Savage: The Night Wizard - (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Chapter 575 - 575 - Doubts Among the Ravenclaws

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With Clark's passive-aggressive — more aggressive than passive — questioning, the Ravenclaws who were already skeptical felt their doubts and suspicions grow even stronger.

These were the more weak-willed students — easily influenced, like sheep that followed the herd without a second thought.

And now, that "herd" had begun to think that maybe my words weren't entirely true.

That was enough to keep them from staying silent any longer.

They felt the need to speak. To argue. To convince the others that all this fear and panic didn't make sense.

But deep down, both they and I knew the truth.

This was nothing more than a desperate attempt to find an excuse.

They wanted to justify what I had seen and said... even if it meant lying to themselves.

"Clark's right!" a blonde seventh-year girl exclaimed, getting to her feet.

Her eyes shone with a spark of realisation, as if she had just found the answer to a difficult problem.

"Maybe the dark wizard Ethan saw isn't actually You-Know-Who, just someone pretending to be him!" she said firmly, nodding with conviction.

"Oh! Like those copycats who pretended to be Jack the Ripper?" another girl — a short Muggleborn who loved detective stories — asked excitedly.

"Copycats? Jack the Ripper?" the blonde girl turned to her, confused.

And it wasn't just her. Many pure-blood students had never heard that term or that name.

Seeing the confused looks around her, the short witch quickly began to explain.

"Well, copycats are people who imitate crimes or try to pass themselves off as a murderer or criminal."

"They usually do it for attention, just to get a few seconds of fame... or because they're obsessive and a bit unhinged fans."

"As for Jack the Ripper, he was a very famous serial killer back in 1888. But he was incredibly mysterious, and no one ever discovered his real identity... and because of that, a lot of people tried to pretend they were him," she rattled off in one breath.

"Oh," the blonde girl nodded, somewhat intrigued. "In that case, yeah. That guy Ethan saw could be a copycat."

"Well, that does make sense," a boy with glasses added, adjusting them nervously. "People have done worse just to get attention... Pretending to be You-Know-Who doesn't sound that impossible."

Around them, a few students began to nod, clinging to that possibility.

"Yeah. It could be all that... or maybe Ethan just got confused about what he saw in that graveyard," another boy said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"That's not unlikely..." a younger girl murmured, glancing at me before quickly looking away. "I mean... he went through a lot that day. It's normal to get confussed under that kind of pressure and stress."

"Exactly!" another boy — with a shaved head — agreed.

Then he looked at me, a sneer slowly forming on his face.

"But, you know... maybe Night just exaggerated things a bit," he said, not even trying to hide his mockery.

"Maybe he thought a darker, more dramatic story would make people pay more attention to him."

Up until that point, the students had only been theorising, trying to make sense of what I had said.

But that comment — clearly meant to belittle me and undermine everything I'd said — was what made my friends snap.

For them, he had gone too far.

"Shut the hell up!" Sue snapped, visibly furious.

Her voice cut through the Common Room, and in an instant, every conversation died.

Everyone froze and turned towards her — surprised, confused, and even offended looks were etched on their faces.

"Hey, Sue! You don't have to be rude—"

Clark, who had been silent since questioning me, tried to speak.

But he didn't get the chance.

"Shut up, you too!" Sue cut him off, turning on him with a fierce glare.

Now facing the boy who had started all this, her anger only seemed to grow.

Unable to hold back any longer, she snapped:

"Are you stupid, Clark? Or have you got hippogriff dung for brains?"

"W-what? No!" he stammered, taken aback.

"Oh, so you're just a malicious bastard, then? A coward like him?" she pointed at the shaved-head boy.

The moment he was singled out, the smug smile on his face froze.

Before he could even stand to argue back, he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

Turning his head, he found himself face-to-face with Roger and the other Quidditch players, all watching him with a silent warning.

Frightened and intimidated, he shut his mouth and lowered his head, not daring to say another word.

Some nearby students saw what happened, but no one said or did anything.

Those who even considered helping him didn't have the courage to confront the intimidating Quidditch players. The rest just thought he deserved it — and some even believed Roger was going easy on him.

Sue, who had been watching both him and Clark closely, saw everything as well.

But either ignoring it — or simply not caring — she continued her verbal assault on Clark, still seething with anger.

"I honestly don't know how you ended up in Ravenclaw being this stupid and ignorant! Maybe the Sorting Hat needs to be taken to a hatter, just to check if it's still working properly... or if it malfunctioned the day it sorted you."

"Why are you attacking me like this? I didn't do anything wrong!" Clark asked, scowling.

"You didn't?!" Sue shot back, teeth clenched. "So you think everything you said was right?"

"You really think Ethan would make all this up, Clark? You think he'd exaggerate something like that just for fun or for attention?"

"Hey! I never said that—"

"But that's exactly how it sounded!"

Their argument only grew more heated, tightening the tension in the room.

Realising things were getting out of hand, I finally decided to step in.

"Sue."

My voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to reach her.

My Asian friend paused, stopping her verbal assault for a moment, and turned to me.

Our eyes met, and with a small, grateful smile, I gave a slight shake of my head.

She understood immediately.

She was still angry, still clearly upset... but reluctantly, she listened.

Then, casting one last sharp, hostile look at the unconvinced students, she stepped back, returning to our group.

Of course, I didn't stop Sue because I didn't want her to argue. I stopped her because things were spiralling out of control.

And I knew that if it went on... there was a very real chance she'd draw her wand.

As Sue stepped back, I turned my attention to the Ravenclaws, my smile vanishing instantly.

After her outburst, none of them dared speak again, remaining in a tense, uneasy silence.

Looking at them and remembering everything they had said, I felt a faint sense of helplessness.

But above all, I felt the bitter confirmation of what I had already known.

Some people still didn't believe me.

I wasn't stupid.

I knew my answer would raise doubts — especially among the fearful and the sceptical.

If I had wanted to avoid that, I could have simply said I was absolutely certain that the one I saw was Voldemort.

But that wouldn't have changed anything.

There would still be doubt.

There would still be disbelief.

People would still question my words — just as the canon itself had already shown.

In fact, if I had insisted with complete certainty instead of giving an uncertain answer, people would have trusted me even less.

After all, how could I possibly claim something like that?

How could I say that the Dark Lord, believed dead for years, had returned?

And how would I know it was really him?

And if it was... how had I managed to escape that crazy and extremely dangerous wizard?

In the end, trying to force certainty would only raise more suspicion.

That's why an evasive, ambiguous answer was the only one that worked here.

Instead of forcing people to believe me, I made them question whether it was possible.

I let them draw their own conclusions.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I focused back on the present.

I understood that now was my moment to speak. To make them understand the real weight of the situation.

So, without hesitation, I stepped forward, fixing my gaze directly on the group who had spoken against me.

My expression was impassive, and as my cold gaze swept over them, they looked away or lowered their heads, intimidated.

"Do you really think what happened to me, Harry, and Fleur was some kind of joke?" I asked, my voice low and controlled, but carrying a dangerous edge.

"N-no..." one of them stammered, clearly frightened.

"Then do you think those bodies we brought back were fake?"

"W-we never said that..." another replied hesitantly, "W-we just—"

"Or maybe," I cut in, not giving him a chance to finish, "you think we made all of this up... just to gain sympathy and recognition?"

"N-no! We'd never think that..."

"Good," I nodded once. "Then that means you're not beyond saving."

End.

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