It had started off with cheering, anticipation. The grounds filled with the excitement of hundreds of people, all wondering what exactly was going on in there, and who would come out triumphant. In reality, the event went almost exactly to plan. Unfortunately for the spectators and participants, they had no idea what was to happen. And when it did happen, they thought it to be some horrific mistake. The cheering faltered; the screams began. Utter panic and chaos reigned split seconds after the catch of breath, the horrified gasp.
Potter walked into the maze, ready to win, people lauding him (perhaps a few booing) all the way. He walked out shaken, and dragging a corpse.
Hogwarts had been a mess, a cacophony of fear and confusion. It took a lot from the Professors, much stalwartly presence of mind to muster up the needed strength to command masses of students to some sort of calm resolve. Somehow everyone had made it in the school. Somehow the right parents got to the right children, and all the correct things were said and observed. Somehow, through all this mess, everyone managed to make it into the Great Hall for the parting feast.
The walls were decked in black. Black was rather a nice colour; or, not so much a colour as a shade, but nonetheless. However, the meaning of it on this day was brought to the forefront, the soft weepings of students, the stunned expressions of those determinedly controlling their emotions. Everyone knew why there were no coloured banners commemorating that yearís winner of the House Cup. They knew why everything was as bleakly drab as the future they were about to step into. The rumours were circulating with rabid speed even Hogwarts hadnít seen before.
Especially at the Slytherin table. The news of the Dark Lordís return had sent many a student into hushed conversations. Either exhilaration or trepidation, they were all murmuring, gesticulating frantically yet trying to keep their movements to a minimum. The last thing they needed was the attention of the Headmaster, or even the Professors. Some spoke of family members, others talked about considering the mark. None could say they wouldnít take the mark for others around them might report them as blood-traitors. With the return of the Dark Lord, or so people were whispering about, that was now paramount to a death sentence, rather than mocking jeers.
After the feast, their fears, or hopes as was the case with several students, were affirmed. The Dark Lord had returned; not only that, but he had also murdered already. They were to mourn the poor boy, Cedric Diggory, for he was just the first innocent victim in the beginning of a long list of obituaries. Many of the Slytherin sat staunchly, not willing to give up their position on the matter. It was too dangerous to show allegiance either way: either they would show that they would betray the Dark Lord, or demonstrate their eagerness to join his ranks. Both were unacceptable. But these students were well adapted to hiding their inner truths, to playing both sides if need be.
The ones who were leaving, however, already had their plans formulating, layer upon layer quickening in their minds. Thoughts of family and duty flickered through the brains of those seventh years sitting there, blank expressions on their faces, eyes hollow and listless. There was much to do. There was much to be planned for.
The Dark Lord was back.
Hey, just started the fic . . . Wanted to see what people thought. Donít worry, it will eventually get into Fenrir. The only problem was actually starting the fic. I need background and such, so yeah. But there will be delicious violence ^__^ I swear!