Albus then lowered the wand, his expression solemn and distant. The crowd waited, tense and silent. It was finally time for Albus Dumbledore to speak.
"Today is a very momentous occasion. A very sad and painful occasion but yes momentous," Dumbledore began, his voice weary and heavy with emotion.
"First of all, I would like to offer my deepest condolences to the two students, their families, their friends and their acquaintances who have lost their lives in such a tragic event. I find myself at a loss for words to truly express what I am feeling, what I am going through."
He paused, his gaze lowering briefly toward the two freshly erected tombstones before continuing.
"Never in my life did I imagine that a day would come when I would be standing here, on these very grounds, attending the funeral of two of my own students. I am deeply pained and profoundly saddened that such a thing has come to pass."
He took a slow, deliberate breath. It was eerily quiet and the faint rustle of the wind was the only sound echoing through the ground.
"Once again," he said softly, "I offer my heartfelt condolences to them and to their parents. I pray that these two innocent souls find peace in their afterlife, free from all suffering and pain."
"Now," Dumbledore continued, his voice steady though tinged with fatigue, "as for the tragedy that has unfolded, I do not think there is much left to say about it."
"Around two dozen Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade and brought chaos and destruction in their wake. I will not speak much of the details now, as Professor McGonagall will soon share the official account from our side, containing everything from the narration of the events, our immediate response and what we have learned so far from our investigation."
Antonio's brows furrowed slightly. If Dumbledore was not focusing on the attack itself, he thought, then clearly, he has something far more important to say.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore smiled faintly, a small, weary smile that seemed to carry a heavy burden.
"My nature, or rather what kind of man I am, is no secret to anyone," he said quietly. "My temperament, my beliefs, and my way of thinking are things most of you already know."
"I am a man of forgiveness," he went on, his voice growing more somber, "a firm believer in second chances or even third chances for a person to redeem himself."
"For reasons that are deeply personal, I have always held the belief that even the worst of us, even those who have fallen to darkness should be given an opportunity for redemption."
Antonio's eyes narrowed further. Was Dumbledore truly about to advocate forgiveness for the Death Eaters?
No. He could not. Even if the old man's heart inclined toward mercy, to say such a thing publicly, today of all days, would be political suicide. Antonio leaned slightly forward, his gaze fixed on the Headmaster, waiting to see where this was leading.
"And I am not shy to admit," Dumbledore continued, his voice calm but heavy, "that I have always hoped, and many would consider me foolish for this, that the Death Eaters might one day redeem themselves."
"That there would come a time when they would recognize their mistakes, their cruelty, their blindness and willingly turn away from the darkness to embrace the light. That they would leave the path of evil and choose a path of goodness and virtue. That despite all the darkness inside them something good could be salvaged out of them in the end."
He paused for a long moment. The silence that followed was absolute. No whisper, no shuffle, and this time not even the sound of the wind as if the air itself was reacting to Dumbledore's words.
"But perhaps," Dumbledore said at last, a deep sigh escaping his lips, "it seems that I was wrong."
"The Death Eaters have chosen a path from which there is no return. If they can sink so low as to harm such innocent souls, children, who have not even reached adulthood, then they have fallen beyond redemption."
"They will never leave that path," he declared. "An attack on Hogsmeade targeting children is an extremely heinous, evil and shameful thing."
"Even after all this," Dumbledore continued, his voice rising, now carrying a hard, unfamiliar edge, "if I were to still hold on to my beliefs, if I were still to forgive them, to hope they might one day change, then I would make a mockery of the sacrifices of my students."
"What face shall I show them when I meet them in the afterlife?" he demanded, his voice trembling, not with fear, but with fury and conviction. "What shall I tell them when they ask me, 'What did you do to bring justice for us?' Will I have the courage to look into their innocent eyes?"
The very air around him seemed to thrum with power. The frailty in his posture, the weariness in his tone, all of it was fading, being replaced by something fierce, something formidable.
"Let alone the afterlife," he thundered. "Every time I walk these grounds and pass their tombstones, what shall I say to myself? How shall I look into a mirror knowing I could not seek justice for my own students?"
Albus Dumbledore turned silent for a couple of moments. And it happened. Suddenly.
A surge of raw, overwhelming magic burst forth from Dumbledore. The very air thickened as an enormous wave of power spread across the Hogwarts grounds, with him at its center. The temperature seemed to plummet as everyone felt a chill down their spine. The pressure was suffocating and the weaker wizards and witches were almost trembling.
Even the strongest of the gathered wizards felt their hearts pound as dread clawed at them.
Only a few stood their ground without flinching. Antonio Olario and Minerva McGonagall among them. Even Bellatrix, genius and powerful she was, felt the edge of that pressure gnawing at her resolve. Antonio, meanwhile, had his eyes narrowed wondering about the sudden transformation inside Dumbledore.
The old, gentle Headmaster of Hogwarts was gone.
What now stood before them was Albus Dumbledore. The very same man who was said to be the most powerful wizard to walk the ground in centuries.
"Voldemort," he boomed; his voice flared, and everyone instinctively stepped back. Whether it was because of the name or because of the outburst from Dumbledore, it was hard to tell. "I know you will hear this."
"Here is a message from me," he continued, his voice echoing across the grounds. "Run away!"
"And to all the Death Eaters who have decided to serve him. Be wary! If you don that dress, be prepared to be killed. I am coming for you. Each and every one of you. The moment I spot a Death Eater, I will kill a death eater."
"There will be no mercy. There will be no trials. There will be only one thing. Death."
As the word death echoed across the grounds, everyone stood in stunned silence. They could not have imagined that Albus Dumbledore would declare something like this. It was more than they had dared to imagine. And what would the consequences be? No one knew.
Everyone in the crowd feared Voldemort. Even those who served him feared the Dark Lord. But they were equally aware of Dumbledore's prowess. Dumbledore had never struck such a fearsome posture before. He usually restrained himself, rarely raised his voice and seldom used his wand. Now that restraint had been shed, the consequences were unknown.
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