FROM THE TOWER'S BATTLEMENTS
I nudged my way through the crowd. Approaching the center of the congregation, the voices dropped from puzzled murmuring to a blanket of stillness that hung in the air. Unable to push aside the shoulders of those transfixed or crying, I peeked between the arms and understood the silence.
My friend appeared in my hindsight.
"He's dead."
I lifted my head, a weak gesture of acknowledgment.
Even the professors were in the same state of shock and disbelief that I had learned to recognize as grief. Professor Slughorn was at the inner edge of the crowd, a pitiful expression on his face. I knew that in his head, he was wondering if there was something he could have done. Beside him, Professor McGonagall looked as stern as ever, but with her eyes shining and her jaw clenched tight. She stooped to whisper something to Slughorn and then strode back into the castle with urgency. Professor Hagrid was still sobbing, now much quieter and in the form of shuddering breaths.
"Students! Students! Please return to your dormitories to report to your Head of House! Please! Go now," Slughorn shouted.
The murmuring grew, and the people in the back began to leave.
"Come on," I told my friend, and took him by the arm. He looked at me blankly, and then we slowly walked back to the common room.