"Everyone, listen," he announced firmly. "We're taking you back to the castle. The injured will be treated in the infirmary immediately. If anyone feels dizzy or shows symptoms of poisoning, report it at once."
Professor Flitwick, who was performing levitation charms to transport the bodies of the fallen students, let out a deep sigh before addressing the pupils.
"We know this is difficult, but Hogwarts has strict protocols for situations like this. The Heads of House will be informed, and a ceremony will be organized to honor those who have perished. Everyone will receive support during these hard times."
"Dion! By Merlin, we thought you weren't going to wake up!" Patrick exclaimed, his face smeared with soot and a cut across his cheek.
I tried to answer, but my throat was dry. I could barely whisper:
"The others…?"
The knot in my throat tightened when I saw Patrick's expression change. He didn't need to answer. I looked around and saw several students sitting or lying on the ground, some with minor injuries, others being treated by the professors. There were absences. Familiar faces that were no longer there.
The professors cleared the path back, making sure no one was left behind. Professor Flitwick cast levitation charms to carry the bodies of the students who hadn't made it out alive. His expression was somber as he sighed and spoke with a trembling voice:
"We know this is difficult, but Hogwarts has strict protocols for situations like this. The Heads of House will be informed, and a ceremony will be organized to honor those who have perished. Everyone will receive support during these hard times."
Madam Pomfrey was already in action, applying healing spells and potions to those most affected. She stopped when she saw me trying to get up and frowned.
"Don't be foolish, young man!" she said, gently pressing me back down. "Your body hasn't recovered yet."
I clenched my teeth. I felt anger and helplessness. How had everything gone so wrong? What had we done for it to end in tragedy?
As we left the forest and returned to the castle, the entrance hall was filled with the wounded. Some students groaned on the floor, being tended by professors and other students with knowledge of magical first aid. Professor Snape was bent over a Slytherin student, pouring a healing potion onto a deep wound in his arm. Professor McGonagall, her expression more severe than usual, organized the survivors.
"Everyone who can walk, to the infirmary immediately!" she ordered firmly. "Those with more serious injuries, stay where you are. Madam Pomfrey is on her way."
Headmaster Dumbledore watched the scene with deep sorrow. His gaze passed over the bodies of the students who hadn't made it. A heavy silence settled over the hall.
"This is one of the greatest tragedies Hogwarts has suffered in years," Flitwick murmured, shaking his head.
Aelric's words echoed in my mind with painful clarity. Now, a professor was confirming the disaster before everyone.
"What exactly happened? What was that creature?" Dumbledore asked.
Professor McGonagall looked at him gravely.
"We can't be certain yet. Something awakened in that dungeon—something that should never have been there. We are investigating, but the most important thing right now is that all survivors receive care."
Meanwhile, the emergency protocols were set in motion. Filch, his expression grim, covered the bodies of the deceased with black cloths while the professors cast spells to preserve them until they could be properly transported. Dumbledore uttered an enchantment that wrapped the entrance hall in a light, silvery mist, like a veil of respect for the fallen.
Professor Sprout and Professor Slughorn administered calming and restorative potions to the most affected students. Some, in shock, barely reacted.
One of the older students, a Hufflepuff prefect, spoke up with a trembling voice.
"P-professor… There were creatures in the dungeon that shouldn't have been there. They attacked us without warning. We tried to escape, but—"
His voice broke before he could finish. McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry. A full review of the castle's security will be conducted," she assured him. "Now, return to your common rooms. Your Heads of House will speak with you and offer support."
The students began to move slowly. I watched once more as the bodies, covered in cloth, floated through the air, carried by the professors. My heart filled with a mix of pain and determination. I couldn't forget what had happened. I couldn't allow something like this to happen again.
Hogwarts would remember this tragedy as one of the greatest among first-year students. But for me, this wouldn't be just another story in the castle's annals.
It was the beginning of something much greater.
In the distance, I could see the professors beginning to recover the bodies of the fallen students. Sadness weighed on the air like a dense cloud.
Dumbledore approached us, his voice grave yet steady.
"You have shown bravery beyond what was expected. Hogwarts mourns the loss of our companions, but we will honor their memories. You have our full support."
As night fell over the castle, the tragedy left an indelible scar on Hogwarts' history and on our hearts.
The Hogwarts entrance hall was steeped in a silent chaos. The injured occupied the floor and benches, while professors and students with knowledge of magical first aid moved back and forth, tending to whoever needed help. Above us, owls fluttered in a somber procession. They were tasked with carrying messages to the families of those who hadn't made it out of the dungeon alive.
Each beat of their wings was a reminder of the tragedy.
As I moved with difficulty through the hall, leaning against the cold stone walls of the castle, my eyes scanned the scene with a mix of horror and sorrow. Some students groaned, their bodies marked by painful wounds. Others simply lay exhausted, their magic completely drained. I saw a young Ravenclaw with trembling hands, clutching a potion he could barely hold. Nearby, a Hufflepuff girl struggled to breathe as a professor applied a healing spell to her.
I passed a group of Slytherin students; one of them had his face covered in dried blood, his gaze fixed on the floor, as if his spirit had been left behind in the dungeon.
Then, among the crowd, I saw a familiar face. I froze in place.
Philip, the assistant to the black market man.
I couldn't believe it. I hadn't expected to see him there, least of all in that state. His body lay unconscious on one of the improvised stretchers. A chill ran down my spine. I hadn't known he'd been in the cave.
I hurried over to him and called to the nurse tending him.
"Excuse me… was this man also in the dungeon?"
The woman, exhausted but professional, nodded as she adjusted a bandage on Philip's forehead.
"They found him near the entrance, unconscious. We don't know how long he was there, but his condition is stable. He's just exhausted—his magic seems to have been almost completely drained. He'll recover with rest. Do you know him?"
My throat went dry. I looked at Philip, then back at the nurse. I couldn't tell the truth.
"Not really. He's an acquaintance of someone close to me."
The nurse seemed to accept my answer without further questions and moved on to attend to other wounded students. I stayed there, watching Philip in silence. There was something strange about all this. What had he been doing in the dungeon? How had he managed to get here?
Suddenly, something moved among the folds of his coat. A tiny glimmer caught my attention. I leaned in slightly, and from within the fabric emerged a small, fantastic creature. Its skin was a pale blue, and it had bright, curious eyes. Without any fear, it approached me and, with its tiny hands, handed me a scroll no bigger than a fingernail.
I frowned and carefully took the tiny object. It wasn't an ordinary scroll. Looking closer, I noticed it was covered in strange inscriptions. There was no doubt—this required magic.
I drew my wand and murmured an enlargement spell. The small piece of paper began to grow until it took the form of a thick, aged scroll. When I opened it, my eyes widened in astonishment.
It looked like a fragment torn from a book of magical beasts. I scanned it quickly until I found something that left me frozen—detailed information about Iolite. The writings still seemed encrypted, but I could tell what it was about thanks to the illustration, which bore the same shape as Iolite herself.
The air in the infirmary seemed to grow heavier. If Philip had this, it meant he knew far more than he let on. Perhaps too much. Someone must have followed him here… maybe… no, that was impossible. No one knew I had returned here.
It would be best to wait until Philip woke up and explained what had happened.