The Funeral

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The days after Dumbledore's funeral blurred together in a haze of grief and reflection, but for Percy, the pain cut even deeper. His mentor, his guiding light at Hogwarts, was gone, but the loss that weighed most heavily on him was Grover's death. He felt as though he'd failed his best friend in the most profound way.

As preparations were made for Grover's funeral, Percy found himself wandering through the castle, struggling to find solace. Every corner of the school seemed to remind him of a moment shared with Grover—his laughter, his optimism, his loyalty. It had been Grover who stuck by Percy through everything. Now he was gone, taken by Fenrir Greyback in a brutal instant that replayed in Percy's mind over and over again.

The day of Grover's funeral arrived, the grounds of Hogwarts quieter than ever. Percy, Hermione, Annabeth, and their friends gathered at a secluded spot near the edge of the Forbidden Forest—a place Grover would have loved. The trees whispered in the wind, and the air was thick with sorrow.

Chiron had made the journey from Camp Half-Blood to say his final goodbyes. The centaur stood solemnly before the small group gathered to honor Grover's life. His eyes, filled with sadness, lingered on Percy as he stepped forward to speak.

"Grover was more than just a satyr," Chiron began, his voice deep and resonant. "He was a protector, a friend, and a true hero in every sense of the word. His loyalty to Percy, to Camp Half-Blood, and to the cause of protecting this world was unwavering. I had the honor of watching him grow from a young, curious satyr into a fierce protector of those he loved."

Percy's throat tightened as Chiron spoke, each word like a weight on his heart. He clenched his fists, trying to stay composed, but the pain was too raw.

"Grover was brave," Chiron continued, his gaze shifting to the rest of the group. "He faced dangers that would make most beings flee, but he never backed down. And though his life was cut short, the impact he made on all of us will last forever. His courage and his heart will live on in every tree, in every creature of the wild that he fought to protect. He believed in the harmony of nature and the power of friendship."

Chiron's words stirred the crowd, especially Percy, who felt the crushing weight of guilt bear down even more heavily. Grover had died fighting for him. He had been there, like he always was, right beside Percy in the battle—until he wasn't.

After Chiron finished speaking, a somber silence fell over the group. Dionysus, the god of wine and madness, stepped forward next. Percy hadn't expected Mr. D to say anything at all. In fact, he was surprised the god had shown up. Dionysus was known for his general apathy and disdain for most matters concerning the campers, but today, he seemed different—sober, in both mood and demeanor.

"Well, this is certainly depressing, isn't it?" Dionysus began, his voice more subdued than usual. The usual edge of sarcasm was absent. He looked down at Grover's grave, and for the first time in Percy's memory, there was a flash of something akin to genuine sadness in his eyes.

"Grover Underwood," Dionysus said slowly, "was not only one of my satyrs, but one of the very few who managed to get through life without annoying me too much. And that... is no small feat."

There was a faint murmur of chuckles in the crowd, but Percy felt his chest tighten. Mr. D's words, though laced with his usual brand of backhanded humor, carried weight.

"He had a purpose," Dionysus continued, a rare seriousness settling over him. "And in his own way, Grover made the world better. He was always chasing something—whether it was the safety of his friends or the wellbeing of the wild places he loved so much. He never gave up. Not even when it would've been easier to."

Dionysus looked around at the gathered demigods and students, his expression hardening.

"We're at war now. And war doesn't care about our individual grief or our sense of fairness. It takes what it takes, and it leaves the rest of us to figure out how to move on." His eyes landed on Percy, who met his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"But," Dionysus added, "Grover wouldn't want us to wallow in sorrow. He would want us to fight for the things he believed in: peace, nature, and the people he cared about. He died protecting those things. The least we can do is honor his sacrifice by fighting for them, too."

Dionysus stepped back, his speech far more heartfelt than anyone had expected. Percy stood there, staring at Grover's grave, the knot in his chest tightening until it was almost unbearable. Hermione's hand slipped into his once again, but even her warmth couldn't dull the agony.

"I should've saved him," Percy whispered under his breath, barely loud enough for Hermione to hear. "He always saved me. I should've done more."

Hermione squeezed his hand, her voice soft and filled with empathy. "There wasn't anything you could've done, Percy. Grover knew what he was getting into. He chose to be there with you, because he believed in you. He always did."

Percy shook his head, the guilt and grief weighing down his every thought. The image of Fenrir Greyback standing over Grover's broken body haunted him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed.

Annabeth, who had been silent throughout the ceremony, finally stepped forward, her expression conflicted as she looked at Percy. She, too, felt Grover's loss deeply, though her own emotions were tangled up with everything else that had happened between her and Percy. There was so much left unsaid between them, so much unfinished, but in that moment, none of it seemed to matter.

"Grover believed in you, Percy," Annabeth said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "He wouldn't blame you for what happened. None of us do. You've carried so much already, but you don't have to carry this alone."

Percy's eyes met hers for the briefest moment, a silent understanding passing between them. He didn't respond, but Annabeth didn't expect him to. She knew how he felt—she had seen the same look in her own reflection before.

The funeral drew to a close, with the group saying their final goodbyes to Grover. The pain was palpable, but so was the resolve. They all knew what was coming next—the war was only beginning. With Dumbledore gone and Voldemort's forces growing stronger, there would be no respite. The fight for their world was far from over.

As they began to walk back toward the castle, Percy lingered behind for a moment, staring at Grover's grave. He felt Hermione's hand slip out of his as she gave him space, understanding that he needed this moment alone.

"I'm sorry, Grover," Percy whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll make sure your sacrifice wasn't for nothing. I swear it."

He stood there for a few more moments, letting the wind carry his whispered promises into the air. The loss of Grover weighed on him heavily, but as Percy turned away from the grave, he knew he had to keep moving forward—for Grover, for his friends, for everyone who was counting on him.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they would fight. For Grover. For Dumbledore. For everyone they had lost and everyone they still stood to lose.

And Percy knew, no matter what, he couldn't let Grover's death be in vain. He would honor his best friend's memory by continuing the fight, no matter the cost.

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