THIRTY-THREE

Hermione sat in one of the courtyards, hands buried deep in her robes for warmth as her third Warming Charm faded around her. It was too cold to sit outside, but she didn't want to go in. Professor Flitwick had been watching her all morning, giving her odd looks, no doubt thinking about her being in the castle over the summer and brewing in Severus's private lab. Professor Vector had been giving her odd looks, too, though they were a more evaluating sort of thing that made Hermione wonder what sort of arithmantic algorithms she'd been putting together. Madam Pomfrey seemed to be withholding judgement. Professor Sprout had offered twice more to help her disappear.

The students had slowly been arriving over the course of the morning. Some came by Floo; some were Apparated in by their parents. The train would leave King's Cross at eleven, as it always did, but most parents wanted to see their children safely to the castle.

Professor McGonagall said Harry and Ron would arrive later in the afternoon. Until then, Hermione was avoiding the funeral guests. They'd been pouring in since dawn; Castle informed her of each arrival.

Since she'd become Warden, there had been very few people coming and going at the school. There had been very few people around at all, for that matter. The number of people had been increasing exponentially all morning. Castle told her who had arrived, whether they came by Floo or walked through the main gate, which room they'd be staying in, and which House they'd been in when they were a student. More often than not, Castle also told her that this one had been a troublemaker, or that one had spent a night in the catacombs as a dare.

It was, in a word, overwhelming. Ideally, she'd have been able to hide in Severus's sitting room, but the Heads of House had descended for an impromptu meeting and she'd had to make a run for it. (Severus's guess had been that Professor McGonagall had gathered them all together as an excuse to snoop around his quarters for evidence that he'd killed the headmaster.) So she sat in the courtyard, letting the cold ground her as she adjusted to the insane amount of information Castle seemed to have decided she needed to know.

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"This is for you," Ron said the next morning. They were in the common room, waiting for Professor McGonagall to arrive and lead them all down to the funeral. He held out a broken quill; Hermione blinked and Ron grinned at her, lowering his voice. "It's a Portkey. Dad made it."

"Oh."

"He said he sent you another one, but he wasn't sure it would make it through all the screening."

"It did."

"Oh. Good." Ron smiled and held the quill out, urging her to take it. She did. "Harry has one, too. They'll bring you to the garden shed at the Burrow."

"Thank you, Ron," she said, pulling him in tight for a hug. He started to say something about how it was his dad's idea not his, but the moment was ruined by Lavender.

"Get off of him," she sneered, pulling at Hermione's elbow. "He's my boyfriend."

"Lav," Ron said, and Hermione could hear the frustration in his voice. "Hermione's my friend. I haven't seen her—"

"Is that how it is, then?" Lavender asked, voice rising to new levels of shrill.

"I'll just… go," Hermione said, ducking off toward Harry after giving Ron's arm one last thankful squeeze.

"What's going on over there?" Ginny asked. She, Harry, Dean and Neville were sitting together by the fire, fidgeting in their dress robes for the funeral and trying not to seem as though they were watching the drama unfold across the room.

"The usual," Hermione said. "Lavender's being dramatic."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Neville warned. Hermione smiled at him.

Professor McGonagall arrived not ten minutes later. She didn't bat an eyelash at the shouting match, just looked at the pair of them. Ron and Lavender went quiet, Ron making his way to them with red ears while Lavender sulked off towards a group of fifth years.

The walk through the castle was silent. Castle told her that the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were already outside; even the ghosts were ahead of them. They met the Ravenclaws in the entrance hall, and then the only one left in the castle was Peeves.

It was cold and blustery, the wind whipping across the frozen lake and making the guests seated in the chairs by the bank hide in their mufflers. An extraordinary assortment of people had already filled most of the chairs, all of them wearing layers of cloaks and hats. There was a low tingle of many Warming Charms, prompting Hermione to cast another one of her own.

She spotted members of the Order, Madam Maxime, Tom from the Leaky Caudlron, and many other familiar faces. Most of them looked as though they were still reeling from the loss of the headmaster, with a few exceptions. Cornelius Fudge looked miserable. Rita Skeeter looked eager to cover the funeral of the year. Dolores Umbrige's mimed grief faltered when she met Hermione's eye and quickly looked to the front again.

They took their seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, though the grass was covered by last night's snowfall.

The staff was seated last. The Minister of Magic looked grave and dignified in the front row, his head angled forward as he talked softly with Professor McGonagall.

And then Hagrid brought Dumbledore's body, and there was a eulogy. The merpeople sang a song from beneath the ice that was both haunting and beautiful. Then bright white flames erupted around Dumbledore's body where it had been laid out. White smoke spiraled into the air, making strange shapes. For a moment, the smoke looked like a grand phoenix, but then the illusion was gone. The fire vanished, and in its place was a white marble tomb. The centaurs shot a volley of arrows, surprising a few shouts out of the crowd (Hermione looked down at her lap to hide her smirk when she saw Umbridge visibly flinch).

And it was over just like that. A few people lingered to bow their heads or touch the tomb, but most hurried to the Great Hall to get out of the cold. There was a feast in Dumbledore's honor, and the Great Hall had never seemed so crowded. Instead of the four long House tables, dozens of small round tables filled the Hall. Somehow, everybody seemed to fit.

Hermione ate mechanically. The press of too many people against her awareness through Castle grated on her, only made worse by the need to keep up appearances, to talk to her friends. Harry and Ron were whispering about Malfoy looking awfully pale.

Finally, finally, the Hall began to clear. The first through fourth years were sent to bed, since classes would begin again in the morning. It was the sign many seemed to have been waiting for, and before long the crowd had begun to thin. Harry, who had been talking to the Minister of Magic, stormed out, followed by Ron and Ginny. Hagrid blew his nose loudly one last time, and Madam Maxime guided him kindly from the Hall.

MASTER WISHES TO SPEAK TO YOU.

Hermione looked around. She'd lost track of Severus in the crush of the crowd. He wasn't in the Hall. A careful inquiry—she didn't want to be overwhelmed with information and end up with a pounding headache (again) when they were trying to make plans—to Castle's awareness, and she stepped out one of the side doors. He was in his office again.

A/N: More soon!