Post by Milo Witte on Nov 8, 2015 11:20:48 GMT -8
Thursday, 15 March 2012
9:00 p.m.
It was over. It really was over.
And it had been for over a month, yet Milo was having a hard time accepting it.
Perhaps it was so long living in suspense and refined terror or perhaps it was that he had been bested by the Ministry. Milo (and the world) might never know.
Things had returned to normal--or as close to normal as they could return. Hogwarts was resilient. The wizarding world as a whole was resilient. But this was worse than the basilisk incident of years past. In many ways, this was worse than the battles that had occurred on the castle grounds. Students and staff had been killed, had been reigned by terror for far too long while the Ministry had done what little they seemed capable of doing, which wasn't much.
Now, the Ministry was stormed by protesters from everything the Quibbler and other rags who dared attempt what little freedom of the press remained--which wasn't much (Most of their reporting was in what was not written.)--wrote. Students had trickled back, but the absence of the murdered and those who had been withdrawn was still noticeable, and the fear instilled in students and staff alike remained palpable in the air. It was present especially at night when it was dark and students returned to their own commons to retire for the evening. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs walked together as far as they could, and the same could be said for Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. The few younger years that hadn't been removed huddled together and relied on a favorite prefect, professor, or their head of house to return them to their commons safely.
Students rumored that the Vampire had turned someone else, and that person remained in the shadows, waiting to attack. It had started with one particularly cruel upper year had decided to tell a scary story one night to some younger years, and the rumor had spread like wildfire.
Headmaster Camoynes wasn't incredibly helpful in calming the students, and Dresden tried in his own right as deputy headmaster to help calm the masses. Even his lighter-hearted nature didn't seem to help things as much as one might hope. It was hard, after all, to be genuinely light hearted after everything they had just been through.
The whole situation was downright saddening.
Yet Milo's brain still often found itself where it was tonight: wondering how he'd had it yet no one had listened. No one wanted to help. No one wanted to believe a quirky arithmancy professor. He'd been disbelieved, ignored for so long. Perhaps the letters he had sent to the Ministry had resulted in the ending that night, but perhaps not. It was hard to say. The Ministry was so pig-headed. Something had to be done. Something had to be changed, but it was clear Milo as he was was not going to cut it--not if something were to truly be done.
But how could he change?
He remembered the fight with his She-Wolf once upon a time--the one that had ended their relationship through the silence that had followed and the deep chasm which had grown between them. Maybe he should have listened. Maybe the change would have started then. Maybe he would have solved the mystery and people would have listened to him.
But then again, would he have taken the riddle? Would he have worked it so thoroughly? He wanted to believe that, yes, he still would have. But who could say for sure? Change was a fickle thing.
Milo sighed heavily as he leaned forward over his knees to grab a little pebble and throw it. His bum lifted from the boulder he was perched upon from the force, and he stumbled forward.
Would he ever feel the same?
It was an honest question.
9:00 p.m.
It was over. It really was over.
And it had been for over a month, yet Milo was having a hard time accepting it.
Perhaps it was so long living in suspense and refined terror or perhaps it was that he had been bested by the Ministry. Milo (and the world) might never know.
Things had returned to normal--or as close to normal as they could return. Hogwarts was resilient. The wizarding world as a whole was resilient. But this was worse than the basilisk incident of years past. In many ways, this was worse than the battles that had occurred on the castle grounds. Students and staff had been killed, had been reigned by terror for far too long while the Ministry had done what little they seemed capable of doing, which wasn't much.
Now, the Ministry was stormed by protesters from everything the Quibbler and other rags who dared attempt what little freedom of the press remained--which wasn't much (Most of their reporting was in what was not written.)--wrote. Students had trickled back, but the absence of the murdered and those who had been withdrawn was still noticeable, and the fear instilled in students and staff alike remained palpable in the air. It was present especially at night when it was dark and students returned to their own commons to retire for the evening. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs walked together as far as they could, and the same could be said for Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. The few younger years that hadn't been removed huddled together and relied on a favorite prefect, professor, or their head of house to return them to their commons safely.
Students rumored that the Vampire had turned someone else, and that person remained in the shadows, waiting to attack. It had started with one particularly cruel upper year had decided to tell a scary story one night to some younger years, and the rumor had spread like wildfire.
Headmaster Camoynes wasn't incredibly helpful in calming the students, and Dresden tried in his own right as deputy headmaster to help calm the masses. Even his lighter-hearted nature didn't seem to help things as much as one might hope. It was hard, after all, to be genuinely light hearted after everything they had just been through.
The whole situation was downright saddening.
Yet Milo's brain still often found itself where it was tonight: wondering how he'd had it yet no one had listened. No one wanted to help. No one wanted to believe a quirky arithmancy professor. He'd been disbelieved, ignored for so long. Perhaps the letters he had sent to the Ministry had resulted in the ending that night, but perhaps not. It was hard to say. The Ministry was so pig-headed. Something had to be done. Something had to be changed, but it was clear Milo as he was was not going to cut it--not if something were to truly be done.
But how could he change?
He remembered the fight with his She-Wolf once upon a time--the one that had ended their relationship through the silence that had followed and the deep chasm which had grown between them. Maybe he should have listened. Maybe the change would have started then. Maybe he would have solved the mystery and people would have listened to him.
But then again, would he have taken the riddle? Would he have worked it so thoroughly? He wanted to believe that, yes, he still would have. But who could say for sure? Change was a fickle thing.
Milo sighed heavily as he leaned forward over his knees to grab a little pebble and throw it. His bum lifted from the boulder he was perched upon from the force, and he stumbled forward.
Would he ever feel the same?
It was an honest question.