Right now, Gabriel should've been on his way to his first Ancient Runes class. Instead, he was sitting on a very familiar bed in the infirmary while Madam Pomfrey fussed over his arm, muttering a string of very unladylike curses under her breath.
The wound - now exposed without Hermione's emergency bandages - had stopped bleeding completely. In fact, it was already sealed beneath a thin, darkened layer of skin, the three slashes standing out like jagged brands along his forearm.
"Honestly, Mr. Moretti," she began, exasperation clear in her voice, "didn't I warn you not to get close to magical creatures without the proper protective gear? If the last time was any indication, it'll take months for these scars to fade - and I very much doubt they'll thin out as nicely as the others. And these!" she snapped, glaring at the scars on his hands as if they had personally offended her. "Why are they bigger now? Have you been punching rocks?"
'That and spells,' Gabriel thought, biting back a grin.
"Don't worry about it, Poppy," he said airily, earning himself the kind of look that could curdle milk. "I don't know what I'll do after Hogwarts - maybe become an Auror, maybe go back to Brazil and join the Caçadores, or maybe I'll just travel and learn more about the world. Either way, I'm pretty sure I'll end up in trouble and covered in scars no matter what. So what difference does it make if it's now or later?"
Pomfrey's nostrils flared just a bit. "While that is a very… pragmatic-" she drew the word out sarcastically, "-point of view, I find myself incapable of not questioning your good sense, Mr. Moretti, when you've just admitted to seeking danger and throwing yourself in harm's way."
She gave a crisp nod, her tone turning sweet - which somehow made it worse.
"Therefore, I will be applying the herbal paste myself. You will keep it on. You will reapply it daily. And you will come here every Saturday for a check-up, or else."
Her words were calm, her smile perfectly pleasant… but Gabriel swore the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" he said quickly, throwing up a mock salute and trying not to look too rattled. It was deeply concerning that the first person whose bloodlust he'd ever genuinely felt was the school nurse.
Pomfrey sniffed, apparently satisfied, and turned toward her worktable.
Gabriel watched, fascinated, as she moved with brisk precision - gathering bundles of dried herbs and small glass vials from neatly labeled shelves. She crushed the herbs with a mortar and pestle, the rhythmic grinding punctuated by the occasional clink of metal as she reached for another ingredient.
A thin, earthy scent filled the air as she poured the crushed mixture into a straining cloth and filtered it through a funnel into a copper pot. She added sliced green leaves that hissed faintly on contact, followed by a clear liquid that shimmered faintly.
Then came the powders - a pinch of grey dust, a spoon of violet shimmer - and as soon as she stirred, the concoction began to boil far faster than it had any right to. Steam rose in lazy spirals, carrying a heady mix of sharp mint, damp soil, and something oddly metallic.
Finally, she poured the bubbling mixture into a smaller, circular pot and brought it over. "Hold still," she instructed, not unkindly.
Gabriel obeyed as she began spreading the warm, viscous paste along the length of his arm and hand. It tingled sharply at first, then settled into a deep, pleasant coolness as she worked it into the darkening scars. When she finished, she wrapped his arm with a roll of thick, white bandages.
He flexed his fingers, amused and faintly nostalgic at the sight. "Well, look at that. I look like a martial artist now."
Pomfrey snapped the lid back on the pot with a little clack and gave it to him, still muttering as she straightened. "That should do you for the week, Mr. Moretti. I'll have the next dose ready on-"
Before she could finish, the infirmary door opened and Dumbledore glided in, spectacles catching the light. He gave Pomfrey and Gabriel a quick, warm nod and crossed the room toward the other bed where Draco lay, still pale and groggy from his knock-out. Pomfrey moved with bustling efficiency to check the blond boy over while Dumbledore murmured something in his measured voice.
Gabriel looked down blandly at his arms, idly wondering how much time it would take until they were fully covered in black leather.
A short while later Pomfrey bustled out, fussing at her assistants to fetch more bandages, and Dumbledore left Draco's bedside to come sit beside Gabriel. He folded his long fingers over the edge of the bed and looked at Gabriel with that soft, amused gravity that always made him look like what Gabriel imagined a grandfather to be like.
"How much trouble am I in?" Gabriel asked, putting a smile on his face.
Dumbledore's mouth twitched. "Fortunately, not as much as you might imagine," he said. "You knocked the young Mr. Malfoy unconscious and loosened a few teeth - which Pomfrey has kindly repaired - but there are no lasting physical injuries. From the school's legal perspective, this is a messy, unpleasant brawl between students rather than a dangerous assault." He tapped the bedrail thoughtfully. "In some respects it was… fortunate that you didn't use a spell instead. A magical attack would be far worse in the eyes of both the school board and the Ministry."
Gabriel let that sink in and asked, "What about Hagrid? Is he going to be in trouble because of Buckbeak?"
Dumbledore considered. "Not particularly. The fact that Buckbeak reacted as he did was unfortunate, but what you did made it seem as if the incident was primarily a conflict between students. People will remember the hitting more than the hippogriff's temper. Hagrid will be told to exercise more caution in the future when bringing such creatures to a class, and he may be watched more closely for a while - but this event will not be piled on him."
Gabriel nodded, relieved. "So, points then?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a small, rueful smile. "Yes. Fifty points from Ravenclaw. And considering the school year has barely started, your housemates will find themselves on the red for quite some time."
Gabriel shrugged. "Fair enough." He glanced at Dumbledore. "And Draco? Will he lose anything for calling Muggle-borns mudbloods, calling me an animal and saying things about my mother?"
Dumbledore made a small sound - half sigh, half laugh. "Ah. Now you want school sanctions applied, do you? You were perfectly content to settle matters with your own hands a few moments ago." He raised an eyebrow, not unkind. "You must understand, Gabriel, part of what the school must teach is procedure. The rules exist for reasons you know well."
Gabriel gave a lopsided grin. "I mean, if that's your approval to hit anyone who acts like an arse in exchange for them not losing house points, I think it's a fair trade."
Dumbledore's expression was implacable for half a heartbeat, then he laughed softly - the sound like a warm clock chiming. "I rather think not."
Dumbledore's voice was gentle when he spoke again. "Tell me, Gabriel - do you believe students should be physically punished when they make a mistake?"
Gabriel blinked at the question. "Of course not," he said immediately.
"Then why," Dumbledore asked, calm as ever, "did you choose to do so yourself? You could have told one of the professors what happened. Or come to me. Or even allowed Hagrid to deal with it. Why resort to violence?"
Gabriel hesitated. For a moment, his mouth worked silently, then he leaned back against the pillows and sighed.
"Because, realistically, what could any of you do?" he said finally. "You'd take away points. Maybe give him detention. Maybe, if he did something horrifically bad, he'd get expelled - but even then, what would that mean? Professor Snape would give him back whatever points he lost from what I heard, detention would only make him more frustrated, and he'd never be treated like Hagrid. They wouldn't break his wand. His family's rich and influential enough to send him to another school or hire private tutors until he takes his OWLs. That's not punishment. That's a short break before his next privilege."
He looked away, jaw tightening. "And I don't even think that's your fault, really. The school's here to teach us academics, spells, history, potions- fine. But the education Draco doesn't have isn't academic. It's moral. That's something he should've learned at home. And his home is the problem."
Dumbledore's blue eyes flickered, thoughtful. "So you mean to take it upon yourself to do what you believe the school cannot - by beating those you think deserve it?"
Gabriel groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's sake- yes! No! I don't know!" He threw up his hands. "But Draco had to learn that there are actual consequences for being a git!"
He sat forward, his voice rising despite himself. "I could have knocked out all his teeth. I could have broken his ribs or smashed his face in. If I'd hit him with the leathery part of my knuckles instead of the back of my hand, I might've left him disfigured. But I didn't! Because as much of a wanker as Draco is, I know he's still just a kid."
His expression softened- not with pity, but something closer to weary understanding. "Probably the most immature kid in our year. He's never had a setback, never had to swallow failure. He lives in a little fantasy world his parents built for him, where he's special, and better, and untouchable. Maybe now, after this, he'll get a wake-up call. Maybe he'll rethink how he treats people. Or maybe he'll just become afraid of me and stop acting like that when I'm around. Or maybe he'll twist this into another excuse to hate everyone who isn't him."
Gabriel shrugged, exhaling hard. "Honestly, I don't care which. Not beyond how it affects the people I actually care about. I'd love for him to grow into a better person someday. I'd love to be able to talk to him like a normal human being. But I'm not going to just let him do whatever he wants and walk all over people while I sit back, pretending it's fine for the sake of his potential future redemption."
By the time he finished, his chest was heaving slightly, and the echo of his words hung in the quiet infirmary.
Dumbledore watched him catch his breath. Then, softly, he chuckled. "That is… a fair enough point of view," he admitted. "Though I fear you must still expect punishment if you continue to break the rules."
Gabriel opened his mouth, but Dumbledore raised a hand. "I also owe you an apology - for the questioning, and for any expectations I may have forced upon you. As Headmaster, I must care for all my students. But as a professor, and as a man, I also hope that every one of them leaves this castle better than when they arrived. It is… a hope I cannot easily set aside."
He reached into his robes and pulled out a pocket watch that didn't seem to tick. After glancing at it, he said, "You've already missed Ancient Runes, I'm afraid. You might as well wash up and come down for dinner."
Gabriel managed a small smile. "Yes, sir."
He pushed himself to his feet, flexing his bandaged arm, and was almost at the door when Dumbledore's voice called after him.
"And, Mr. Moretti?"
Gabriel turned back.
"I told you this two years ago in this very room," Dumbledore said, his eyes glinting kindly over the half-moons of his glasses. "But it bears repeating: you are not a monster. And you are most certainly not an animal."
Gabriel's lips curved into a quiet smile - soft, genuine, a little tired.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said.
And then he turned, the door closing softly behind him, leaving the faint smell of herbs and smoke in the air.