So many of them come to the funeral. From all parts of our world they pay their respects to the great man. For one day, the old hierachy is forgotten and Ministry officials share their grief with Hogwarts students and even house elves. True, some of the grief feels a little forced (Umbridge is such a bad actress) but the sorrow of those who knew him best, and loved him best is very real.
Hagrid carries him out, still wrapped in my old quilt. Somebody grabs my hand and squeezes it hard. I squeeze back, not even turning to see who it is. If their sadness is sincere I'll share it too.
I can't take my eyes off the body as Hagrid carefully lays it on the table. I remain numb to the world around me, even when Hagrid starts blowing his nose really quite loudly. I know I shall never see Dumbledore again, so I remain fixated on him throught the service, only vaguely listening to the little man extolling his virtues, as if they needed expression.
When the white flames engulf him to seal him in his tomb, I almost call to him. Shout for him to come back, that I'm not ready, that I need him. But words at this point no longer hold the meaning they once did. If I can go on without Joanie, I can go on without Albus. I shall have to. I tell myself that whenever I feel about to crack.
I have to say, it is a magnificent tomb. Smooth, perfect white stone, purer white than the clouds that were its inspiration. It looks a little like how the Muggle cartoonist draw thoughts, like little bubbles.
The centaurs fire off their tribute to him, and for me that means more than anything the little speaker said.
As everybody begins to mill away from the tomb, a few come up to me. To offer solace or share their memories of my guardian. The Ministry officials among them seem quite pleased with my reserved attitude and I feel selfishly glad that his death was not expected otherwise I don't know how I would have coped.
He thought of everything, Albus.
I hear angry words about Snape, bitter words filled with a need for vengeance. I am very glad that Severus isn't here to hear them. I hate to hear the tide of hate that is turning against Severus, who once was respected, if not really liked much.
I head back to the castle but on a moment's reflection I return to the tomb and sit in its shade.
"Our business is ended here, Albus. You are dead, by Severus' hand as you wished to be, but I sense that not everything went according to plan. Draco is still out there, he can still be saved even though he fled and is now in the company of Death Eaters. We- I shall have to keep an eye on him. I can't ignore him as if he were just another by-product of a mission. It is my responsibility to help him as I promised him I would. As I promised you I would.
I will stand by the Ministry and by Scrimgeour and I will not shirk my orders. And I will do everything I can, so that Voldemort is defeated and maybe I can love to be alive again."
An owl stops and perches on a branch ahead, a respectful distance from the tomb. He drops a letter addressed to me. In true Scrimgeour fashion, he does not give me my orders face to face but waits until he can send word. He barely acknowledged me during the funeral.
Shut up your lodgings and report to my office in London in 36 hours. You are no longer required to guard the school, Pius Thicknesse tells me that the risk of an attack over the summer season is unlikely and he has ordered new recruits to be stationed in September so you are superfluous to the equation in Scotland. I have need of your skills in London, you will be required to report for duty at the Ministry everyday no exceptions. That includes any family celebrations or any social events that you are invited to.
This message will self destruct.
There goes my intention of being at Bill Weasley's wedding. Molly won't be happy, but I have no choice.
Scrimgeour must have forgiven me my unfortunate heritage. I think Dumbledore's death had something to do with it. He would never dream that I would ever desire the death of the man he considers my idol. Either way, he knows I am willing to work with him. Perhaps now he can trust me and I can bury myself in proper work, instead of the tedious meandering of the past year. It is rather inconvinient, the two most important sites in wizarding Britain at opposite ends of the country. But I am glad to be back in my old city. The long hours and hard work might even be a welcome distraction, even if it means that I can visit Albus' grave as often as I would like to.
I miss him. I never realised, when I was plotting and planning, how much I genuinely would miss him. I expected pain and grief, but I did not expect it to be like this. And I should have known, having had a fair share of pain myself.
I look up to see Fawkes flying overhead. So beautiful and yet so sad. I shall have to move on as he does, to die and yet be reborn again.
11th July
I stand in the hall of my home in Kent, a stranger in a familiar house. The circle has moved, I am back where I started. Living in Kent and working in London. Perhaps I might even resume dancing in the evenings. Perhaps I could get my old life back, and in my hazier moments pretend that the year 1996-1997 never happened and that nothing has changed since Sirius died. Pretend that everything I went through while guarding Hogwarts was just a daze, brought on by a drop too much Firewhisky.
Joanie and I left this place last year, but I only have returned. To a new start, made fresh for me by Dumbledore. An old and familiar slate wiped clean and the empty future waiting to be written.
I unpack all of my possessions and set the rooms to rights. Every time I think of a happy memory in each room I give it a friendly wave, and when I am finished my arm is aching.
Tomorrow I begin work. Work to end this War.
25th July
"For the last time, you're not coming!"
I sigh in exasperation. "But why, Mad-Eye? I'm not that terrible on a broom."
He glowers down at me. At six foot two, he towers over me but I refuse to be intimidated.
"It's not a question of capability, it's a question of trust."
"Dumbledore trusted me!"
"Yes. Dumbledore also trusted Snape, look where that got him."
"But you don't trust anyway except Tonks anyway! Why can you trust Dung more than you can trust me?" I feel snobbishly stung.
"I know what's what with Dung. He is a coward and a worm but he tells the truth, even if it takes a while. You, on the other hand, are secretive, ruthless and I suspect a manipulator too. I have good reason not to trust you."
I open my mouth to retort but to my irritation words fail me completely. I simply pull a hurt face and leave, my pride blinding me to the obvious. I leave unaware of the figure reflected in his magic eye, deaf to the warning Second Sight gives me, ignorant of the fact that I shall never see him alive again.
27th July
While the coast is still clear, I take the oppurtunity to warm up with a quick swig of tea. I may not be able to partake in the disguise, Mad-Eye has not deemed me so untrustworthy as to be useless, especially with so many good people's lives at risk.
So here I am, with several other members of the Order just down the road, all of us trying to achieve the difficult: taking down as many flying Death Eaters as we can before they encounter Harry and his protectors. With the tactic of travelling in pairs leaving them vulnerable to outnumbering, it is our task to reduce the outnumbering as much as we can.
There is a park a few miles south from Little Whinging where we have stationed ourselves and prepared for the attack, open enough for clear aim but with a few trees nearby for emergency cover. We are based south- the prevailing wind is north tonight, best for flying up from the south. We discuss the plan as a group one more time before dividing and heading off to our posts. The lights out signal is given and all lamps and wands are extinguished, the cloaks and hoods covering our skin and hair rendering us as good as invisible.
I settle down into position, scanning the skies for the first broom to show up. I can't stop thinking about how Severus might be in there. The chance of him getting hit is relatively small, with distance, speed and reflexes taken into account, even with the group's considerable marksmanship. But the chance is still there. And he is one the best allies the Order has.
I put the thought aside. The risk is there for all of us. Severus and I have a world between us, we are on opposing sides now.
I tense like a spring as the first broom appears in the sky, heading towards Little Whinging. We raise our wands and the fight begins.
We manage to take two down before they have time to react. They respond with a rain of spells. Some cast shield charms to block the hits, while others return aggression. I am forced off balance as the ground shakes, plumes of dirt spraying up from craters caused by spells collding witht he ground. I spin around and send up spells of my own. One misses the flier but catches on the broom's tail and I can hear shouts as he jerks around in the sky, frantically extinguishing the flames.
Overall the battle on the ground lasts only for a few minutes, but those minutes feel so much longer. I crane my neck up at them and judge that they are just a few minutes from approaching our brooms. I search for a hidden advantage, something we may have overlooked.
"The pylons!" I shout, glad that everyone in the force is well versed in Muggle Studies enough to know what one is. "Use them to reflect your spells!"
I duck down again as more spells shoot down, my eyes seeing shadows from the flashes of green and red. I roll back to observe the chaos around me. Spells are blurring into a cloud towards the pylon, some missing but most colliding and boucing off. Only one Death Eater is hit but they are forced to scatter to dodge the hurtling spells. A disjointed order to elevate several feet is executed out of synchronization, leaving two more stranded and sitting ducks, taken down in a matter of seconds.
Down on the ground, we are given the order to disperse, as Thestrals and brooms soar into the sky. Five. We are managed to take down five, all now dead. The battle on the ground is over, but the battle of the skies is barely starting. I feel an arm around my shoulder and I turn away and am led to safety.
1st August 1997
The Ministry has changed even more since I left. It has become less of a fine institution, less of a monument of authority and more a work in progress, well worn and spartan from what I am told is The War Effort. In some ways I like it better now than its days of haughty grandeur. But I certainly don't like its habitants.
Rufus Scrimgeour cannot pick his allies. He may as well take on all their jobs as well as his own for all the help they give him, Umbridge among them. There's also a sense of unease, there's looking over shoulders and whispering in corners that mystically vanishes when he enters the room, replaced by false smiles and eager acceptance of orders. And the fool falls for it all.
It is a sweltering summer and all of us are bubbling 24/7 in a massive Ministerial stew. Some of the witches have actually taken to removing their shoes and stockings and walking barefoot; bliss on tiles and stone but roasting agony on carpet. Memos are used as fans more often than not and only the masochists wear ties. The cause of these sauna-like conditions is the Ministry ventilation system, outdated to begin with and the Magical Maintenance team are a shambles at the moment. Half of them have been drafted as war workers and the other half have no means of motivation at all. My request to head the team and sort it out are met with outrage. A child, managing a Ministry department? The idea! No, we'd much rather boil alive in red tape than the absurd suggestion of me having power. My further (more innocent) suggestion of opening a window is met with sniggers of laughter. In order to open a window I have to do a full risk assessment and then talk to the Maintenance and Auror departments as to how wide I can open it, all for a just a few blasts of fresh air.
It feels strange to be sitting down so much, after a year of standing around and patrolling. It also feels strange to be working on long stretches rather than shifts. It's equally tiring, working from seven til seven and then dance classes until eleven, then bed at midnight and up at six. The days seem to merge into each other and I have to have my watch and calendar on me at all times just to keep track.
When Scrimgeour approves of my work, which consists of organising and updating confidential documents after they have been overseen by him, he becomes more patient with my inadequacies. I become resentful of his false friends, who do less work than me yet receive far more praise. I suppose I am too used to Albus' patience and encouragement. I really must stop judging people at the level I judged him.
It is early evening, when they come for him. I heard the whispers, saw the looks. But ignorance was tempting, too tempting and I yielded, preferring to wait and watch rather than act. And my mistake wrecked our world.
We hear the footsteps, not bothering to conceal the sound for there is no way out of this office.
He turns to me and I could taste the fear in my exhaled breath.
"Are you expecting company, Marion?"
I slowly shake my head.
I grunt softly as he shoves a red box into my grasp and I know that it contains documents too valuable to be let into enemy hands.
"Destroy it. Go,"
But we have run out of time, as the footsteps are moments from the door. I almost poke my eye out as I tap my head to perform a Disillusionment Charm and hide flat against the wall, the box thankfully chained to my wrist and also rendered invisible.
I bite back my scream as the door is blasted off his hinges; and Voldemort himself advances on Scrimgeour, Death Eaters and Ministry workers alike behind him. I look at them all in horror. I cannot tell Death Eater from official, they're all after the same things it would seem. I look at the traitors, who swore they would stand by him in his efforts to destroy their new leader, Voldemort. It is how Dumbledore fell, it is how Moody fell, it is how Scrimgeour shall fall. Betrayed or let down by those who promised to follow them.
Slowly I inch myself around the room, taking a deep breath in as I almost brush those closest to the wall. I keep my eyes fixed on the door, on freedom.
Until the torture begins.
He gives the Minister one chance only to reveal Harry's whereabouts before he reverts to his old standby. I become very glad to be invisible, as I should not like Voldemort to see me trembling like a leaf. it is a wonder they cannot hear my knees knocking, but they have their minds on another matter.
His screams tear me apart, blocking all thought from my head. I look at the doorway. I look back at him. I have to obey my orders. I have been told to go. I must go.
But something clicks in my head. I have also been told to stand by what I believe in. And I don't believe in abandoning Scrimgeour. I am not Dolores Umbridge. I am not Mundungus Fletcher. I am Marion Popyngcart; and I choose to stay. I choose to witness the horror and not flee from it. I choose to defy Ministry and Voldemort both.
With as much will as I can muster, I slip past them to Scrimgeour's side. His face is contorted in agony, his screams a cacophany of pain ringing in my head like a terrible bell. But I made the mistake of not discovering the coup; and I shall atone.
His hand is hot from the torture. Keeping it off of the floor, I grip it tightly and I don't let go.
The interrogation continues, but I do not budge. When the pain comes he grips at my hand tighter and tighter, but as he is writhing around they fail to spot it. Or maybe they are so buried in the sadism they fail to recognise something as pure as a simple human embrace.
What began as eloquent statements of denial become slurred stubbon objections as the curse burns its way through his nervous system, but his will does not crack. When his eyes flicker, or when he seems on the verge of defeat he grips my hand as if binding his conscience together. He never gives in, not when he is almost begging for death does he give away any information: about Harry, or anyone else.
Voldemort becomes bored of the scene, once the screams all blur into each other. He ends Scrimgeour's life with a single Killing Curse and I feel Scrimgeour's hand slacken. Dead but undefeated.
Without bothering to close his eyes they transfigure his body into a small object of some sort- I forget what and take it out for disposal.
I lean my head agaisnt the desk, clenching the hand he held into a fist. He did not give up and I will not give up. Whatever his faults, whatever our disagreements we fought for the same things and we will die for the same things.
My legs are no more substantial than jelly and I crawl out of the office. Defeat seems to physically crush me.
Kingsley comes running and I snatch at the hem of his robes. He whips around and I quickly remove my camouflage. He expels a long breath as he sees that it is just me. Almost gently, he lifts me still shaking to my feet and I lean on him for support.
"The Ministry has fallen" I gasp. "Our leader is dead. They're looking for him now. They're looking for Harry."
