Allen had just put away the Gryffindor-colored scarf and other items when he felt the Badge at his collar grow hot. He pressed a hand to the Auror Badge he had temporarily put on tonight for easy contact with the Aurors and focused on the message coming through. When he raised his head again, his gaze was grave. "The Aurors just sent over the casualty report... Setting aside our own wizards, and those who were injured but have already been healed, tonight in Little Whinging... seven Muggles unfortunately lost their lives."
Harry glared furiously at Voldemort. He felt a blazing rage licking at his insides, burning in that terrible hollow inside him. Though Voldemort had not heard Allen's report from this side, after glancing at Harry for a moment, he learned the information. He gave Harry, a boy of high-school age, a malicious little smile full of interest.
Dumbledore kept his silence and said nothing. He pressed his fingers wearily to his forehead. The park's streetlights shone over his graying eyebrows, his beard, and his deep wrinkles, making him look like a silent statue.
"The Ministry of Magic will arrange for these unfortunate deaths to appear as accidents. The Ministry of Magic will allocate Galleons, converted into pounds sterling, as compensation, and distribute it to the relatives of these deceased Muggles under reasons the Muggles can accept." Noticing Harry's expression, Allen added, "I personally will also provide some financial compensation to these unfortunate families..."
"If they hadn't been trying to move me, they wouldn't have lost their lives like this." Harry's voice was trembling. Suddenly, a possibility occurred to him—he shuddered, his face turning pale, then opened his mouth and asked in a hoarse, low voice, "Allen... among the dead, is there anyone we used to know?"
Allen, who had