Cinders and Magic (Harry Potter/Worst Witch Crossover)

Ending of a Fairytale

Icy, cold rain poured down. The smell of rain mingled with the odor of freshly dug dirt as the rain soaked into the gravestones, as those attending the funeral left the grave sight, leaving their beloved one behind. Practical silence broken by a few sniffles followed the forlorn group's procession.

A young man walked stiffly, holding onto an umbrella. At the same time, another reached out to steady his arm, then moved forward as his feet didn't react as they should to the saturated ground while his companion held on at the elbow, making sure he didn't fall, his eyes glued to the ground watching where he stepped carefully, not seeing the man standing near the entrance waiting for the procession to reach a certain point.

Then, "Regulus."

The young man's head darted up, his eyes glued firmly on the man in front of him, staring at the man as his umbrella dropped from his hand, allowing the rain to plaster black curls against his forehead, his silver-gray eyes staring wide-eyed at the man whose own black hair was slicked back fashionably. In contrast, his silver-gray eyes lacked the bags under the young man's eyes.

"Isn't it time the fairytale ended?" the man said.

The young man's mouth opened while other members of the funeral procession started. The other young man who helped steady his steps turned to the others and said, "I'll handle this."

His arm tightened around his companion's arm as he moved closer, bringing his umbrella over the young man's head even though he stood there, already drenched, but then came the tired shake of the head and the attempt to move on, to ignore the man who'd approached him out of the blue.

"Regulus," the man said, taking a deep breath. "It's time to return home."

Regulus, for that was who the young man was, flinched, looking the man in the eye, stiffening as he did so while his companion glared at him. "Home? His home is with us."

"With these Muggles," the man muttered, looking less than displeased while the man stared.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Regulus' companion said.

"My son can very well speak for himself."

"Your son," Regulus' companion bristled, sucking in a deep breath.

"Lettie," Regulus muttered, reaching a hand up, then shaking his head.

Lettie cleared his throat, nodding his head at the others. "Go on without us. Regulus and I need to talk to his father."

Regulus' nostrils flared, his hand tightening around the umbrella's handle. "You're not a part of this conversation."

The companion glared, brushing back a lock of brown hair. "Would you rather wait for a day when my brother-in-law hasn't just buried..."

"Fine. Alright," the man said, quick to interrupt. "There's a small cafe in town that should suffice."

"We'll meet you there, then," Lettie said.

"Meet me," the man said, then shook his head. "Regulus is quite capable of Apparating the two of you there, are you not?"

Lettie stood there, brown eyes blinking, then cleared his throat. "You're unaware that he's still not fully recovered."

The man stared, his eyes widening, and he said, "Then I'll Apparate us three once the others can't see if you'll continue to hold him steady."

There fell a silence; then, when the others in the procession were out of sight, a loud pop came as they disembarked from the cemetery to land near the small cafe. Lettie, as promised, held Regulus steady and looked around in surprise.