0804 Aftermath

Harry made his way down the stone steps of Castle alongside Hermione and their fellow Gryffindors. It was mealtime now, that bustling period between morning and afternoon classes when the castle would become lively. Many young wizards were emerging from classrooms throughout the castle’s various floors.

After hurriedly finishing their lunch of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and treacle tart, the students would return to their dormitories to change textbooks before beginning their afternoon classes.

This perpetual rush of student life always made everyone seem slightly disheveled. Robes became wrinkled, quills were inevitably left behind in one classroom or another, and the general air of chaos that defined Hogwarts during meal transitions settled over the castle.

But Harry, who had been isolated in the hospital wing for several days, felt an unexpected and pleasant sense of fulfillment at being part of this ordinary bustle once again.

The simple act of walking through corridors filled with his friends, of hearing the familiar sounds of student life, of smelling the mingled aromas of old parchment, burning candles, and the lingering traces of lunch from the Great Hall, all of it were combined to create a sensation of belonging that he had feared might be lost forever after the events in the graveyard.

At the same time, however, the sense of contrast in his heart grew stronger with each passing moment.

The normalcy around him seemed almost surreal.

He had thought the situation would immediately take a sharp turn for the worse once the truth was revealed. He had imagined everyone springing into urgent action, the entire castle mobilizing to fight against Voldemort’s return, teachers and students alike preparing for the war that seemed inevitable.

But the current reality was immensely different from what he had imagined, almost disappointingly so.

Even though Professor Dumbledore had already issued his warnings to all staff and students in the Great Hall, the daily rhythm of castle life continued without much change.

Looking at these young wizards in front of him him now, Harry noticed that many of them instinctively avoided him. They would quickly avert their eyes, suddenly find urgent business in the opposite direction, or engage in overly vibrant conversations with their friends as if to demonstrate that they were far too busy to notice Harry’s presence.

Some even went so far as to duck into nooks or behind tapestries when they saw him approaching, as if he carried some kind of magical plague that might infect them with his apparent delusions.

This collective avoidance and suspicion caused Harry’s brief sense of joy to quickly dissipate, his face was turning cold and expressionless as he recognized the pattern all too well. He knew exactly what this treatment meant: distrust.

In his second year, when everyone thought he was the heir of Salazar Slytherin and believed he had opened the Chamber of Secrets to unleash a monster upon Muggle-born students, he had experienced this same treatment.

“We’ll all support you, Harry,” came a voice through his increasingly dark thoughts like a ray of sunshine.

Neville’s face was serious and determined in a way that would have been unimaginable just a few years earlier, stood with Fred and George and several other Gryffindors who were heading toward the Great Hall for lunch.

Harry and Hermione, meanwhile, had made the decision to visit Hagrid rather than join the usual lunchtime crowd in the Great Hall.

As they parted ways in the entrance hall, Neville said solemnly, “That dark witch who impersonated Professor Moody, her words have no credibility. But since you say the Dark Lord has returned, and both Professor Dumbledore and Professor Watson have confirmed your account, then it must be the truth.”

Clearly, Neville had also noticed the reactions of their fellow students along their journey through the corridors.

“I never thought there’d be a day when Neville would become so dependable,” Harry said with a shake of his head as they hurried across the grounds toward Hagrid’s hut, smiling for the first time since leaving the castle.

The afternoon sun was intense over their head, turning the Hogwarts grounds in color gold and green. Ron could be seen in the distance, running laps alone on the vast lawns that stretched between the castle and the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione called his name several times, but Ron was either too focused on his running or deliberately ignoring them. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond, she turned back to Harry with a knowing smile and said, “I never thought there’d be a day when you and Ron would become so diligent either.”

Harry shrugged and smiled. They both understood what had caused these changes.

The sunlight continued to bathe the earth around them as they walked, making the lawns and the surface of the Black Lake shimmer with an ethereal light.

The water stretched out like a mirror, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds so perfectly that it was difficult to tell where reality ended and reflection began.

Even the Forbidden Forest, which had always appeared behind Hagrid’s modest wooden hut like a wall of impenetrable darkness and mystery, no longer appeared as the dark, ominous mass.

Perhaps it was the bright weather, or perhaps it was his own changed perspective after facing truly terrifying darkness, but the forest seemed almost welcoming today.

As soon as they approached Hagrid’s familiar hut with its pumpkin patch and various magical creatures wandering the nearby grounds, a screaming little creature flashed out from the shadows inside the house like a bolt of lightning.

The sudden movement was so unexpected that both Harry and Hermione startled, hands instinctively went for their wands before they recognized the source of the commotion.

“Mistress Granger!” the creature cried, rushing toward Hermione with tears streaming down its face in rivers of agony.

It was Freodom, the house-elf who had somehow grown to full adult size and stature during this time. Freodom burst into tears the moment it saw Hermione, its large eyes were overflowing with guilt and self-blame.

It blamed itself for failing in its duties, for not protecting Hermione properly and letting her experience danger. But after the first task of the tournament, Hagrid had sternly warned it that if it dared interfere with the competition again, Hermione could very well be disqualified from the tournament or even expelled.

Hermione sighed deeply as she knelt down to comfort the distraught house-elf. She had heard from Harry about how Winky, Barty Crouch Sr.’s former house-elf, had grown into a free elf capable of disobeying her master’s direct orders.

But Freodom, despite his physical growth and improved circumstances, had made what Hermione considered “no progress” at all in terms of developing true independence. Like Freodom, she felt guilty about their situation.

Harry and Ron exchanged meaningful glances over Hermione’s head as she continued to comfort the weeping house-elf. They both knew from experience that this particular scene wouldn’t end quickly.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, they walked ahead toward Hagrid, who stood in the doorway of his hut with his massive body filling the entrance.

His wild hair and beard caught the afternoon sunlight, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure as he welcomed them both with joy.

“So good to see you, little ones!”

Once they were inside, Hagrid happily gave both Harry and Ron vigorous hugs that threatened to crack their ribs.

Then he turned to lead them deeper into the house. “I just heard you’d been released from the hospital wing!” He continued, his voice booming with delight. “Madam Pomfrey finally decided you were fit for human company again, eh?”

Hagrid went to the cupboard with its mismatched collection of plates and cups, retrieving several enormous mugs that would have been perfectly sized for someone of his stature but required two hands for normal-sized humans to manage safely.

He made tea with his usual enthusiastic approach which involved enough tea leaves to float a small boat and water that was heated to temperatures that would have been more appropriate for forging steel than brewing beverages.

Along with the tea, he brought out a plate of what were his famous rock cakes, though the name was more literal than metaphorical.

Harry glanced at them twice having survived previous encounters with Hagrid’s baking attempts. These were obviously Hagrid’s own handiwork rather than something prepared by Freodom.

Harry had learned through painful experience that attempting to eat one of Hagrid’s rock cakes could result in chipped teeth, and he decided to focus his attention on the tea instead.

“How are you feeling?” Hagrid asked in his booming voice as he settled his massive body on the edge of his enormous bed.

Ron’s lips moved as if he were about to respond, but no words emerged.

He seemed to struggle internally for several moments before falling silent again, his face troubled by thoughts he clearly didn’t know how to express. He himself felt that something wasn’t quite right with him, though he couldn’t say exactly what had changed or why he felt so different from the boy who had entered the Lake just days earlier.

He had personally witnessed the You-Know-Who’s resurrection ritual. Before the Dark Lord had personally moved against them, Ron had worked alongside Harry and Hermione to take down the murderous conceit of Barty Crouch Jr.

Such an extraordinary experience should have been something he’d boast about widely to anyone who would listen. The old Ron would have turned the story into an epic tale of heroism and adventure, exaggerating details with each narration until he became the central hero of a histrionic narrative.

But now… The words wouldn’t come.

During these long days and longer nights in the hospital wing, in the deep midnight hours when sleep refused to come, he kept remembering that Killing Curse that had struck him in the chest.

The memory was vivid beyond anything he had ever experienced, the flash of green light, the sensation of his life being ripped away from his body.

He remembered the unwillingness and desperate reluctance he had felt as his consciousness began to fade, the thought that he was leaving behind everything and everyone he had ever loved.

These overwhelming emotions and memories left him with absolutely no mood to boast about anything.

Harry, meanwhile, instinctively wanted to give Hagrid the reassuring answer he was clearly hoping for. But when he actually prepared to say those comforting words, he found himself unable to make a sound. His throat seemed to compress, and the lies he wanted to tell got stuck in his mouth.

Everything that had happened that day in the graveyard seemed to exist in a strange space between dream and reality. The events were simultaneously too fantastic to believe and too vivid to dismiss as imagination.

The contemptible Karkaroff desperately trying to bargain his way out of facing Voldemort’s wrath. The fearless Barty Crouch Sr., maintaining his dignity even in the face of death, choosing to die. The shameful disgraceful Barty Crouch Jr. The loyal house-elf Winky.

And finally… Voldemort, so evil that he had surpassed the very concept of being “human.”

Nobility, wickedness, evil, death, war—these had been abstract concepts before, words in textbooks or distant historical events. Now they had become vivid and concrete in his mind.

The memory of his third year came back to him.

Professor Watson had taken him on that eye-opening visit to the underground levels of Diagon Alley, revealing the hidden world that existed beneath the cheerful shops and restaurants that most wizards saw.

The chaotic scenes he had witnessed there: the black-market dealers, the desperate people selling questionable potions, the casual violence that lurked just beneath the surface of civilized wizarding society, these had helped him realize that Hogwarts wasn’t all of the wizarding world.

That experience had shattered his childish illusions about the magical world being inherently good and just. He had learned that the real wizarding world wasn’t as perfect as he had imagined during his first years at school—it was cruel and realistic.

Everything he had experienced in the graveyard had served to consolidate and deepen this understanding of the world’s true nature.

The illusions of his early years at Hogwarts, when magic had seemed like the answer to every problem and the wizarding world had appeared to be a place of wonder and justice were now completely gone, replaced by a much more complex and troubling view of reality.

Hermione finally entered the house with Freodom trailing behind her, the house-elf’s emotional crisis apparently resolved for the moment.

She took her position by the doorframe, but her face was equally pale and tight-lipped as she joined their circle of silence.

“Not feeling too good, are you?” Hagrid observed with a sad but understanding smile, his enormous hands twiddling his thumbs. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I always knew he’d come back, you see.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all looked at Hagrid with varying degrees of surprise.

“I’ve known it all these years, really,” Hagrid continued, his eyes growing distant as he gazed into the crackling fire.

“Deep down, where you know things without wanting to admit them to yourself, I knew he was hiding somewhere in the shadows, biding his time, waiting for his chance to return.”

He paused, seemingly lost in memories that were clearly not pleasant ones.

“This was bound to happen eventually. There was never really any question of ‘if,’ only ‘when.’ Well, it’s happened now, hasn’t it? And we must face reality, however terrible it might be. We have to fight him, all of us together. We can prevent him from gaining power again, from ruling over everything and everyone like he tried to do before.”

Hagrid’s voice grew stronger, more determined, as he continued. “Dumbledore is absolutely determined to stop him, you know. Dumbledore—he’s truly a remarkable man, the greatest wizard of our age. As long as he’s here at Hogwarts, I don’t worry too much about the ultimate outcome. What’s more, we now have Professor Watson fighting alongside him too.

Honestly, I think either one of them would be more than a match for You-Know-Who. But now we have both of them working together.”

“But what about the Ministry?” Hermione interjected, her voice carrying a worried tone. “If the Ministry continues to insist on its current position, if they keep refusing to acknowledge that You-Know-Who has returned, then many people who don’t know the truth won’t realize the danger they’re in.

This would obviously give Voldemort a tremendous opportunity to build up his forces in secret, to recruit new followers and consolidate his power base while everyone else remains unaware.”

Harry and Ron turned surprised looks toward Hermione, their eyebrows rising in unison. This particular point was something she had never mentioned in any of their many conversations over the past few days.

“Oh, I have to praise that clever head of yours again, Hermione,” Hagrid said, blinking his eyes in surprise and approval. “That’s exactly right, spot on. You’ve put your finger on what might be our biggest problem.”

Hagrid’s expression grew grimmer. “Fudge, that good-for-nothing fool, all he does is worry about someone taking his Minister’s position away from him. Mark my words, he’ll regret this willful blindness before everything is said and done.”

“So that means,” Harry said slowly, his brow furrowing as he worked through the logic, “Voldemort won’t take any major action for now? He needs time to quietly build up his forces without attracting too much attention. But he already has those Death Eaters from before, doesn’t he?”

“This isn’t some group duel you’d practice in class, Harry,” Hagrid explained patiently. “You-Know-Who can’t just attack the entire wizarding world with a handful of Death Eaters, no matter how skilled or fanatical they might be. He needs a proper army for that, hundreds or even thousands of followers willing to fight and die for his cause.”

“But who would join him?” Ron asked, feeling puzzled. “I mean, everyone knows what he’s like, don’t they? Everyone knows what happened the last time he was in power.”

Hagrid’s expression grew heavy.

“You-Know-Who is more capable than you might think, Ron. He’ll always manage to find a large group of bad people who are eager to do evil, people who have been waiting for someone to give them permission to indulge their darkest desires.”

Hagrid’s voice had a tone of disgust as he continued. “He tells them they can gain power and wealth and status just by following him. He promises them that they’ll be the ones in charge when he’s finished, that they’ll rule over the people they’ve always resented or envied.

Hmph, there’s never a shortage of bewitched wizards who are willing to believe such lies, especially when those lies offer them everything, they think they deserve.”

Hagrid shook his head sadly.

“This is also what Professor Dumbledore is mainly focused on right now—preventing Voldemort from gaining more support, cutting off his recruitment efforts before they can really get started.”

“Has Dumbledore assigned you such a task too?” Harry’s brow twitched slightly as he blurted out, “That day in the hospital wing, I heard him ask Professor McGonagall to send you a message. He said there was something he needed you to do. What was it, Hagrid?”

“I can’t tell you that, Harry,” Hagrid said firmly, shaking his head. “Dumbledore specifically told me not to say too much to you.”

Upon hearing this unexpected refusal, Harry was stunned into silence for a moment. Then his expression visibly darkened.

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