sound too bad.

He peeks at the Malfoys, who are sitting a couple of beds away from them. Grief and unease weighed over all three of them. Knowing Lucius Malfoy is a death eater, Voldermort must have summoned him when he is hiding in his bed, the aristocrat and his wife look resigned, still fiercely encasing their son in between, shielding him from any incoming threat. Draco Malfoy has his head buried in his hands, and Harry still remembers the scene of the arrogant and prideful year mate breaking down into anguish cries at the bloody scene early this morning, finally having a calming draught forced down into his throat and pulled away from the bedside.

"He's gone." Mrs. Malfoy said with a tone of finality, and Malfoy junior finally stopped struggling in her grasp, while that sentence keeps on replaying in Harry's brain like a broken vinyl record player, a mantra.

He looks over to the figure shrouded under a layer of white, its folds at the deathly pale landscape similar to that of a reassuring smile directed towards the boy; the only, and final gesture of kindness allowed to remain in this world. A single arm dangling by the bedside, uncovered, abandoned, as the hands that used to be cradling it, are now used to comfort Harry instead.

He's right, Harry stiffs, I am a spoilt brat.

The silence and coldness of the silver in his pocket don't rebuke it either.

His grand epiphany is broken off by a floo chime and distant voices, coming from within the school Matron's office.

"Hmm? No, Albus didn't call me. Is it something urgent?" a familiar voice that guides him through harder charms, ever so patient when he got stuck with wand movements. Professor McGonagall must have recognized Professor Flitwick's voice too, seeing how fast she toss her head up in the direction of the muffled conversation. She retracts her arms immediately, leaving Harry a bit bereft, and relieved, standing up as her knees creaks, and briskly walks towards the office past the covered form. Sirius immediately runs in front of him with another crushing hug.

"Poppy? Oh! Filius is here too. What is the matter? Do you need help?" Professor Spout's usual cheeriness rings like a bell throughout the tear-dampened air. "What's wrong? Minerva?" She says again after Madame muttered something illegible, her concern growing. Harry only hears a string of soothing words and gentle queries from both of the recently arrived and renewed sobbing sounds. The words of comfort aren't directed at him, yet Harry feels someone should deafen him so he doesn't get the privilege of listening to it.

He didn't notice when Sirius returned to his animagus form, but there he is now, a black dog slobbering all over his face, attempting to wipe his tears off. It manages to bring Harry into a tentative smile, but it is quickly squashed by the same sense of disgust and guilt.

Merlin, he hates it. He can see the pity around him, can hear people crying, can smile over someone's dead body, can feel his heart being shattered into shards only to have someone pick them up and stab him with it, he can still sodding imagine, while some others can't even fucking breathe anymore.

So he ignores the happenings in the infirmary, and retreats to the comforting memories of cramped days in the cupboard with his own freakishness.

"Poppy, where is the Headmaster?" Filius squeaks, who is feeling increasingly disturbed by Poppy's grave expression, and Minerva's breakdown, which has now subdued thanks to Pomona's honed ability to comfort anyone in need. He was engrossed with his research on older charms and wards before the matron asked him to come through the fireplace at his home office.

This summer so far has been rather fruitful in his opinion, when Albus warned them that He-who-must-not-be-named has returned at the end of the tournament, he had been skeptical at first, but after having heard about Mr. Potter's statement and the devastating cries of the Diggory's he decided to make some contributions regarding the school's protections despite declining Albus's offer to join the "Order" due to his inherited affiliation as goblin kin. He may the blood of ferocious goblins in his veins, but he fears what another war will bring, and even more so for the safety of the children, so he poured his heart out into recreating the best wards after he spent a couple of weeks staying at Hogwarts at the start of summer observing them before returning home, he was tempted to ask for assistance seeing the other head of houses.

Judging where he is now, alongside Poppy's reaction towards Albus's supposed floo call, things must be dire.

"That man…" Poppy fingers clutch at the corners of parchments sticking out from the file, she pauses to compose herself, in which Filius pats her hand supportingly, "frankly, I have no idea, in his office hiding perhaps." The barely concealed contempt must have been picked up by the professor, noting how his frown is deepened by her words

"There, there Minerva, it's alright." Pomona still has her arms around her old friend from the moment she stepped into the infirmary and started crying. She has never seen the formidable Deputy Headmistress break into tears like this when Minerva is usually the one lending the shoulder for her each time one of her Hufflepuffs, or any students in general were in harm. "What happened exactly? And why is Albus supposed to be calling us?"

Poppy straightens her back, and steels herself, "Are you both aware of the existence of the order?

The two exchange a quick look, "I assume you are talking about the Order of the Pheonix, yes?" Filius says, the Matron confirms with a jerk of her head, "I was invited to join, but I turned it down, it's a rather active group against You-know-who right?"

"Pomona?"

"Albus didn't talk to me about it, but I've walked into his conversation with Minnie once." She recalls the heated argument in the Headmaster's office when she was about to notify Albus of her leave for the summer. While both of her friends have occasional disagreements, she had yet to have seen Minerva scream at Albus, her face red with anger.

"You are sending him back! After all this mess! Back with those muggles!"

Poppy lightly scratches the corner of her eyes, and takes in a deep breath, "And about Mr. Potter?"

Filius's and Pomona's eyes went wide with alarm "Is the boy-"

"He is safe now, here in the school." Minerva offers them a small smile, but it quickly turns down, and she turns her head away to evade their questioning looks. After a moment or so, the Ravenclaw head of the house picks up something, looking at Pomona, then to Minerva, thinking about Albus, Poppy's questions about the Order, You-know-who, the exhaustion upon a certain friend's face, a blackened dark mark, Mr. Potter's kidnapping, and eventual rescue…

"...Where's he? Is he —?"

Pomona realizes whom and what they are implicating and immediately looks at the matron, visibly alarmed.

"I think…" Poppy briefly presses her hand against her mouth, and slowly breathes out, with a sorrowful glisten in her eyes, "... come with me."

She turns and moves towards the infirmary, face firmly out of their sight, uncaring if they are following behind her. While Pomona gives Minerva a hand with Filius straightening his coat, the two feel their hearts about to burst open from their chests with a terrible sense of foreboding. Noting how Minerva's expression falls even more from dread, they automatically flank her from the sides. Trailing Poppy, they walk past the Malfoys, who only nod their heads in greeting, while the younger Mr. Malfoy doesn't seem to notice their appearance, gazing intently at the tiles on the floor.

The further they trudge into the infirmary, the more Filius is aware of the abundance of cleaning charms used in the room before their arrival, the bitter smell, and a slight sheen on an area of tiles nearest to the obscured bed behind the partition. The two professors notice the crowd, presumably part of the Order, alongside a stricken Harry Potter, cramped in the middle, who looks white as a sheet. The Weasleys, and several others — aurors perhaps, greets them, the combined somber makes their guts churn doubly.

Poppy comes to a halt in front of the blue partition, delicately laying a hand on the edge of the fabric, forming a small gap between the frame. She's shaking, and the separator weighs like iron.

The room went silent, seemingly knowing what is to come, yet the Robins outside don't stop chuckling.

"They are here." She whispers in a steady tone, hoping the message can be heard beyond, and slowly pushes the partition aside

The soft creaks bring Filius back from his whirlwind of thoughts, while he can't exactly see much from his angle, two things made his mind stop:

One, the left hand is completely blackened, the marked arm.

Pomona covers her mouth with quivering hands, taking quick shuddering breaths, "Oh. Oh gods, Merlin you poor, poor —" she stumbles one step backward, gripping onto Minerva's arm for support, before rushing towards the prone figure and holding on for dear life, gently lifting it into her arms, like she usually did with one of her crying Hufflepuffs, tears flowing in torrents with a choked cry.

Two, now Filius can see it as the anguished professor lifts the figure, the white sheet is also covering its face.

Robins chuckle even harder

He moves to grasp onto the covered unmoving limb.

"You will still see me in the morning, Filius. And we will suffer the presence of insolent children at breakfast together." a hoarse voice, dripping with sarcasm, before disappearing in a flash of black robes.

"...How…why?" Streaks of tears flow down from his blurred eyes.

Poppy holds onto the white metallic pole, looking sick, with an audible gulp, she turns to Filius. "I don't know how much I'm allowed to divulge, but—" she lifts another hand to press against her nose. "He's a spy, and on his way back with Mr. Potter, he was cursed." She forces the last word out.

Filius closes his eyes and shakes his head, "Why… but, St. Mungo's?"

"Albus kept him here." Minerva interjects, red-rimmed eyes are cold as steel.

"Too late?" Pomona asks despondently.

"No," the Gryffindor head of house laughs bitterly "four days, this stubborn git was recovering and snarking, then last night…" Minerva fails to continue, overwhelmed with the memories of her friend's final moments.

Pomona carefully pulls the shroud away, the face looks at peace, merely asleep, she is half expecting a snide remark for her "Sickening amount of affection.", the icy surface of the skin tells her it's not possible, not now, not ever.

All the four can do is huddle together like they sometimes do in non-official staff gatherings, make an effort to pull the youngest along with them, not giving him a reason to excuse himself, as they struggle to come to terms with what has befallen them.

"So what happens now?" Alastor Moody grunts. Everyone, including those pompous purebloods, now gathered around in the middle of the room, uncharacteristically cooperative. He still can't get rid of the image of a blood-flooded floor upon entering the infirmary early this morning. Despite the things he has seen as working as an Auror, never has he witnessed a slow-acting curse that acts like this when he briefly examined the body.

He grudgingly repspected the spy, despite the obvious mistrust between them. Moody knows how much of a burden the agent carries, having to be a professor, potions master for both sides, and to be tortured almost every time in exchange for intel. Normal people would have gone mad under the pressure and terrible lifestyle, having to have heard tales from his seniors about old Ministry spies before they were disbanded and replaced by Unspeakables, with better systems and insurance. He may not trust the spy much, but there's no denying the hefty amount of contributions the former death eater made.

It's a great loss, as a young lad, and an important asset for the impending war.

"Should we contact his family? Friends?" Molly speaks up, she doesn't know the professor well, outside of what her kids speak of, which is mostly negative. Each meeting the spy is unwilling to talk to anyone outside of reports and retorts at Sirius Black. She herself naturally doesn't trust death eaters, remembering the early demise of Fabian and Gideon, yet Albus has always expressed his trust in him, so Molly did too. There are times when the Spy comes into the meeting looking worse for wear, but as the headmaster always said so, there's always roles sacrifices in war, and her role as a mother is to protect the children.

Looking at the shroud, she's unsure if she's should feel: Relieved, because even as a spy he is still a death eater who works under You-know-who, the same group of people who kills innocents, and torment students at school; worried, because now without a way to gain insight, they will have an even harder time to shield the kids out of harm's way. And without the Slytherin head of house who is supposedly on their side, more death eaters might rise from that house.

Molly knows that the spy must have given up a lot, but her family and friends must come first, she only hopes he understands it too.

"We will take him! He's my—" Before Draco can continue, Lucius grips onto his arm, pulling him back, his heart lurching at his son's confused and hurt expression, but this is a decision he must make for the sake of his family's safety.

"No, Draco." He says firmly, ignoring the questioning look of his wife."We do not associate with…this." he hesitates to even say his name, knowing if the Dark Lord found out the traitor is buried at Malfoy grounds, they would be next, worse, having nothing left to be dumped six feet under. Narcissa looks enraged, but upon seeing the pleading in his eyes, she too seems to understand what might follow if they do as they honestly wish to, she slowly hugs Draco, pulling him back.

"I'm sorry, my Dragon, we can't, the Dark Lord-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT, WE ARE FRIENDS! HOW COULD YOU!"

"DRACONIS LUCIUS MALFOY!" His son flinches at his roar, and the throbbing ache only grows in his chest, "Son, please, he wants you safe too, he understands." He shakes the boy's shoulders, begging him to understand, begging the dead to understand. His son looks away and cries earnestly against his mother.

"How could you?" Lucius can feel the eyes under the shroud glaring at him. But the Godfather of Draco will know his father's priority — Familia Ante Omnia, and he had already accepted his fate the night he urged them to leave the Dark Lord's side.

He must understand.

"Both of his parents were unavailable before he graduated." Poppy states, gasps can be heard throughout the room. "His in loco parentis was Albus for a year, but changed to another person for… reasons." She looks at Malfoy Senior intently.

There was a pregnant pause, Minerva looks at the Malfoy Patriarch with disbelief and hatred, in which he has the decency to look away completely, the others turn their gazes away as well, and Mr. Potter is still staring at the covered form emptily.

"There's a small island, near the shore of the lake." Pomona finally finds her voice, "he sometimes goes there for ingredients he planted, having no creatures around, gave me some of them too." She lets out wet chuckle, "He would have liked it, near his own work, and no one to disturb him."

There was a collective sigh, silently agreeing that it would be the best decision, but it was broken off by a loud creak at the infirmary with multiple footsteps.

"I'm afraid this isn't our decision to make, Pomona." Dumbledore walks towards them, his face is grave, but there's an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes.

"Albus? What do you mean?" Filius jumps down from the edge of his bed at the entrance of the headmaster. "I understand it may be a bit unorthodox, but it should be something he deserves, having no other family, and after years of service —"

"No, Filius. I understand that we are all friends, but burial on Hogwarts grounds around young students is inadequate." bending over, he puts a hand onto the part goblin's shoulder. "He may not admit it, but he certainly does not want his Slytherins to see him this way."

Minerva might be starting to get a bit faint, but she thinks she sees Molly nodding vehemently at Albus's reasoning from the corner of her eye

"Please, Albus, the island is away from Hogwarts grounds, almost at the far end of the Great lake. But he can still be near here at Hogwarts, his home."

"I'm sorry, but I really cannot allow that, as much as I am with you." The headmaster replies, placatingly.

Just when Minerva walks in front of the bed to stop Dumbledore from walking toward it, another person walks into the infirmary.

"This better be important, Dumbledore." Everyone immediately turns their focus onto Cornelius Fudge, who marches into the infirmary, visibly annoyed. He takes the lime-green bowler hat off and scans the crowd, "What is going on here!".

The moment Harry recognises the Minister of Magic, whom he tried to give proof of Voldermort's return, yet got discredited and proclaimed him merely traumatised and untrustworthy flinches against Remus who is holding him from behind.

"Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Tonks, Mr. Weasley. Lord Malfoy?" Fudge turns his eyes on Harry, narrow and scrutinizing, "Mr. Potter."

"Sir." He greets back, trying to control the wobble in his voice.

"What are you all doing here? What are you planning Dumbledore?" Fudge sounds increasingly angry, or agitated. His chest puffs up with his hands perching at his rounded waist, looking a lot like a penguin. A golden pocket watch dangles at his waistcoat, glinting mockingly at everyone in the room.

"Calm, I did not plan anything." Dumbledore raises both of his hands as a harmless gesture. He turns to the covered figure, and before anyone around the bed has the time to react, he pulls the shroud off roughly, revealing the body beneath.

"Goodness! This…this gain!" Fudge immediately pulls out the handkerchief from his suit pocket, covering his nose and mouth, his eyebrows pulled down as if he is looking at a piece of rotten meat. He knows that face, the same one sneering and barking at him while shoving the dreaded mark in front of him to prove You-Know-Who's return. Minerva immediately walks in front of the bed, shielding it from the man, the other head of houses alongside Poppy follows not far behind.

"Now, Cornelius as you can see," Dumbledore slightly levitates the soot-colored arm behind the staff with his wand, making sure it is visible to the other man. "Such damage can only be sustained through the Dark Mark, with Voldermort's magic channeling through it."

"Albus!"

"This is preposterous!" Fudge rushes past the professor and grabs the limp arm, but immediately lets it go the moment it came in contact with it, dropping it to the side of the bed. He recoils at the heaviness of the lingering residue of a curse.

"Aurors…Aurors!" the minister snap his head back towards the two young Order members, he points a shaky finger at them, then back to the one on the bed. "Cut that arm and take this thing away! My orders! Now!"

"NO!" Both Harry and Draco yell, and the others too look enraged by Fudge's words.

"Do not interfere, boy!" He turns to Harry, breathing heavily, looking panicked to the brink of madness, "That thing shouldn't be here, it belongs to the dumps in Azkaban!"

The robins outdoors chuckle like there's no tomorrow.

Suddenly, there is a surge of magic that pushes the Minister away from the figure, falling down onto his bottom. He looks up and immediately blanches at the absolutely incensed faces of four staff members.

"Still trying to hide the undeniable truth? Cornelius? Even after the breakout of the inner circle?" Dumbledore looks down at the man, eyes twinkling.

"Shut ye mouth o' I'll blast you out of dis place ye bastard!" Minerva roars at the bearded man, tears of hurt and betrayal falling.

"I'm the Minister! How dare—"

"How dare you! Calling him a thing!" Minerva stabs her wand in the air while using the other arm to shield who she cares behind her, "He's a man! Not some animal to be cut down and thrown aside!"

"My girl—"

"And you!" The wand now pointing closely at the bearded man's chest "Don't tell me, you left him to die, just to prove a sodding point?!"

"I do not—"

"DON'T YOU DARE, DUMBLEDORE!" The Gryffindor screams, "This man, spied for you, for more than a decade! Risking his life! His sanity! To be Crucioed every other day just to keep the whole lot of us safe. And you dare, you dare bring this into your schemes?"

"Minerva, I did not, nor ever do such a cruel thing to him, he understands the price."

Lucius Malfoy lets out a disgusted snort at the statement.

"Don't tell me he understands, Because he never does! He didn't care whatever price he had to pay, do you know why? His last words, were nothing about You-Know-Who, nothing for himself! He begged for others! Pick a competent Head of house and keep the Slytherins safe! Keep the Malfoys safe! AND EVEN HE KNOWS, HE BEGGED ME TO KEEP HARRY AWAY FROM THOSE AWFUL MUGGLES YOU DUMPED HIM WITH! And what were you doing? Take his wand, let him lie here for days, let him bleed himself to death, keeping us from sending him to St Mungo's. Using Slytherins as an excuse to not let him rest in his home, and use him, even as a lifeless body."

Harry breaks into tears all over again, why would he help him? They hated each other, what is going on anymore?

"I held him, you know?" Minerva's wand starts to lower, legs struggling to keep herself up "This proud man, who hated anyone that even dared to hug him, he was in my arms, struggling to breathe, because his ribs are being snapped by the curse. One. By. One."

There are horrified gasps all around the room, some breaking into tears again. Pomona and Filius tend to a weeping Poppy.

"He couldn't grow up properly, couldn't live properly, and now you tell me you're going deny his right to even die properly?"

Dumbledore breathes in, shuddering, and stayed quiet.

Harry can't take anymore, he bolts towards where the professors are, ignoring the calls behind him, and stands in front of his mother's friend.

"Please, sir," Harry fights back a choke, "He healed me, he saved me from them, and he– he died because of…" before he could finish, Professor Sprout pulls him into a tight embrace, burying him into the soft apron, "It's okay, it's okay." Pomona comforts the fragile boy, Filius too pats him on the back, Hermione and Ron too run towards their best friend to join them.

"If you won't do it for him, at least do it for Harry." Minerva pleads, looking both comforted by the children's actions, and sorrowful, using the headmaster's own words against himself.

There's something indecipherable in Dumbledore's blue eyes, he folds his hand in front of his robes, recognising the stance, Minerva looks away, finding it too painful to even look at the man as he gives the ultimatum.

The Robins go silent, waiting for the death's fate.

A booming croak explodes within the infirmary like a canon.

"What the-"

"Who are you!"

"How did they get in?"

The crowd around the bed turns to where the commotion is. A woman, in a dark grey coat dress, hanging onto an almost unhealthily thin frame, she's wearing a plain black veiled hat, every side of her face well-hidden and unseen behind the seemingly thin fabric, leaving only the tied bun and some strands of curled hair out of the mist. Her hands are covered with long stygian silk gloves. Her entire being stands out from the rest of the place as if her existence killed the color of that part of the room. The white collar reaches halfway to her neck, leaving the only visible segment of porcelain skin under her chin, which has a nasty scar all slashing across her throat, as if it is intentionally put on display. The healed skin stretched and wrinkled as she pants, perhaps she rushed to be here. She is standing very still, and no one dares to make a noise or move, even Dumbledore seems shocked by the stranger's appearance in his wards without any forewarning.

There, perching on the woman's right shoulder, stands a bird, a raven. With the confidence of a royal, looking straight ahead, the silver eyes staring straight into Harry's, and the boy recognises it, the same one back in the forest

The woman mutely raises her trembling arm, and points at the unmoving body on the bed.

The Raven croaks again, thick black smoke streams out of its black beak while the bird slowly turns into a stark white from head to toe, the smoke sinks onto the ground, builds up into a rough silhouette of a man, finally dissipating, revealing a tall gentleman around his 70s with frosty long hair in a low ponytail, wearing a long gray coat on top of deep steel blue shirt. Both of his eyes clouded but seeing, his features have a romanesque quality, making him as imperial looking as a marble statue of a Greek God. He blinks calmly at the rest of their aimed wands, then at the woman, then back to the figure she is pointing at.

Gazing straight into every soul of those who are present in the room at once, he smiles serenely, then simply gestured with a movement at his chin.

"He is Severus, correct?"