li. funeral

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FIFTY ONE

RORY DID NOT KNOW Albus Dumbledore well

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RORY DID NOT KNOW Albus Dumbledore well. There were only a few times they had spoken. When she was chosen to be placed at the bottom of the Lake for the Triwizard Tournament, when Mr. Weasley had been attacked, and a few times about her duties as Head Girl. Despite her not knowing him well, she was always brought to peace at his words, his speech at the beginning and end of every year. He had the most beautiful deliverances, most notably at Cedric's funeral. However, Rory never imagined she would be at his, hearing someone else give a Dumbledore-esque eulogy. To her, he seemed immortal.

Rory held on tightly to Fred's hand as they got to their seats, surrounded by other members of the Order. Andrew and Cordelia sat beside Rory while George sat next to his parents beside Fred. Marina had not come, both by her wishes and it seemed George's as well.

There was something so sudden about the whole ordeal. Never did the thought she'd be watching Dumbledore go to his final resting place cross her mind. Let alone, at the hands of her own Professor. Something about Snape killing Dumbledore seemed so unsurprising, so natural.

Death Eaters had invaded Hogwarts, something else Rory never thought possible. Of course, Aaron had fought. Aaron, who was so brave without realizing it. So brave it scared Rory. But he wasn't badly hurt this time around.

The girl couldn't say the same for any others. Bill had been attacked by a werewolf, leaving him scarred. It didn't matter much to Fleur though, if anything she loved him more because of it. Neville was injured as well, and Remus had nearly been hit with the killing curse.

The crowed grew. People from all walks of life came together for Dumbledore. Many shop owners she recognized from Diagon Alley. Madame Maryam sat with her children, stone faced. There was also Madame Malkin, the owner of The Leaky Cauldron, Madame Rosmerta. Even the likes of Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge were present.

As Rory sat in silence, out of the water came a beautiful noise. She flinched at it at first, as flashbacks of her sixth year being trapped underwater entered her mind. Although she was in an enchanted sleep, the song of the merpeople was so familiar to her. It was familiar to her for a multitude of reasons. The language was not understood, but the message was. Loss, pain, grief. A song Rory knew all too well.

Her hand softly covered her mouth and darted her eyes to her lap as Hagrid walked down the aisle of chairs, holding the body of Albus Dumbledore. Although he was wrapped in a fabric of purple velvet, his actual body not visible, Rory didn't want to see it. There was something that made her so uncomfortable about a lifeless vessel. She remembered as a child, at the age of six or seven when she went to her grandmother's funeral and couldn't bear to go up to her casket until her mother had forced her to by dragging her hand fiercely across the church. And there she sat, nineteen years old, keeping her eyes down at the sight of Dumbledore's silhouette. Hagrid carefully placed the body up front, which Rory luckily could not see well. Tears began to fall softly on to her lap, touching her and Fred's intertwined hands.

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