The House of Hawke has been called the traitorous, filthy and scum house the entire time that name was known to the living.
Past or future, one would accompany it with the adjective "Horrifying".
It was a matter of grief for the youngest daughter...
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North Brookfield, Massachusetts, 1979 December 17th, melancholic cold
For a day or two, the lot of us alternately went home to get changed or have a bath. Sirius didn't leave, neither did James.
I only left to have a good cry. The hollow part of my heart was growing bigger and bigger and everyone was so lost in their grief that I couldn't bear to share mine.
Peter left two days ago and did not return, claiming that his mother was sick and after he witnessed the death of Potter parents, it was justified that he wanted to spend time with his own family.
The funeral was in the graveyard behind Potter mansion. The house being made in the 17th century had a cemetery with it, containing the graves of every family of the house.
Sirius and I had barely talked in the last 48 hours, clinging to each other for life support. I couldn't let go of him, and neither could he of me.
We held hands even as we walked inside the graveyard, our black outfits reflecting the stormy weather.
Above all, the funeral was a celebration of life. In her last moments, Dorea Potter had ordered her daughter-in-law to make sure the graves were covered with white roses. To make sure that people were happy that the Potters lived such joyful lives rather than crying for their early death.
James smiled at the moving photograph of his parents and Sirius. Lily glimpsed it and kissed it away and James smiled wider.
It made my heart warm, perhaps I could think this way about my grandfather, too. He was never lonely, he'd once said. Never unhappy with his life.
We stood together, the lot of us, like a barrier. A fortified unison, in a semicircle. James went and placed a garland of Jasmines around Dorea's gravestone, and one of peonies around Charlus'.
Sirius went next and placed a pendant down beside red roses. Lily gently placed a bracelet nearby. I went next and laid down the rose keychain Charlus had given me before his death with a bunch of daisies.
I'd kept the key safe in a locker at our apartment but the keychain belonged here. I gently touched the gravestone and nodded. Life was beautiful, yet so was death.
When I went back, Sirius grasped my hand in his. I think his separation anxiety had gone tenfold and I didn't blame him. I couldn't bother letting go of his hand, either. Not even when our palms grew sweaty and hot. Not even when my arm ached. I couldn't bear it, and neither could he from the looks of it.
We all went back inside the mansion and people were there. Everywhere, every corner was filled with people I don't even know.
Some I could recognize, like Elphias Doge. There was a sad-looking Hope and Lyall Lupin, there was Mrs Pettigrew and Peter, there were Dorcas' parents and Marlene's.
