By Chloe
There is No Such Thing as a Good War, or a Bad Peace
-----
Dumbledore watches the students.
Their school robes have been pressed and refurbished to perfect black. Those who have them, wear dress robes darkened for the week, two weeks, month. From the head table, Dumbledore watches his students ingest food and he knows they taste little of it.
The Hufflepuffs try to keep up amiable conversation. They struggle to maintain a guise of normality, for their own sake. The Ravenclaw tables are the emptiest. Nearly all of them have shied to theirs dorms, they huddle in their common room together now. They hide behind their books and learning. They Slytherins have changed little. And while Dumbledore all but expected such a reaction from them, his insides still twist when he looks to their tables and sees that their black seems to gleam, and their eyes don't even mourn in the least.
In the past month, Snape has reported that only one Slytherin sheds tears. Dumbledore knows who this student is. He knows because the boy's blond hair is bed-tangled and his pale skin has lost its porcelain effect, looking more bruised than china perfect.
Understandably, it is Gryffindor that pains the Headmaster most. The brightest house has lost its luster. The lion on the Gryffindor banner has been curled into a ball of gold at the corner of its scarlet home for nearly three weeks now. The Gryffindor house grieves the hardest. They wrap their arms around each other, bodies that have never touched before become as intimate as lovers, and tears are shed freely onto shoulders, into hair, and onto the tables' ancient wooden surfaces. The first years sob because nearly all their housemates do.
It is Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley alone who Dumbledore worries most over, this too, is understandable. Ron has lost his sister and they know of things to come. They know the Ministry's internal structure is in shambles, they know that soon there will be a grand coup and all the things they strived for will be instantaneously destroyed. Dumbledore can see in the dullness of their eyes that they have resolved themselves to their friend's death, Harry's death. They are only waiting for things to completely collapse.
Hogwarts has not mourned in this manner for nearly 16 years, and even then the deaths of James and Lily Potter were not nearly as painful for the Wizarding World as that of Harry Potter has been.
In a way, Dumbledore is certain that all of the houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor-especially Gryffindor, and even Slytherin know that horrors will be carried on the distant and approaching wind. That a storm will soon be unleashed upon them, and that storm will leave more death in its wreckage than they can possible imagine in their young, idealistic hearts. They know, somehow, that in the coming months they will be war- torn. Unconsciously, some are even thankful that they may not live to see their world in ruins.
The difference between Slytherin and the other houses though, is that the Slytherins truly believe they'll survive the tempest that shall follow the death of The Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore can see it in their stance. He can see it in the sharp, capable gazes of the Slytherin prefects and even in the determined looks of the first years.
It is not that nearly half the members of Slytherin house are Death Eater born; it is because survival is in their nature, it part of why the Sorting Hat placed them where they are. But Dumbledore knows something they don't. He knows that they are just as human as their schoolmates, and that even those who are on the winning side can die. And their side, the Dark Lord's side, is the winning side.
Ron and Hermione know this too. And when Cornelius Fudge is found murdered with the Dark Mark hanging ominously above his bed, and the Boy Who Lived has slept soundly under two meters of soil for three months, the rest of the Wizarding World knows it as well.
Dumbledore sees that they are all waiting. Waiting for the moment that Hogwarts will be leveled to the ground. He waits with them, too.
There is No Such Thing as a Good War, or a Bad Peace
-----
Dumbledore watches the students.
Their school robes have been pressed and refurbished to perfect black. Those who have them, wear dress robes darkened for the week, two weeks, month. From the head table, Dumbledore watches his students ingest food and he knows they taste little of it.
The Hufflepuffs try to keep up amiable conversation. They struggle to maintain a guise of normality, for their own sake. The Ravenclaw tables are the emptiest. Nearly all of them have shied to theirs dorms, they huddle in their common room together now. They hide behind their books and learning. They Slytherins have changed little. And while Dumbledore all but expected such a reaction from them, his insides still twist when he looks to their tables and sees that their black seems to gleam, and their eyes don't even mourn in the least.
In the past month, Snape has reported that only one Slytherin sheds tears. Dumbledore knows who this student is. He knows because the boy's blond hair is bed-tangled and his pale skin has lost its porcelain effect, looking more bruised than china perfect.
Understandably, it is Gryffindor that pains the Headmaster most. The brightest house has lost its luster. The lion on the Gryffindor banner has been curled into a ball of gold at the corner of its scarlet home for nearly three weeks now. The Gryffindor house grieves the hardest. They wrap their arms around each other, bodies that have never touched before become as intimate as lovers, and tears are shed freely onto shoulders, into hair, and onto the tables' ancient wooden surfaces. The first years sob because nearly all their housemates do.
It is Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley alone who Dumbledore worries most over, this too, is understandable. Ron has lost his sister and they know of things to come. They know the Ministry's internal structure is in shambles, they know that soon there will be a grand coup and all the things they strived for will be instantaneously destroyed. Dumbledore can see in the dullness of their eyes that they have resolved themselves to their friend's death, Harry's death. They are only waiting for things to completely collapse.
Hogwarts has not mourned in this manner for nearly 16 years, and even then the deaths of James and Lily Potter were not nearly as painful for the Wizarding World as that of Harry Potter has been.
In a way, Dumbledore is certain that all of the houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor-especially Gryffindor, and even Slytherin know that horrors will be carried on the distant and approaching wind. That a storm will soon be unleashed upon them, and that storm will leave more death in its wreckage than they can possible imagine in their young, idealistic hearts. They know, somehow, that in the coming months they will be war- torn. Unconsciously, some are even thankful that they may not live to see their world in ruins.
The difference between Slytherin and the other houses though, is that the Slytherins truly believe they'll survive the tempest that shall follow the death of The Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore can see it in their stance. He can see it in the sharp, capable gazes of the Slytherin prefects and even in the determined looks of the first years.
It is not that nearly half the members of Slytherin house are Death Eater born; it is because survival is in their nature, it part of why the Sorting Hat placed them where they are. But Dumbledore knows something they don't. He knows that they are just as human as their schoolmates, and that even those who are on the winning side can die. And their side, the Dark Lord's side, is the winning side.
Ron and Hermione know this too. And when Cornelius Fudge is found murdered with the Dark Mark hanging ominously above his bed, and the Boy Who Lived has slept soundly under two meters of soil for three months, the rest of the Wizarding World knows it as well.
Dumbledore sees that they are all waiting. Waiting for the moment that Hogwarts will be leveled to the ground. He waits with them, too.