Harry Evans: Memoirs Of A Well-lived Death (SI) Chapter 60 Chapter 57: Consequences

Harry was not unused to going to sleep in a state of anxious waiting. He'd lived more than thirty years now, and he'd experienced it all. Going to sleep a day before a medical operation, dreaming about having one's sides cut open to remove a swollen appendix. Going to sleep with a family member in the ER after a horrendous car crash, knowing that on the next day, he would find out if they were either alive or dead. He'd even gone to sleep once as a child in the U.S., on a family vacation, wondering if a plane was going to crash into their building as well.

He was used to getting whatever sleep he could get. He'd even started appreciating it as a useful fast-forward button of eight to nine hours when awaiting certain calls, e-mails, or results. However, as he lay on his back in a sleeping bag alongside the entirety of the Hogwarts student population, it wasn't his own thoughts, keeping him awake, but those of the other students.

Whispering spread through the great hall, unstoppable by the tired professors who patrolled, trying to tell people to stay quiet. Students were crying, rumour-mongering, figuring out who was missing. At one point a devastated Weasley trio consisting of Percy and the twins was led out, as it became clear that their elder brother was the only one not present.

Somehow, at some point, it was revealed that the werewolf who'd attacked Hogsmeade had also killed Madam Puddifoot, proprietor of Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, her husband, and her two children.

Suffice it to say, nobody got a whole lot of sleep that night, and Harry wondered about the sense of having congregated in the great hall. Did the staff think that the werewolf could enter Hogwarts, somehow? The only reason a student had died was because they'd been sneaking out for some sort of purpose, knowing Charlie Weasley, to find some magical creature that only came out under the full moon...

When the sun rose over the great hall, blinding everyone with its light which was communicated perfectly through the enchantments of the ceiling, a confused, tired, grumpy and scared mass of students cleared up the sleeping bags in which they'd spent the night and slowly but surely made their way over to their tables.

Harry sat between a stricken Penny and a dead-tired Cedric, as Dumbledore, whom people were seeing for the first time in a while, marched into the great hall, followed by the rest of the professors who were still missing. Not knowing if it was the Horcruxes on his mind, or the werewolf, the old man looked the most severe that Harry had ever seen him. A big old frown on his face, but the facial expression was dwarfed by the sheer feeling of displeasure that radiated from the man.

Magical sense having improved enough for Harry to probe from a distance, he was able to feel that Dumbledore's magic was unrestrained. Leaking out of him. The second year came to the realisation that as one trained to access one's magic, at some point it would become a process as easy as breathing, and something that one would need to learn how to control.

Stepping up to the podium from which the student body was generally addressed, he raised his wand, and with one swish, all the house banners present in the great hall turned black. Contrasting horribly with the bright sun shining down on them all.

"Today marks a tragedy," Dumbledore began, framed by the dark countenances of the other professors already standing at the high table. "As some of you have already doubtlessly concluded or heard, a werewolf attack occurred at Hogsmeade yesterday, costing the magical world five lives." He swept his gaze over the hall, "One of these lives belonged to Charlie Weasley. A seventh-year student, kind, talented and dutiful, he shall be missed dearly, and his disappearance shall be felt by all of us. A minute of silence."

Everyone lowered their heads, even the Slytherins. Perhaps the wounds of the blood war had begun to heal enough for the blood-traitor status of the victim to not matter. Or perhaps the disgust for creatures like werewolves was stronger than their dislike of blood traitors.

A minute passed before Dumbledore spoke again. "In light of this string of recent tragedies, I would ask all of you to support each other, to not leave the grounds and to respect the grieving process of those who have lost a family member," he said, doubtlessly referring to the Weasleys, of whom there were for the moment, four missing seats at the Gryffindor table. A heavy loss, as they currently made up 5% of Gryffindor. "Hogsmeade trips have been cancelled for the year," Dumbledore announced to no surprise, "and an auror task force has been established to hunt the perpetrator. James Potter shall remain the professor for defence against the dark arts, as it is our belief that he can help protect the school the most if he remains within it. Classes for the day will be cancelled but will continue as planned tomorrow. That will be all," he finished, and went to sit back in his high chair and loaded up his plate with food.

He started eating demonstratively as everyone watched as if trying to force everyone back into a sense of normalcy by sheer force of habit alone.

Harry joined in, the first of the students, taking some scrambled eggs and some toast. But in the corner of his eye, he kept an eye out for Tonks, whom he was supposed to meet today to discuss her study schedule. She looked horrible, staring at her plate like a corpse, and Harry wondered why she too hadn't been taken aside considering the very personal nature of her loss.

Did the staff simply not consider that losing a boyfriend would be only slightly less traumatic than losing a family member? Or had they not even known that the two had been dating. It would make sense in a way, as the professors really didn't have anything to look for in their students' love lives.

A flutter of owls announced the incoming barrage, and Harry readied himself for howlers that would likely come, telling children that they better not leave school grounds.

Although, did the parents of the Hogwarts students even know about the attack, and the death of a student? It had just happened that night, nobody had had time to send a letter home yet.

A glance at the daily prophet that Penny was holding up answered the question about when the parents would find out, and he grimaced as he read the title. "Horror at Hogsmeade, really?" he muttered as he started reading over Penny's shoulder.

The article wasn't anything special, simply saying what Dumbledore had already said. There was a slight jab at the ministry though, and the aurors, for being apparently incapable of locating and arresting the werewolf that had been wreaking havoc all over England for half a year now. The whole thing was emphasised with moving illustrations of how a werewolf transformation looked like.

For all the hate that Harry felt towards this one particularly horrible werewolf going on a murder spree, he did feel a bit of pity for all the other werewolves whose image and likely, rights, would all go down the drain shortly. This one monster was ruining the lives of all his contemporaries. For what, exactly?

"You're on the third page, Harry?" Penny asked curiously, as she flipped forward, getting green in the face at some of the graphic imagery on the first and second pages.

"In the mind of a genius?" Cedric asked as he looked Harry up and down. "Mate, I don't know how to tell you, but I think there's a doppelganger of you running around, and he's pretending to be a genius."

Harry simply rolled his eyes as he quickly scanned the article that Skeeter had finally managed to get published. He didn't know if the third page was good or not, but at least this should negate the hit piece the ministry had done on him previously. He looked quite fetching, casting a patronus at the reader, really. Like a really good boy learning all the good and light magic. Some sentences sprung out at him, and he mentally decided to work with Skeeter again in the future.

At age twelve Mr. Evans is already casting magic usually considered impossible for most Hogwarts alums. What exactly will he be doing by the time he's actually seventeen is a question that this reporter desperately wants answered today, instead of in five years. Perhaps Mr. "Call me Harry," Evans will be pursuing a mastery in charms, or becoming a researcher. All paths seemed to be open in this young man's future.

Britain can rejoice for having helped produce another genius, who shall in time join the illustrious line of people who graduated from the gem of the British Isles, Hogwarts.

"All paths seem to be open?" Penny asked doubtfully. "Did you not tell her about potions?" she asked.

Harry snorted and stood up. People were starting to discuss the werewolf article in loud and fearful voices, looking over a friend's shoulder to read the morning edition of the Prophet if they didn't have a subscription of their own. This unbearable loudness and atmosphere were accompanied by furtive glances being thrown his way specifically. This told him that some people had started reading the article about him, too, and that it was time to leave before anyone gained the courage to come over and ask him insipid questions.

For all that he was willing to connive for a favourable article in the country's most popular magical newspaper, Harry was unwilling to waste his time in actually appearing approachable to his peers. The thing with wasting time was that it became easier and easier to do it, the more one did so. Harry didn't want to get into the habit.

"This whole werewolf thing is horrible," he muttered, only loud enough for his friends to hear, and left the great hall. "I'm going to go do some magic, have an additional full day when I can focus on just my projects. Try not to think about the attack too much. It's safe in the castle," he said instead of a goodbye and tried to catch Tonk's eye as he did so, but she was avoiding his gaze.

Today was supposed to be the day when they would have met to discuss her schedule and see if they could get her on track to becoming a good candidate for the auror academy. Naturally, they'd planned the meeting after classes, which had now gotten cancelled. Also, considering the loss she'd just gone through, Tonks was likely to fall into an episode of grief which would make just keeping her previous level of school performance hard, let alone improving on it.

Nonetheless, Harry was going to go practice in the room they'd originally decided to meet in. He had a brain-dead task to do and it didn't matter where he did it. Practising the disarming charm, as Flitwick had demanded. The sooner Harry got it up to snuff, the sooner they could start doing something else. He'd been practising it exclusively since their last meeting, and he did notice the slight improvement. He'd gotten rid of the wand movement completely, could cast it in quick succession and the whole thing was draining his stamina less and less with each cast.

Familiarity bred low magic costs when it came to spells. Perhaps Voldemort's killing curse strained the man as much as a child's levitation charm, considering how much he'd liked throwing that spell around in the books.

-/-

"Expelliarmus," Harry cast at the wall of the abandoned classroom, the Hogwarts wards making sure that he wasn't chipping the stone.

8721, he counted in his head.

"Expelliarmus," a soft red beam hit the wall with a thunk. The sound of stone hitting stone.