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All The Same
People like to think about the parallels and striking differences between weddings and funerals.
Weddings are white, funerals are black. Weddings mean joyful tears, funerals mean sorrowful tears. Those are the obvious ones. The first ones you should think of. I don't really think of it as black versus white, though, because neither ceremony is ever that pure, ever that straightforward.
Tomorrow she's wearing white again. As she walks down the aisle, they'll be crying, clapping, taking photographs and thinking they'll remember this moment forever. And they do. They remember all of the weddings forever. They remember them right then. They remember the white peacocks at her first wedding, though I don't, with their golden eyes and blue ribbons. They remember all the other weddings so far. They wonder if this will really be the last. If they'll really love each other forever and ever. But as she walks down the aisle, she seems so sure. So sure that this is the last time. So hopeful. So ignorant. Is she lying to everyone else, or only to her self? Is she even lying? Maybe it will be the last time tomorrow. She's already gotten married more than most people have. She'll be on her fourth wedding. Most people get married once. Some people get married twice. But nobody get's married five times, they say. Nobody get's married five times, she thinks. But some people get married five times.
Tomorrow she'll walk down the aisle to the sound of enchanted violins. I remembered the spell from the last funeral I went to. He was my mum's third husband. I didn't much like him, and he didn't much like me, but I didn't see him much because this year I was at school. Hogwarts, not Durmstrang's. He had been a musician. Part of a famous band. Everyone was upset when he died. He was really rich. I had been in charge of the music, since his bandmates were his closest friends, and they couldn't bear the thought, or something. I didn't tell my mum I'd used the same spell. That would be too painfully ironic for her. It would put a bad taste in her mouth tomorrow as she walks down the aisle again.
It seems like yesterday when we lay Gilderbass to rest. It's been at least two months. But it feels like yesterday. Everything between now and then has happened to fast, but at the time I thought I'd be stuck at the funeral forever. It was like all funerals. As they lay the coffin in the ground people were crying, throwing flowers, making speeches and thinking they'll remember this wizard forever. And they do. They remember everyone forever. They remember them right then. They remember the smiles, the handshakes, the fighting, the fists, the moments they thought would never end and the ones they were glad that had. They remember all the other deaths so far. They think this will be the last. They think that they've lost so much already, they'll die too. They think they can't lose any more. And once they exit that funeral, they have closure. They think they've come to an understanding with the powers that be. Take no one else, and I'll forgive you for taking him. But there's always another funeral. There's always another wedding. And they're all the same.