fox - r.lupin

- c h a p t e r - t w e l v e -

edited.

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"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Penelope and Walter Hilton..." The priest speaking over the graves said–his voice borish and not at all sorry.

Violet figured he got bored of doing funerals.

But how could he be so emotionless when it was for the funeral of a girl whose parents who just died. And a young girl, one might add.

Violet could barely move from her spot–her face pale and drawn. The priest's voice drifted around her as she stared at the two polished mahogany coffins waiting to be lowered into the ground.

And she knew that beyond the lids were her parents' marred and embalmed bodies. She had not gotten to see them again, nor would as their bodies were so mangled that they were almost unidentifiable–according to the coroner, at least. So the funeral had been closed-casket to spare everyone the horror–apparently.

Violet wasn't sure if she could believe them, though–but she was so numb that she didn't fight back.

She didn't even shy away from her relatives, whom she usually couldn't stand.

Her aunt and uncle–from her father's side–stood behind her, their son beside them. They were some of the most unimaginative people on her father's side. And she wasn't entirely sure why they, out of all her relatives, were the ones called to take care of her.

Violet could hear her cousin scoffing behind her–something about the magical folk who had decided to come to the funeral–like Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, and a few other magic families from the area that the Hilton family were friends with.

Her cousin was a few years older than Violet–not super friendly and overall a huge prat. Hence, why they avoided each other whenever it was possible.

To put it in words: Terrance was basically Violet's Petunia.

He was the worst.

But he seemed to have decided to stop being such an arse because of the theme of the day–which made it more bearable. Still, Violet had no doubt that he would be back to being a jerk tomorrow.

As the day went on, everyone came and gave their condolences to Violet–practically ignoring her uncle, aunt, and cousin, who had separated themselves from the crowd. It wasn't long before they were back at Violet's house, having a small dinner, and more people came and went, looking at the memorial set up around the living room.

Violet just sat in one of the armchairs, not speaking to anyone and ignoring all the pitying looks.

It wasn't until Professor McGonagall came and knelt before her did she speak for the first time.

"Why aren't my grandparents here?" She whispered to the Scotswoman. "Why weren't they at the funeral?"

The witch pinched her lips and said quietly, "They were caught up in some Ministry business. There have been more attacks."

"Will they come and visit?" Violet questioned, her heart twisting in her chest at the thought of her grandparents interacting with the Dark Lord's followers.

"We will send another OWL to them..."

This would be the fourth OWL to them.

Violet nodded, standing up, and in a choked voice, said, "Thank you for coming. I need some air."