human again / hp.

Chapter 76

The Great Hall was silent, save for the shuffling of footsteps as students filed in, their expressions heavy with grief and confusion. The long tables, usually brimming with chatter and laughter, felt like solemn lines of mourning. No one dared to speak. The usual warm glow of the enchanted ceiling was replaced with a muted, overcast sky, a reflection of the mood that gripped Hogwarts.

I sat beside Daphne, the weight of the past hours pressing down on me. Cedric's death was a sharp reminder of how fragile life was, how quickly it could be taken away. I didn't know Cedric well, but the memory of his easy smile and the way people spoke of his kindness lingered in my mind. A boy like him—so full of promise—gone in an instant. And the reason? It was too terrifying to dwell on.

The teachers sat at the staff table, their faces a patchwork of grief and grim determination. Even Professor Snape's usual stoicism was cracked, his gaze fixed on the empty space before him. Professor McGonagall dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Hagrid sat with his shoulders slumped, his large hands folded tightly in his lap.

Then Dumbledore stood, and the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. His presence, always commanding, now felt almost fragile, as though the weight of what he had to say was too much for even him to bear. He stepped forward, his hands clasped in front of him, and looked out over the students.

"Today," Dumbledore began, his voice steady but low, "we acknowledge a truly terrible loss. Cedric Diggory was, as you all know, exceptionally hardworking, intricately fair-minded. And most importantly, a fierce, fierce friend."

The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. I glanced at the Hufflepuff table, where most of Cedric's housemates sat with tears streaming down their faces. Their grief was raw, unhidden, and it was heartbreaking.

"I think, therefore," Dumbledore continued, "you have the right to know exactly how he died."

A ripple of unease passed through the room. I felt my stomach tighten. This was it. The truth, spoken aloud, would make it all the more real.

"You see," Dumbledore said, his voice firm now, "Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

Gasps filled the hall, followed by a chilling silence. The name hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. I could feel the fear spreading through the room, a palpable wave that seemed to pull the air from my lungs.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore went on, his tone sharp with defiance, "does not wish me to tell you this. But not to do so, I think, would be an insult to his memory."

I swallowed hard, my hands clenching into fists in my lap. Dumbledore's words weren't just brave—they were necessary. We needed to know the truth, no matter how frightening it was.

"Now," he said, his voice softening, "the pain we all feel at this dreadful loss reminds me, reminds us, that while we may come from different places and speak in different tongues, our hearts beat as one."

I felt a lump rise in my throat. Dumbledore's words cut through the fear and despair, offering a glimmer of hope, a call to unity. Cedric's death was senseless, but it didn't have to be meaningless. We could honor him by standing together, by refusing to let the darkness divide us.

"In light of recent events," Dumbledore continued, "the bonds of friendship we made this year will be more important than ever. Remember that, and Cedric Diggory will not have died in vain."

I glanced across the hall and saw Harry. He sat at the Gryffindor table, his face pale and drawn, his eyes red-rimmed but burning with determination. He looked up, meeting Dumbledore's gaze, and I knew he was carrying a burden far heavier than anyone else in the room. Cedric had died because of Voldemort. But Harry had survived.