"How could you do such a thing!?" McGonagall shouted at Dumbledore, her voice sharp with fury, while Flitwick pressed in with his own pointed questions.
Both professors held Julian in high regard. Learning that Dumbledore had violated the boy's privacy so thoroughly was enough to set them both aflame.
"I understand your anger," Dumbledore replied, keeping his tone steady, "and I understand the young man's as well. Please understand that I truly only wanted what was best for him. He feared the power I held over him, and since he clearly had a bloodline, I assumed having him tested would help put his mind at ease."
"I never guessed his bloodline would be what it was," Dumbledore continued, defending himself with careful words. "And while I admit I knew of his reluctance to be tested, I assumed it was only that, reluctance."
"You did not obtain the blood with his permission, did you?" McGonagall asked, icily calm in a way that was far more dangerous than yelling.
Dumbledore grimaced, because that was indeed the darkest part of it.
It was common knowledge that many curses and darker workings required blood to be willingly given by the victim. Yet Dumbledore had used a loophole, exploiting his authority as magical guardian to provide the blood without Julian's consent.
...
Julian woke in the infirmary roughly an hour after the incident, which was not difficult to believe considering Snape had not held back at all.
"Ugh. My head is pounding. What the hell happened?" he thought dazedly.
Then the memory snapped back into place, sharp and immediate, and the same rage surged up again.
Madam Pomfrey must have felt the disturbance he was starting to create, because she rushed over and smacked him upside the head with a newspaper, jolting him out of it.
"You have every right to be angry," she scolded, stern and unyielding, "but do not let it control you, you daft child!"
"But!" Julian tried to protest.
She cut him off before he could get a word out.
"I am a healer," she said, voice firm but not unkind. "I know the implications of what Albus did better than almost anyone. I am not telling you not to be angry. I am telling you not to let it blind you. Did you even notice how close you came to crossing a line earlier, before Severus stopped you?"
Julian froze.
He had been about to try and kill Dumbledore.
It had been a heat of the moment impulse, but that did not matter. There was no excuse for it.
...
Julian shut his eyes and forced himself to take several slow breaths, pulling his emotions and his magic back under control piece by piece.
"I'll be fine now," he said when he opened his eyes again, his presence flattened to something neutral.
Madam Pomfrey studied him with a look that was both gentle and serious.
"I would think you used Occlumency, if it was not so obvious you took too long to calm yourself," she said. "No matter. You should have quite the headache, yes?"
Julian nodded. "I'm a bit fuzzy on the details why, though," he admitted, frowning.
"That would be Severus's work," she answered with a nod. "It seems you frightened him badly enough for him to use a fully powered stunning spell. I can't say I blame him. You carry a terrifying presence when you're angry."
As she spoke, she reached into the satchel at her waist and produced a small vial of potion.
"Drink this. It should help."
Julian swallowed it without comment, though his face tightened at the taste.
Pomfrey seemed satisfied. She handed him his wand, along with the mail that had ignited the entire disaster.
"You may want to finish reading that before I let your visitor speak with you," she said, then walked away.
...
"Visitor?" Julian thought, confused. His friends should have been in class.
He did not even manage to pick up the second letter.
The moment Madam Pomfrey stepped away, a silvery, translucent woman in a long gown drifted out of the nearby wall.
Julian blinked. He had never heard of the Grey Lady visiting the infirmary.
The beautiful ghost hovered in front of him, watching him with an intensity that made his skin prickle.
"Uh," Julian said, uncomfortable under her gaze, "can I help you with something?"
She hesitated for the briefest moment, as if she had not expected him to speak first.
Then she said simply, "Read the letter. I'll wait."
...
Julian frowned, unsure why she cared about his heritage at all, but he complied. He unfolded the letter and began to read.
By the time he finished, disbelief had settled across his face like a weight.
He rummaged through the slightly crumpled mess beside him and quickly found the signet ring, proof that the letter was not lying.
A low groan escaped him as the full meaning sank in.
The sheer, ungodly amount of drama and politics that would come from this information made his stomach twist.