Disclaimer: J K Rowling owns, I only own the plot and OCs

A/N: This is a semi-prequel to Pup and Fawn and sequel to Come What May, this is a oneshot. Please read and review!

Cry

Dew drops on a gravestone. Flowers placed, eyes stare and voices whisper. A hand reaches out to touch the marble that is embedded in the ground, tracing the name of someone that has just left the world, yet never departed.

For loneliness is that is the fate faced by those who are left behind. A hand drops on a shoulder of the woman kneeling, her hair which is normally red and flows past her shoulders is black and tied into a braid and secured with a tie.

Her companion sighs before kneeling next to the younger woman. Blonde and Black, how ironic. Elegant and hated in life, remembered fondly in death. A laugh, for what else is left, the other choice is to cry a river, something a Black never did.

"She would be proud," Narcissa Malfoy told her companion.

"I never thought that I would miss her if she died," retorted Alexandra, the younger woman who had just had her 5th birthday sighed.

"Well, I hardly think that people would believe that you came to this," the blonde aristocrat commented wryly. "However, I think that she would appreciate it."

"No, she would cackle and say that she made a proper pureblood of me," Ally muttered.

"Well, this funeral would certainly suggest that."

"I feel that it is time for us to leave, for death never waits around. She may be gone but perhaps it's time for us to live," Ally replied.

"You have forgiven her then," Narcissa asked of the younger woman.

"I do not know if I am the right person to forgive her, however, it is bad to speak ill of the dead."

Narcissa Malfoy smiled gently before the two Black women, one younger and the other older, the last two of the Black house turned and walked away from the gravestone of the formidable woman, but one that had made many mistakes. Mistakes that may never be forgiven but the blonde knew that whatever she said Ally Black had given up her grudge towards her grandmother, even if it was to make sure that she never spoke ill of the dead.

A cackle was heard throughout the cemetery as the two witches' disapparated past the wards, seemingly stronger around the newly planted gravestone.

Here Lies Walburga Black

1925-1985

Toujours Pur

A Black you are born and Black you shall depart

For you shall always be a Black at heart