Dramatis Personae

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August 24, 2005:

Harry opened his eyes the next morning, paused for a moment as he remembered where he was, and quietly moaned in pain. He quickly pulled himself upright in the firm, rock-hard hospital chair he had fallen asleep in and tried to rub the feeling back into his neck and knees. Then he stood up, stretched uncomfortably and, stepping over the bodies of the dozens and dozens of other people who had also spent the night camped out in the cramped waiting room of St. Mungo's, went to the nearest bathroom.

Once he'd finished, he came back out and gracelessly dumped himself down onto his chair, now unmistakably awake. He glanced around and tried to identify several other people who were dozing nearby. They were all relatives of those who had been hurt and by figuring out who was in the waiting room, he'd be able to get a better idea of who had been injured in the bombing. The healers and other assorted hospital employees had been working non-stop since the day before to try and take care of the Summit victims, but they were only human beings. And the waiting room wasn't that big, even after they had made the Tea Room upstairs into an extension of the waiting area. After several incidents the day before, the welcome-witches, along with a few healers in training, had told everyone who was waiting that, if they were not directly related to any of the patients who were currently in St. Mungo's, they were being politely asked to leave.

Harry had only been allowed to stay because he was Harry Potter. He had told them that he was Hermione's brother, true, but anyone who read the papers knew it was a blatant, and frankly, very *bad* lie. But when one has saved the wizarding world multiple times, it's amazing what one can get away with using their reputation for.

He shifted in his seat again. It really was a horrible chair, but aside from going home, there wasn't anywhere else he could go. Ginny, Colin and Hermione, last he had heard, were still in critical condition, so he couldn't visit them, and Ron had suffered several severe burns during the rescue operations. He had been treated and then given dream-less sleep potion to help him through the pain while his healer went to help someone else.

He didn't know what had happened to the others because they had all been unconscious when they had been brought in, but from what he had heard, they had been found with the group buried under the North wing stairwell and none of them had looked good.

Harry's gaze drifted to the other side of the room where Molly and Arthur Weasley were restlessly slumbering side by side. Fred and George and the others had wanted to come and wait with them, but Arthur had been very firm. He said that since there was nothing they could do by just sitting around and worrying, then they may as well sit around and worry in the comfort of their own homes or at the Burrow and wait for an owl from Harry so that someone else could have their seats at the hospital.

At this point, other people were beginning to stir and wake up around the room. Harry saw two welcome-witches start to walk around and offer free cups of coffee or juice to people, speaking quietly so as not to disturb those who were still sleeping and trying to soothe those who were, now that they were conscious once more, again becoming frantic to find out what had happened to their loved ones.

After a few minutes and a welcome cup of coffee, Harry's attention was drawn to a short, rather portly man in Healer's robes who had carefully entered the room and was talking to one of the welcome-witches. After conversing quietly for a moment, the witch nodded and left the room and the Healer got a chair from behind her desk. He stood up on top of it and pointed his wand to his throat. He muttered, "Sonorus," under his breath and then spoke to the room at large.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," he greeted, waving his arms for attention so that everyone would know where the magically magnified voice was coming from. When he saw that everyone was now watching him, he coughed quietly and continued. "Good morning. I'm sure you are all very anxious to get information about the condition of your relatives. We're very sorry for not being available to help you earlier. We understand your frustration and impatience, but you must understand that we have had to take care of a phenomenal number of people in the past day and we are still in the process of helping those who remain in danger. We have simply been too busy to answer any questions."

He cleared his throat nosily and went on. "I'm glad to say that we now have the current condition of most of those who were hurt in yesterday's tragedy on file. Sadly, we were unable to help many of them, but there are also quite a few who only received minor injuries and who will be leaving today. This is so that they can heal at home instead, to free up space here at the hospital for those who need it most. The most recent list of those who were killed," he paused to sniff dryly, "will be posted in a few minutes. Our deepest condolences go out to anyone who has lost..."

He had to stop there to clear his throat again and rub his eyes. Said eyes were bloodshot, ringed with purple and had bags underneath them. The Healer was blinking more than was strictly necessary and his voice was starting to sound ragged. He was obviously exhausted and had seen more in the past 17 hours than anyone should have to see in a lifetime. Harry wondered briefly if the Healer knew anybody whose name was on the list and felt a pang of sympathy go out to the man, though he could barely feel it through the fear and panic he was feeling about the wellbeing of his own friends.

But after a moment the Healer managed to speak again. "Anybody who is ready to go home should leave as soon as they can. If your relatives are in this category, we would appreciate it if you would go up to their rooms and fetch them as quickly as possible and then come downstairs to let us know you are checking out." He paused and added, "We'll be giving out copies of today's 'Daily Prophet' for you all to read while you wait for news. Thank you for your attention and your patience."

The man quickly retreated back into the main part of the hospital, making sure to shut the door behind him. Harry could hardly blame him. The crowd in the waiting room wasted no time in lining up in front of the welcome-witches' desks. One young woman sat down just as the one who had left before, when the Healer arrived, returned. Most of the room went silent as they saw that she had some sort of list in her hands. The witch, whom Harry thought vaguely looked quite a bit like Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin back during school, had tears running down her face. She made a feeble attempt to wipe them away as she turned away from the waiting crowd and posted the list on the wall before retreating behind her desk at the front of the room and burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook.

Weeks later, Harry recalled that moment as being the first time he fully realized the magnitude of what had happened. Looking over at that list, seeing the words "As of 7:00 am, August 24, 2005" written at the top and then realizing that it was more than half a dozen pages long. Each page had 40 names written on it and it was at least seven or eight pages thick. And they hadn't even identified all of the bodies yet.

Harry noticed vaguely that someone had gone over and taken the list down from the wall. He listened in a dream-like state as whoever it was began reading the names out to the whole room in a rather strained-sounding voice. Most of them were foreign names, probably some of the international delegates, but there were far too many that Harry did recognize. People he'd worked with for years, even a few he'd known distantly in school. He had to force himself to tune out most of what the voice was saying, to try not to pay attention.

But even though he was barely listening except in terrified expectation for the names of his friends, Harry caught Hank Richards's name in there somewhere. He wondered fleetingly, in an absent sort of way, if Darcie Bethel was going to be the new Head of the DMLE.

The list took almost twenty minutes to read and when it was finished, the fellow who was reading it didn't look like he'd be able to speak out loud again for some time. Someone went to fetch the man a glass of water while he replaced the list on the wall with trembling hands. Several people began to cry.

Fortunately, none of Harry's close friends had been on it. He was listening for their names, but they didn't come. Knowing he would feel despicable about it later even before he did it, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. He knew he should feel guilty that he could be relieved while others had just had their worlds torn out from under them, but he didn't. He was too numb to feel much of anything aside from the overpowering relief.

Dazed, he looked around the room and saw Mrs. Weasley sobbing into Mr. Weasley's shoulder. And he knew, somehow, that despite her tears, she too was feeling nothing but the relief.

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