Never Is Our Always

Funeral Fit For A Wizard

(Minnie pov)

I sat with my head in my knees as the news of Dumbledore's death came from Mrs Weasley and the rest of the order. I didn't know what to do, he was a good man and he never failed to help make me a better person...

But now he's gone.

"Honey," I look up from my knees and stare blankly at Fred, dressed in all black. "Come on, baby, we need to go." I slowly got off the window sill and walked toward him.

"O-OK." Fred held my hand and I trail behind him as we met with George.

"Ready mate?" Fred asked quietly.

"Yeah, let's go." He mutters before taking my other hand as we apparated to Hogsmeade so we could walk to Hogwarts.

—

The warmth of the sun caressed my face, I enjoyed it in silence as I saw near the lake that there were hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young.

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 us towards the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual.

"Babe?" I nod to show I was listening as I played with my rings, "hey," I look at him from the corner of my eye, he held his hand out for me and I take it, he intertwines our fingers and sat out hands in his lap.

Suddenly with a worse jolt of fury, I saw Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-coloured 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 were seated at last. I could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. I wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead.

But then I heard music, strange otherworldly music and I forgot my dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. I was not the only one: many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.

I saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface; a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language I did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on my neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As I looked down into the wild faces of the singers I had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing.

"Umbridge actually came," I grumbled.

"Don't let her get to you," Lee whispered to me, "you'll be okay."

"If she stays away from me, sure." I mutter, then Fred lifted our hands and kissed the back of my scar-riddled hand.

But then the music stopped and he turned to face the front again.

A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. I could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of beads. "Nobility of spirit" ... "intellectual contribution" ... "greatness of heart" ... it did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore, but what I caught was some nice words.