A crowd of curious students huddled by the door. The rest of the girls from the group burst into the room, rushing toward Susan's bed with genuine concern. Behind them appeared Harry, Ron, the twins, and Percy. The Weasleys had converged there upon hearing that Arthur was at the castle. Harry, inseparable from Ron, completed the group.
At the sight of their father, the twins paled in unison, exchanging a look of pure panic; in their minds, one of their latest pranks must have caused Arthur Weasley to leave the Ministry during work hours. Percy, by contrast, adjusted his glasses with nervous rigidity.
For Arthur, however, seeing them all—from Percy's dark circles under his eyes from over-studying to Ron's confused gaze—was like a breath of air in the middle of a wildfire. The knot of terror tightening his chest loosened a millimeter upon confirming that, at least they, were safe and sound.
"Boys! Do you know anything about Red?!" Arthur asked, his anxiety barely camouflaged.
"Red?" they all asked in chorus, with a confusion that seemed genuine.
Ginny, who had stopped on her way to Susan's bedside, turned toward her father. Although her face showed concern, her eyes revealed a spark of suspicion. Through the group [Messages], she knew her brother was up to something, but seeing her father's state filled her with a new kind of anguish. Discreetly, she sent a [Message]:
[Dad is here. He's terrified. What have you done, Red?]
Dumbledore watched the family reunion with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He studied each member of the Weasley clan with varying levels of interest.
"I believe it is time to withdraw before Madam Pomfrey throws us all out by force," Dumbledore indicated to Snape, trying to soften the atmosphere.
"We still know nothing concrete about the boy," Snape huffed, his patience having run out long ago.
"As I said, Severus, I don't believe anyone here can give us the answers we seek at this moment," the Headmaster replied calmly, though the news of the challenge at the Ministry weighed on his mind like lead. "I have other places to look outside of Hogwarts... Besides, from what I've been told, Red will reappear."
Snape was not satisfied. His black eyes swept over the group of students once more—that "inner circle" surrounding the most obnoxious of the Weasleys. He was convinced he could get more from them. Knowing that Granger had witnessed both the Heir and Red, and that her lenses had been destroyed in the process, he decided he could not leave empty-handed. Snape fixed his gaze on Hermione.
Hermione felt Snape's gaze boring into her and, almost by instinct, turned her head. Eye contact was immediate, and with it, Legilimency seeped in like a silent poison. But then...
Hermione felt a sudden exhaustion, as if a heavy blanket of lead had fallen over her head. Her mind became dazed, and the cold emanating from her bracelet intensified, transforming into an icy pressure that shielded her thoughts.
Snape jerked his gaze away violently. Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched quickly out of the hospital wing, muttering under his breath. Inside, he boiled with fury; he couldn't believe that brat kept leaving trap after trap, another ruse to hinder him. If he hadn't been cautious enough to retract upon feeling that viscosity in the girl's mind, he might have been exposed before everyone this time.
Dumbledore, who hadn't missed a single detail of the silent exchange, flashed an enigmatic smile.
"I hope that later you can come to my office to relate in detail everything that happened yesterday regarding the Heir, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said with a kindness that failed to hide his scientific interest. "But for now, stay with your friends and rest. Shall we say after dinner?"
"Of course, Professor," Hermione replied, though a trace of nervousness filtered into her voice despite the bracelet's effect.
The Headmaster nodded and turned toward Arthur, who had just finished speaking with his children and was waiting for him with anguish etched into every line of his face.
"Do not worry, Arthur. We will do something, leave it to me," Dumbledore assured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Go home and speak with Molly; explain the situation to her before the news reaches her through other means."
Dumbledore left the hospital wing, following Snape. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his smile vanished, replaced by an expression of weariness and extreme gravity. The situation was unsustainable: not only did he have to deal with the shadow of Riddle and the Basilisk, but now a second-year student was bringing even more trouble. All while he still had to fulfill his duties as Headmaster.
No one but he knew how much he regretted that Minerva McGonagall had taken a few days off just when he needed her most... now he was even thinking of giving her a raise if it would bring her back.
...
—In front of a certain brothel—
Minerva contemplated the facade of the establishment, which she had managed to locate for the second time after considerable effort. The place was far too elusive; she deeply regretted not having asked how to return the previous time, though, honestly, her pride would never have allowed it. The simple thought of wanting to return to a brothel—the place where those things had happened—made her shudder from head to toe. She was there strictly for her students, or at least that's what she repeated to herself like a mantra to silence her conscience.
Upon crossing the threshold, the building was once again vastly larger on the inside than the outside. She quickly spotted dark silhouettes, figures whose faces were blurred by anonymity charms. She let out a sigh of relief, realizing her own identity was equally protected by the establishment's magic.
Armored in a remnant of authority and pride, she approached the counter with a firm step.
"..." Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat before they were born.
"Welcome back, Professor McGonagall. How may we serve you on this occasion?" the receptionist said with a bow that was as respectful as it was lethal to Minerva's nerves.
Minerva nearly choked on her own saliva. She looked frantically to both sides, hoping no one had caught her name. Although she assumed the establishment's powerful sound-nullifiers guaranteed privacy, the terror of being recognized as a "regular" in a den of iniquity made her break out in a cold sweat. Furthermore, she couldn't help but internally curse the place's efficiency; this receptionist was not the same one from her last visit, yet the record of her presence was impeccable.
"Ahem... I..." she tried to pull herself together, adjusting her robe's collar with stiff fingers. "I am not here to request your... services. I have come to see someone."
She tried to imbue her voice with a nobility that the surroundings worked to stifle.
"I understand perfectly. Do you wish to wait in the lounge, or would you prefer we inform the person immediately?" the receptionist asked with professional courtesy. "We can offer cafe service while you wait, or perhaps a liqueur from our personal reserve if you prefer something more... stimulating. Who exactly are you looking for? Do you wish to void the privacy enchantments?"
"That won't be necessary," Minerva cut her off, feeling her cheeks burn. "I only wish to meet with... Tom. As soon as possible."
"Tom?" The receptionist arched an eyebrow, tilting her head as if she needed more information.
"No surname. A... worker here," Minerva replied, feeling the heat rise up her neck until it stained her ears scarlet red. "From my... previous visit."
Uttering that last detail felt like confessing to a crime. The receptionist gave her a smile loaded with mocking understanding—the look reserved for high-born ladies who aren't yet ready to admit they've returned for pleasure.
Minerva felt a knot in her stomach. She wanted to scream that her visit was purely administrative, that she wasn't looking for fun, but she feared any further explanation would only reinforce the woman's suspicion. She decided to swallow her pride and let the silence speak for her, though inside, the Head of Gryffindor House had never felt so defeated.
"Give me a moment, please," the receptionist indicated.
Her fingers danced over an alchemical glass surface, but Minerva could not see that, under the guise of an administrative log, the woman was using the [Message] system to confirm security instructions. Red, with his clones and main body occupied in the Ministry and Hogwarts chaos, could not personify "Tom" at that instant. Under Andra's direction, the script was written: the "reunion" would be replaced by a lesson in harsh reality.
Minerva nodded mechanically, forcing herself to look away. At the tables, several silhouettes waited expectantly. Every so often, a young man or woman would emerge from the shadows to approach customers, taking them by the arm with rehearsed familiarity. Some exuded flirtatiousness; others adopted a submissive or bold attitude, molding themselves to the visitor's desire. Minerva felt a pang of nausea watching the scene, especially when she thought she recognized the faces of her own students.
"Mrs. McGonagall?" the receptionist called.
"Yes?" Minerva returned to the counter, trying to ignore the presence of another customer waiting their turn behind her.
"I deeply regret it, but Tom the Marvelous is unavailable at this time," the woman said with a note of false sorrow.
"Not available?" Minerva repeated, feeling an unexpected void in her chest.
"Not at all. A group of high-society ladies has contracted his exclusive services. At this very moment, Tom is being... well, he is attending to more than half a dozen women who have demanded a long-duration private party," the receptionist explained with a technical naturalness that was obscene.
Minerva felt a shiver. The description spared no implicit details regarding Tom's situation.
"However, we have an excellent selection of companions willing to entertain you, should you wish," the receptionist added with a trace of complicity, as if enjoying feeding the farce of that innocent visit.
"No, I don't—" Minerva tried to intervene, but the woman interrupted her without pause.
"Or, if you prefer, I can consult with the clients to see if they would allow you to join their party as a guest to enjoy Tom's... attributes. Though I'm not sure they would accept and, frankly, it would be unprofessional on our part. But well, it is widely known that those ladies are quite... uninhibited. You know, they have peculiar tastes and never miss a chance to push things to the limit. In fact," she continued, lowering her tone conspiratorially, "the idea was floated to rename 'Tom the Marvelous' as 'Tom the Insatiable Pony' after one of those ladies insisted on a show involving animals and hired Tom to serve as—"
"No!" Minerva exploded, unable to contain the shout any longer.
Those words acted like hammers, finishing the demolition of the fragile mental defenses she had raised to dare cross that door. It was one thing to have the bad luck of not finding him, but it was quite another to process what she was hearing. Reality hit her with a suffocating crudeness: this was nothing more than a brothel, and Tom was nothing more than merchandise—a disposable object designed to generate profit.
It made her stomach turn to realize he was forced to cross increasingly dark thresholds, degrading him to inhuman situations just to satisfy the whim of those who had the money to buy his dignity.
---///---
Message 1: Sorry for not posting yesterday. I was exhausted, and it wasn't until midnight—as I was lying in bed feeling like I'd forgotten something—that I realized I hadn't uploaded it.
Message 2: We're back to our regular schedule. Patreon has grown; while not as much as before, it's enough to justify the time and effort I pour into this. Honestly, there are moments when I feel like I don't even deserve your support, or that my work isn't good enough... but what I really want to say is thank you. To everyone who contributes and to everyone who reads: you are the reason I keep writing this story. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.