The day of Dumbledore's funeral did not match the feeling Tori had in her gut.
The warmth of the sun caressed her face as she followed Fred and George in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day.
An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most Tori did not recognise, but there were a few that she did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink, Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands. Molly and Arthur, Bill supported by Fleur and followed by She, Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragonskin.
Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two-and-a-half chairs on her own, Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, the hairy bass player from the wizarding group the Weird bisters, Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley, and some people whom Tori merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.
People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Tori saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna.
Tori felt Fred squeeze her hand tightly as Cornelius Fudge walked past them towards the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Tori next recognised Rita Skeeter, who, she was infuriated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand; and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-coloured curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, she gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away.
The staff were seated at last. Tori could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. She wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. But then she heard music, strange otherworldly music and she began looking around for the source of it. She was not the only one: many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.
"In there," whispered Fred whispered in Tori's ear.
And she saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding him horribly of the Inferi; a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language she did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on Tori's neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As she looked down into the wild faces of the singers he had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing.
Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Tori knew to be Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in Harry's throat at this sight: for a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. Both Fred and George looked white and shocked. Tears were falling thick and fast into Tori's lap.
They could not see clearly what was happening at the front. Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalised looks from some, including, Tori saw, Dolores Umbridge... but Tori knew that Dumbledore would not have cared.
Tori glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realised what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulder-like head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head, so that his chair legs sank into the ground. But then the music stopped and she turned to face the front again.
A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. Tori could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of beads. "Nobility of spirit"... "intellectual contribution"... "greatness of heart"...
Tori suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words: "nitwit", "oddment", "blubber" and "tweak", and had to suppress a grin.
There was a soft splashing noise to her left and she saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen, too.
And then, without warning, it swept over her, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead, gone.
Tori looked away from the man and the others and stared out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the little man in black droned on... there was movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pay their respects, too. They did not move into the open but Tori saw them standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides.
And Tori saw very clearly as be sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one.
The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Tori waited for somebody else to get to their feet; she expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.
Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air and made strange shapes: Tori thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that she saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but next second the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested.
There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Tori knew, the centaurs' tribute: she saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees. Likewise the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view.
Tori looked at the twins. George's face was screwed up as though the sunlight was blinding him. Fred was pale and looked nervous.
Slowly one by one, people began to move towards the coffins to pay their final respects. When it was Tori's turn she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.
One last memory coming back to her rather fast.
"Our family doesn't define who we are, but our choices and what we do to them."
It was something Tori had always remembered.
With that in her mind, Victoria Silvers grabbed Fred and George's hands and turned away from the coffin.
next up? dealthy hallows
dun dun dunnnnnnn
not me posting this on my computer cause my parents took my phone for whatever reason