The Camel's Back
Professor McGonagall sat at the Head table in the Great Hall and waited for her students to arrive. Today was the first day of the school year, the day when hundreds of students from all over Great Britain would return to Hogwarts to continue their education in the wizarding arts. Currently no students were present, having only just arrived at the Hogsmeade train station after their long journey, but Minerva liked to wait in the silence that only filled the Great Hall when no students lived at the school. Soon, the tables in front of her would be filled to capacity with her children; fighting, frolicking, freaking and feasting. Her own house, Gryffindor, would likely be the rowdiest table by far; they always were. Nothing could rob them of their determination to have a good time, no matter the hostilities going on in the outside world. Well, almost nothing...
The heavy doors swung open and in strode Dumbledore, impressive as always. He strode up the aisles between the tables, making one final check of the hall before the student body arrived. His shoulders held high, his eyes sparkling brighter than ever before, he still commanded the room, even empty as it was. And yet, she could tell it was all an act. His posture, his gaze, his attention to detail, was all a facade, designed to make him seem stronger than he really was. Only from knowing him for as long as she had could she tell that he was hurting inside, hurting just as much as she herself was. Satisfied with his inspection, he glanced up at the High Table, and, much like he did every year, jerked in feigned surprise. Every year it was the same; the silence, the inspection, the conversation. Any second now he would be saying...
"Fancy meeting you here, Professor McGonagall. You're a touch early for the feast."
Minerva glared down at him from behind the table. How dare he pretend that everything was normal! One of their students, one of the bravest, kindest souls ever to pass through Hogwarts' halls, had been taken from them before his time, and here stood Albus, acting as he did every year. There was no-one here to fool, no-one to be strong for. In this empty hall, they should have been free to express their pain, their sorrow, but still it was kept hidden under a veil of tradition. She wanted to scream her frustrations down at him, force him to acknowledge their loss, but instead she found herself speaking the next part of their ritual, almost as if on automatic.
"I wanted some time to my thoughts before it became too loud to think, Headmaster."
The words were hollow, dead, and Albus obviously noticed the lack of enthusiasm this year, his smile fading and the ritual forgotten.
"My dear Minerva, what is the matter? It is the beginning of yet another splendid year, full of laughter and learning for all! In but a few short minutes, this room will be full of students, eager to avail themselves of your masterful tutelage."
"The problem, Albus," she almost spat the name, "is that not all of the students will be returning this year. Harry is gone, Albus, or had you forgotten? I cannot just pretend that it does not affect me!"
"Minerva, I am as saddened by the loss just as much as you are, but we must at least give the appearance of being strong. Our children will be walking in that door soon, expecting us to set an example, and we must be brave for them."
Bravery: the defining trait of a true Gryffindor. Dumbledore was right, they had to be brave for the students sake. Taking a deep breath, Professor McGonagall tried to compose herself. It was difficut, as memories kept flashing through her mind; images of lessons mastered and Quidditch matches won, and throughout it all, one boy with intidy black hair and glasses. It was some time before she was fully composed, and she finally looked up to see herself surrounded at the table by her fellow professors, who had obviously arrived without her noticing. To her left sat Dumbledore, who looked down at her and patted her hand lightly in comfort before turning back to his conversation with Professor Sprout, who sat on his other side. Beyond Sprout there was an empty space, set aside for Professor Snape, who had yet to make an appearance. It took her a moment to remember that it was his turn to escort the first years into the great hall this year, so he was likely waiting just outside.
Minerva turned to the tiny Professor Flitwick seated to her right on a high stool, who immediately tried to draw her into a discussion on the relative merits of switching spells versus changing charms. She welcomed the distraction, and they spent a good five minutes arguing over wand positions and incantations before they both lapsed into an awkward silence, too tired to keep up the charade. She could see sorrow in his eyes, mirroring her own, and knew that every one of the faculty was experiencing the same feelings of loss she was. Harry was a memorable student, and all would miss him.
The doors to the Great Hall swung open as the first of the students arrived from Hogsmeade. They wandered in in twos and threes, taking their time on their way to the tables. Some students could be seen waiting outside for their friends to arrive in the next batch of carriages, before casually strolling and and taking their places. There was no rush, no sense of urgency; the feast would not begin without them, and the sorting would come first. Now was a time for catching up with friends, and joyful anticipation of the year ahead. Some glanced up at the head table, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new Defence teacher (they did seem to go through them) and Minerva glanced down the table towards their new staff member, Gregory Darwin. He alone amongst those at the high table seemed immune to the plague of grieving that infected those around him, and was happily waving back at those he would be teaching this year.
Professor McGonagall turned back to the hall, looking up and down the Gryffindor table for two faces in particular, and found them just walking in the doors. I fresh wave of dismay swept over her as she looked at the dejected faces of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. They had probably had a hard journey from London, for the first time missing the company of Harry Potter on the long train ride. They seemed lost without him, their entire routine broken as they walked hesitantly towards their customary spots halfway down the table. Without a word to each other, they automatically seperated and sat down, leaving a space between them that would never be filled again. Around them, the hall bustled and murmered of homes and holidays, but in those three spaces, hopelessness reigned.
Minerva fought back the tears which threatened to spill out. She quickly looked away and concentrated on watching the thinning herd of students strolling into the room. As the last lingering Hufflepuff half-sprinted into the hall, the doors once again swung shut, not to be opened until the first years had arrived to be sorted. The chattering amongst the students slowly faded away, replaced by an eager silence. Some looked towards the head table, waiting for Dumbledore to make his move; others watched the doors for the entrance of the new students. All waited patiently for what was to come next.
Ten minutes later they were still waiting, albeit lass patiently. The students shifted restlessly on the benches, muttering to their friends about the holdup. Some complained openly about the delay of the traditional start-of-term feast, and alternated between glaring at the doors and at the headmaster. McGonagall glanced at the headmaster, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He was still chatting away with Professor Sprout, and Professor Darwin had apparently found something to interject into the conversation, as he was now leaning across Severus' position to talk excitedly with the two of them.
After another ten minutes, Dumbledore could no longer pretend that nothing was wrong. The students were all now alternating between complaining loudly to each other and glaring daggers at any member of staff who happened to glance in their direction. Even some of the other staff were looking questioningly at the headmaster, and Minerva could detect the first hint of worry in his expression. It was now roughly twenty minutes past the time when the doors would normally have been re-opened by a head of house, and still there was no sign of Severus Snape, Rubeus Hagrid, or the thirty-eight first years listed to start their schooling this year. Even the remnants of the famous Gryffindor trio had finally started to take notice of their surroundings, Ron staring dejectedly at his empty plate and Hermione raising her gaze to the heavy doors.
Just as the headmaster stood up to investigate the delay, the doors finally swung open forcefully, but there was no comfort in the sight now revealed. Severus Snape stood in the doorway, but instead of leading a line of first years into the hall, he was instead struggling to support the huge bulk of the school's groundskeeper. Hagrid was barely recognisable, his beard and hair almost completely burned off, and his face a mass of cuts and bruises. He was absolutely drenched. The school watched in stunned silence as Snape helped the half-giant up the aisles to the head table, too horrified to ask any questions.
"Severus, what has happened? How did Hagrid come to be this way?" asked Dumbledore, worry clearly evident on his face even as he sent a streak of silver light shooting off in the direction of the hospital wing to summon Madam Pomfrey.
"I don't know, Headmaster. He staggered into the entrance hall like this, and simply collapsed."
The scrape of benches drew Professor McGonagall's attention and she looked up from Hagrid to see Hermione and Ron running up the aisles, fear for their friend over-riding their other worries. Minerva looked sadly on as they skidded to a halt next to Hagrid, Ron standing helplessly to the side while Hermione took his hand and tried to rouse him. Dumbledore did nothing to discourage them; they had experienced enough loss lately. More than just a friend, Hagrid was a link to Harry, a reminder of what they had lost, and they clung to it desperately.
Hadgrid gave an almighty groan and opened his eyes: they darted about, scared of what he might see. Looking up into the worried face of Dumbledore, he suddenly shot out a hand and frantically grasped for the headmaster's robes, pulling him down.
"I..I've failed you, sir. I tried to fight. I tried to..."
"Hagrid, who did this? The first years, Hagrid! Where are the first years? Are they safe?" Dumbledore was quickly getting worried, glancing from Hagrid to the doors and back again.
"D..Death Eaters, sir! Dozens of 'em! They came out of no-where, s..surrounded us on tha lake. The firs' years, they...I failed them..." and the giant's face crumpled in anguish, tears leaking from his eyes.
The school erupted in screams, but it was nothing more than a muted roar to her ears. It was just too much to comprehend; an entire year of Hogwarts students, simply gone. There would be no children eagerly absorbing their first tuition in the magical arts, no children learning to ride a broomstick for the first time. There would be no OWLS in five years; no graduates in seven. The wizarding community would be shattered; who dared oppose one who would cause such wide-scale destruction, who could throw away an entire year of students as if they were nothing. Those students were no danger, they'd had no training and were defenceless but for a half-giant with 3 years of magical training.
Minerva felt herself growing faint and took one last glance around the hall. Utter chaos reigned in the great hall, with students fleeing to the dormitories or wherever they felt safest. Hagrid lay crumpled on the ground, his great strength finally depleted. The teachers wore similar looks of shock to what she imagined on her own face. The last thing she saw before the blackness claimed her was the once mighty form of Albus Dumbledore, greatest of all the Hogwarts Headmasters, kneeling on the floor by his fallen friend, tears streaming down his face.
The End.
Authors Note:
I first imagined this scene about a year before Celebony even set his challenge, and was simply terrified by the power I saw in this ficlet. I didn't want to think about it, let alone write it, and yet here I am. A lot has changed in the last year, myself included, and I now feel comfortable enough with myself and my imagination that I can put this horror story into words.
Like many of my story ideas, it came about as a hypothetical question. I found myself asking 'Why are the first years (the most vulnerable students of all) seperated from the main groups, transported along a well-know route, over indefensible terrain (the lake) and escorted only by a man who doesn't even qualify as a wizard? The prospect of attack quickly surfaced, and the sheer brutality of it, as well as the affect it would have on morale in the wizarding world, shocked me so much that I found myself asking for advice in RossWrock's yahoo group.
When Celebony set this challenge (to write a ficlet which shows what happens after the alternate ending to Recnac Transfaerso), I immediately thought of this fic idea. It is an ending (more or less), and follows the unhappy finish to the alternate ending. My original concept didn't even involve the loss of Harry, but the emotions just fit so well that it was the only story I could enter into the competition.