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"Look, Lisa," I began, meeting my worried friend's gaze calmly, "I get that you want to know if Volde—"
Before I could finish saying the Dark Lord's name, several Ravenclaws reacted strongly.
Some flinched. Others gasped. There were even a few who let out small cries of shock.
I could feel panic and fear spreading through them.
It almost felt like I had summoned Voldemort himself just by speaking his name.
Seeing their exaggerated reactions, I could only shake my head, letting out a helpless sigh.
Then, not wanting to scare them any further, I decided to correct myself... quite reluctantly.
"Right... as I was saying," I continued, keeping my tone controlled, "I get that you want to know if You-Know-Who is back."
"But, just like I told Minister Fudge that day, I have no idea what the Dark Lord even looks like."
"So," I went on, without missing a beat, "I can't say with absolute certainty that it was him in that graveyard... but I can't rule it out either."
As soon as I finished speaking, a frown formed on Lisa's face.
The frustration and dissatisfaction coming off her were clear to me — so obvious that I didn't need to think twice to realize that this was definitely not the answer she wanted to hear.
"Ethan, stop," she said, raising her hand, visibly impatient.
"I don't want some vague, diplomatic answer. I just want you to tell me what you really think about it. So please... stop dodging the question," she practically demanded.
Her frown and sharp tone made it clear that she was irritated.
"Exactly," Sue nodded, also somewhat irritated. "You're being way too vague."
"They're right," Michael looked at me with his lips pressed together. "You didn't really answer her question. Not because you couldn't — you just didn't want to."
"We know you, Ethan," Terry huffed, joining in as well. "We might not know everything about you, but we can tell when you're not being sincere."
"Yeah. You probably already have an answer... you just don't want to say it out loud."
Even Anthony, who was usually the most carefree and oblivious one in the group, decided to add his two Knuts.
He looked genuinely upset, and the expression he gave me carried a seriousness that didn't suit him.
I'd known that naive boy for four years, and I could count on one hand how many times I had seen him this serious... and still have fingers left over.
Seeing my friends all press me at once, trying to get an honest answer out of me, didn't actually make me angry.
Quite the opposite.
Seeing that they had noticed the ambiguity in my answer — and were now demanding honesty — made me feel a quiet sense of pride.
Realizing that all of them were taking this matter so seriously brought me a sense of satisfaction... and relief.
It was the same feeling I had in the Room of Requirement, when I realized how much Harry, Ron, and Hermione had matured.
'That's good... but it's still just another step in their growth,' I thought.
Then, noticing that they were still staring at me, I refocused on the conversation.
"Sigh... you guys really don't make things easy for me," I muttered, in a tone that was half ironic, half amused.
"And I didn't lie to you," I added. "I really don't know what You-Know-Who looked like back then."
I raised my hands, like there wasn't much I could do about it.
And, ironically, that was the truth.
During the years I spent in the wizarding world, I went through a lot of old newspapers, trying to better understand the history of the world I was now living in.
However, throughout all that searching, I never found a single paper or poster with a picture of Riddle's face — not when he was a student, nor when he first emerged as Voldemort.
So, because of that lack of information, I didn't know whether his grotesque and terrifying appearance — pale skin, bald head, no nose, serpentine features — was what he already looked like back then, or if it was the result of the dark ritual he used to regain his body.
Of course, I could have asked someone who fought him during that bloody time — like Sirius, Lupin, or Headmaster Dumbledore.
But honestly? It just... never crossed my mind.
Come on! Why the hell would I care what that daddy-issues idiot used to look like?
His current appearance was already distinctive enough to be recognized from miles away. So why would I bother remembering his old face?
It's not like there was any real chance he would change his appearance to hide or anything like that.
Besides, even if he did, it wouldn't matter.
I'd already memorized his magical signature.
Even if that lunatic decided to throw himself into a crowd at a Vin Diesel cosplay competition — emo and anemic version — I would still be able to find him easily.
"So... there's really no way to know if that man was actually You-Know-Who?" Lisa asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Her head was lowered, but I could still see part of her face — and from her expression, she looked genuinely worried.
Normally, anyone would've felt relieved just not hearing confirmation that the "Hitler" of their world had returned from the dead.
But that wasn't what happened here.
My words may have brought out many emotions in Lisa and the others... but relief definitely wasn't one of them.
The uncertainty in my answer only made them more uneasy and worried.
After all, I never said that the magical fascist wasn't back. I only said I didn't know if it was really him.
And sometimes, not getting an answer at all was worse than getting one — even if it was a bad one.
Sensing the growing distress of my friends, and not wanting it to get any worse, I spoke again.
"Well..." I began, making Lisa lift her head and look at me again, "I really have no way to confirm his identity... and maybe only Headmaster Dumbledore can do that."
I paused briefly, letting my words settle before continuing.
"But if you want my opinion... If you really want to know what I think about that supposed Dark Lord... then I'll be honest."
As I said that, I looked around, meeting the gaze of every Ravenclaw in the Common Room.
My gaze was serious and solemn — and that alone was enough to make them tense.
Then, without giving anyone a chance to interrupt, I continued:
"The one I saw in the graveyard... the dark wizard behind all the chaos in the third task — the one who orchestrated the kidnapping of me, Harry, and Fleur..."
"That man... was probably You-Know-Who," I finally admitted.
As soon as I finished speaking, the atmosphere in the room changed instantly.
It was as if an invisible, crushing pressure had fallen over the entire room.
The impact of my words was immediate, sending the students into an uproar.
Some instinctively stepped back, clearly frightened. Others held their breath — or even choked on the air. And some had to grab onto something, as if their legs had suddenly lost all strength.
But in the end, there was one thing they all had in common.
Their faces.
Pale, fearful, and clearly filled with panic.
In their minds, the same phrases echoed over and over. "He's back!", "Another war is coming!", "We're in danger!", "The Dark Lord is going to come after us!"
Those thoughts overlapped, sinking deeper into their minds, creating a suffocating sense of pressure and tension.
Some were already imagining worse scenarios — attacks, deaths, their families in danger. Even the most hopeful among them felt a creeping despair.
The more they thought, the more the fear grew.
I could feel it all. And I understood exactly where those feelings were coming from.
Then, at that exact moment—
"Hey, wait a second!"
A sudden voice cut through the room.
While most of the students still wore heavy, tense expressions, Clark — one of the older boys who had arrived with Roger and the others — stepped forward.
The action was simple, but enough to draw everyone's attention to him, momentarily breaking the suffocating atmosphere.
Curious, I raised an eyebrow at him.
Realizing he had not only my attention, but the entire room's, Clark didn't waste any time before speaking.
"You said that the one you saw in the graveyard was probably You-Know-Who, right?" he asked, emphasizing the word 'probably' with clear skepticism.
Hearing his question, I paused for a moment.
From the skeptical — almost confrontational — look on his face, and the slightly hostile emotions coming from him, it was easy to tell where he was going with this.
Even so, well aware of Clark's intentions, I simply nodded.
"Yes," I replied calmly.
Clark pressed his lips together, a faint look of disdain crossing his face.
"So in the end, you're not absolutely sure who he was, are you?" he continued, narrowing his eyes at me. "It's possible that it wasn't actually You-Know-Who... but just some other dark wizard."
That question — simple and direct — landed in the middle of the room like a spark falling onto dry straw.
The students who had already been hesitant, unsure whether to believe me or not, immediately clung to that possibility.
In Clark's words, they found a "truth."
Not because it was more logical.
But because it was easier to accept that way.
End.
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