Fair
Fair
There was no casket. No elaborate setup. No sunshine. There was no music, carefully selected by the friends and family of the departed, just a empty, enveloping silence.
They chose to hold the service at the Weasley house, because Sirius had always hated being stuck inside Grimmauld Place, and they were sure that the service could be held outside, in the sprawling yard. However, that hadn't really worked out. It had started raining around midnight the night before, and it had only gotten worse since then.
Everyone had arrived on the Weasley's doorstep soaking wet, and as a consequence, Mrs. Weasley had bewitched a mop to dry out the puddles that had formed by the door, while people quickly dried their clothes with their wands, leaving the room choked with steam.
The rain left everything even more sombre, and the guests, if that was the proper term for them, respected that and talked in hushed voices. Most of them were in the sitting room, standing in small huddles, lounging on the furniture, or, as in Harry's case, sitting and staring blankly at a wall. Mrs. Weasley had come by earlier and fussed over him, asking him if he was okay, and assuring him that if he wanted to go upstairs, or even leave, that that would be just fine also. Harry had declined though; he wanted to stay and pay his respects.
He avoided looking anywhere but at the wall, because it was the only thing that didn't remind him of Sirius. Someone had created a tribute of sorts in the middle of the room, with photographs and flowers. There were pictures of Sirius laughing with James, having a cup of tea with Remus, with a baby Harry on his lap and a laughing Lily at his side, chasing away the cat that kept playing with his shoelaces. The pictures were all from before the first war, back when everyone was still there. The people in the portraits had no idea what was to become of them and their friends, and it broke Harry's heart.
The people in this room, they would become just like the people in the pictures. People that were in this room right now were going to die, leaving their families heartbroken, their friends alone, and more services like this one would be held. This would probably become routine, Harry realized. Eventually, they would all become numb to this.
It wasn't fair.
They chose to hold the service at the Weasley house, because Sirius had always hated being stuck inside Grimmauld Place, and they were sure that the service could be held outside, in the sprawling yard. However, that hadn't really worked out. It had started raining around midnight the night before, and it had only gotten worse since then.
Everyone had arrived on the Weasley's doorstep soaking wet, and as a consequence, Mrs. Weasley had bewitched a mop to dry out the puddles that had formed by the door, while people quickly dried their clothes with their wands, leaving the room choked with steam.
The rain left everything even more sombre, and the guests, if that was the proper term for them, respected that and talked in hushed voices. Most of them were in the sitting room, standing in small huddles, lounging on the furniture, or, as in Harry's case, sitting and staring blankly at a wall. Mrs. Weasley had come by earlier and fussed over him, asking him if he was okay, and assuring him that if he wanted to go upstairs, or even leave, that that would be just fine also. Harry had declined though; he wanted to stay and pay his respects.
He avoided looking anywhere but at the wall, because it was the only thing that didn't remind him of Sirius. Someone had created a tribute of sorts in the middle of the room, with photographs and flowers. There were pictures of Sirius laughing with James, having a cup of tea with Remus, with a baby Harry on his lap and a laughing Lily at his side, chasing away the cat that kept playing with his shoelaces. The pictures were all from before the first war, back when everyone was still there. The people in the portraits had no idea what was to become of them and their friends, and it broke Harry's heart.
The people in this room, they would become just like the people in the pictures. People that were in this room right now were going to die, leaving their families heartbroken, their friends alone, and more services like this one would be held. This would probably become routine, Harry realized. Eventually, they would all become numb to this.
It wasn't fair.
♠ ♠ ♠
†Dumbledore's Fairwell, from the soundtrack for HP&HBP was the soundtrack for this.