The Twin Marauders

34)Pity the Living

     I stood in front of the mirror, pulling my hair up into a bun. After I finished, I smoothed my black dress and stared into my reflection.

     I loved and hated to look in the mirror. I loved to see myself, especially because of my resemblance to Annie. If I didn't focus on the small details, I could finally smile again.

     I hated looking in the mirror because of those small details. I yearned to see Annie's blue eyes again, the dimples I was never blessed with, the little birthmark in front of her ear. Sometimes, just seeing myself reminded me of the pain of losing my sister, though seeing her through me made me remember the happy memories.

     I bit my cheeks, hoping to create a look alike to Annie's dimples. I bit too hard on one of my cheeks and tasted the iron of blood.

     I hated how stupid I looked: trying to get Annie back even though I knew she'll never come back. She was gone.

     A knock came at my bedroom door. "You ready?" My Mum's soft voice rang through the door.

     "Yes." I replied, wiping tears off of my face.

     I opened the door and saw my mother. Her dark brown eyes were red and filled with tears. She pulled me in for an embrace. "Everyone's already there." She kissed the top of my head.

     We both climbed down the stairs and slowly made it out the front door. The Potter home was beautiful this time of year, the red brick against the green grass reminding me of a rose garden.

     We crossed the street, finding ourselves in the cemetery. Annie would've been buried close to our grandparents, but it was safer to bury her right in Godric's Hollow. My Dad's reasoning was that we could go back to the Potter house if any danger arose.

     Only a few were invited: our friend group, Mary and Marlene, Frank and Alice, and some of our closest family friends, along with some professors. Professor Slughorn already had his handkerchief out, wiping the small tears flowing down his face.

     I positioned myself between my parents, holding on to both of their arms.

     A fashionable black man stood in front of us, pulling out a piece of parchment. "Today, we are here to celebrate the life of Anwen Emily King."

     Tears already gushed out of my eyes, but I continued to listen.

     "We will first hear a few words from her father, Jack King." The man moved aside while my father left my side to the front.

     "I am Jack King, her father." He blinked tears out of his eyes and continued on. "She was a delightful little girl. A girl that would greet strangers on the street to compliment their outfit. A girl that would pester her mother to read her another bedtime story.

     "So, naturally, she grew up to love reading. She valued intelligence, but most of all, kindness.

     "I remember when she'd go outside to pick the flowers in our backgarden to make a bouquet for the family. We never told her that picking the flowers was not helpful for the beauty of our garden, but we always loved the bouquets we got." My dad paused, keeping himself from tearing up.

     "As she grew older, we knew she would be a powerful witch. She had joined the Advanced Duelling Club in her second year, and had won the International Duelling Championship in her fifth year. She continued to grow in intelligence and was very happy.

     "We did not expect her to die so young. She was even promised for marriage, though it was without my permission." He used his fake stern voice and a few people laughed.