The Years of Riddle

Chapter Sixty-One | Hogwarts, June 1997

Chapter Sixty-One

Hogwarts, July 1997

          It was a beautiful day, but there was little the sun could do to make Silas feel any better. With Inesa's hand in his, they walked down the slope to the edge of the lake. The students had not come out of the castle yet, and they approached where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the center of them: There was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It really was the most beautiful summer's day, the sort of day Dumbledore really enjoyed – Silas remembered a walk they had once taken, around this very lake, around when Orson was born.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. 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; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbour; the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people whom Harry 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 in- substantially on the gleaming air.

Silas was sat close to the front, McGonagall insisted. "Really Professor, it's okay –"

"You meant a great deal to him, Silas." She said firmly, practically forcing him into his seat with her eyes. "Sit." He could only nod and sit down, Inesa rubbing circles into the top of his hand. 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; Cornelius Fudge walked past toward the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual. Rita Skeeter, who, Silas 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-colored 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 was seated at last. Silas could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. He wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. But then he heard music, strange, otherworldly music, and he forgot his dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. He was not the

And then he saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface: a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language he did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on Silas' neck stand up, and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair.

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 Silas knew to be Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in his throat at this sight, and he flashed back to being barely twelve years old, his mother was dead, and Dumbledore was asking if anything was bothering him.

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 scandalized looks from some, including, Silas saw, Dolores Umbridge . . . but Silas knew that Dumbledore would not have cared.