Rain dropped onto thinning black hair of a dark skinned old man, causing it to stick pathetically to his forehead. It dribbled down his face, joining the salty tears to create tracks down to his chin. The people surrounding him were standing under umbrellas, but he couldn't bring himself to hold one above his head and use his energy for anything other than grieving for his friend. He gazed sombrely at the headstone that had been erected only a day earlier. At the head of it was his best friend's name, the person he had met fifty-seven years earlier.
Seamus Finnigan
1980 – 2048
Beloved Husband,
Father & Friend
His eyes downcast, Dean took a step closer to the casket waiting to be lowered into the earth. He was aware it was up to him to say a few words about his husband, and even though he had written a speech he wasn't sure where to start. Clearing his throat, he wiped at his face and stood before everyone. In front of him was a vast array of people. Most of them were wizards, but he was aware a few of them were muggles. Of course, they were at a wizard funeral, they would be well versed in the wizarding world. After once more clearing his throat, Dean started to speak.
"Seamus was one of the very best. He had a brilliant ability to make someone laugh at the worst of times, and cheer someone up when they most needed it. I don't remember what my life was like before I met him, as we met at a young age on the way to our new school, but I'm sure it wasn't nearly as good. In the first decade of knowing him, he grew quite a reputation... For causing explosions." A few laughs sounded from the first row of the service, and Dean was glad to see Harry and the gang from his school years. Seamus would have wanted them there. "I think the best way to honour his memory, would be to honour what he was best at."
Raising his wand to the air, he closed his eyes and simply smiled. He had finally mastered wordless incantations in order to do this. From the end of his wand erupted a plethora of sparks, shortly followed by seven explosions which seemed to be contained in balls of energy over the casket. One explosion for every year the friends had lived together at school. Dropping his head, Dean no longer cared if everyone saw him crying. He gingerly made his way back to his place, leaning heavily on a walking stick he had to conjure, and sat down heavily in his seat. Seamus wouldn't begrudge him a seat at his funeral. It was just too hard to stay standing while Seamus was finally covered in dirt and left in peace. As a final act of remembrance, Dean suddenly saw it within himself to lift a wand that wasn't his and choke out two words. "Expecto Patronum." As a silvery fox stood over the grave, the attendees slowly left, having finally said goodbye to the boy who blew up a bridge.