THE MORBID AFFAIR OF DIPPET'S FUNERAL
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to JK Rowling.
…
Did you know that flowers were originally included in funeral proceedings to mask the scent of death?
I certainly didn't. Well, not until I read about it a few months ago in A Macabre History: Britain's Traditions of the Dead. It's all I can think about as I stare at Armando Dippet's tulip-laden casket resting atop the damp soil next to the gaping hole in which he is to be lowered, the fleeting thought that I should be feeling upset or distraught – something – running through my mind before my focus returns to the flowers. They line the edges of the coffin, tucked into the grooves and hinges, with wreaths of petals pinned to the top, their blushing pink colour a stark contrast to the sea of onyx surrounding it.
The day is overcast, the clouds heavy and grey as though they mourn for the former headmaster too. His burial ceremony is being held in Hogsmeade's cemetery, as per his final wishes I'm told, and as such the Hogwarts castle looms dimly in the distance, standing sentinel over the grim proceedings. The ground is wet and muddy, the soles of my polished black shoes now caked in a layer of dirt, and a fine mist is rolling off the surrounding hills, whisps of white smoke that almost look like fingers.
The day is… picturesque. Ominous and slightly dark, and perfectly fitting for the current occasion.
The pallbearers approach the coffin and begin the process of moving it into the grave. A woman stood to my right sobs into a handkerchief, and I see many people attempting not to shed a tear at the scene. As I've said, I'm not particularly devastated at Dippet's passing, here more for formality than anything since it would have hardly been the done thing to decline the invitation, but I do recognise that I need to appear as though I'm at least somewhat affected by the affair. So, I set my mouth into a grim line and keep my eyes glued onto the casket as though I can hardly believe what I'm seeing.
I can believe it though. I can believe that Dippet finally kicked the bucket at the ripe old age of oh, about three hundred and fifty. Just like I can believe that Dumbledore is slated to be his replacement.
Dumbledore. Even just the thought of the name sends a bolt of vicious anger through me. Dippet may have never shown any compassion towards me – nothing I hold against him, mind, he treated me the exact same as the other hundreds, if not thousands, of pupils who passed through the castle during his reign – but at least he treated me fairly. Dumbledore, on the other hand, has perennially been a thorn in my side, suspicious and observant and altogether bothersome since the very first time I met him, almost eighteen years ago now. I'm quite sure he was the reason my application for the vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post a few years ago was declined, and now this? Taking up permanent residence in Dippet's empty office?
I don't stand a chance.
My thoughts drift between Hogwarts and Dumbledore and Dippet and my own personal endeavours as the remainder of the ceremony passes. I make sure to look contrite in all the right places, to slouch my shoulders in melancholy and clutch my hands together behind my back. All the while I'm counting in my head – counting the minutes down until it's bloody well over and I can leave. The whole ordeal is simply too emotional for me, a waste of time spent crying over a useless corpse as if that'll bring him back.
And then it's over, thank Merlin, and the crowd begins to disperse. I believe there's a wake being held in the Three Broomsticks and am still undecided as to whether I should attend. On the one hand, it would earn me brownie points if I'm to continue my attempts at lobbying for the teaching position I so desperately desire, but on the other hand I'll have to pretend for even longer that I'm upset. That I'm actually upset at Dippet's passing and not seething in rage on the inside.
I make to depart. My feet sink into the ground slightly as I walk, damp grass tickling the ankles of my tailored suit trousers. Nobody talks to me, and decide that yes, I think I will skip on the wake when, as I'm stepping around a large headstone carved into the shape of a gargoyle and lighting a cigarette, I hear a voice call, "Tom."
A familiar voice. Powerful and knowing.
And the last person I wish to see.
My hackles raise, and I turn without withdrawing the cigarette from between my lips. "Professor Dumbledore," I say.
"My, my, Tom," Albus Dumbledore says, the twinkle in his eyes dimming at the sight of me as it always does. "While I wasn't expecting to see you here, I'm certainly not surprised."
I exhale a cloud of smoke. "How so?"
"I didn't think you were that fond of Dippet."
"Of course, I was, sir," I say, pinning him with my steady gaze. "He gave me a home when nobody else would. You of all people should know that."
Dumbledore nods at my words understandingly, but not without a virulent glint flashing across his features so quickly that I almost believe I imagine it.
But I don't. I know I don't. Because I know just how much Dumbledore despises me too.
"Oh, yes, yes. How could I forget," he says, before the two of us turn and resume the journey towards the cemetery gates along with the other attendees. The mist encompassing the village appears to have thickened, the result being that only the pointed tips of some of the more distant buildings and the Hogwarts castle are visible now. It's eery. Alchemistic.
"Are you attending the wake?" I ask Dumbledore out of false politeness as we walk.
He chuckles merrily. "I suppose I should, shouldn't I? It would only be fitting since I'm to be his replacement."
Bugger.
While it was rumoured that Dumbledore was to be the new headmaster, I was still holding out some hope that it would be someone else. Someone like… oh, I don't know, perhaps Slughorn? Of course, I'm not delusional and from anybody else's standpoint old Albus here is the best man for the job. But, as I've previously mentioned, this makes my ambition of obtaining that teaching post within the castle a damn sight harder.
It takes a notable effort to keep my temper in check.
"So, it's been confirmed then?" I manage to ask without clenching my teeth too much.
Dumbledore replies brightly, "Yes, it has."
"Well, congratulations."
"Thank you."
"I'm sure you'll make an excellent headmaster."
"I sincerely hope so." He shoots me an odd look out of the corner of his stupid half-moon spectacles. "How about you? Are you to attend the wake?"
I shake my head and smile faintly, hedging, "Oh, I don't think so. While I knew old Dippet, I don't think I knew him that well."
"I'm certain there'll be many people who knew him less than you did. I could swear I just caught sight of Bathilda Bagshot, and I know for a fact that she hasn't spoken to Dippet for almost a century."
"Be that as it may, I should really be going."
Dumbledore comes to halt just outside of the wrought iron cemetery gates, causing me to do the same. He takes me in for a few moments, gaze flicking between my perfectly schooled features and my perfectly pressed attire and the slim cigarette between my fingers, of which I occasionally take a drag. "You're better than this, Tom," he says. As if he has any right to. As if he can see right through me. As if he knows me.
My chest burns with repressed ire.
I plaster a bemused expression onto my face, though, as if I'm speaking to some crackpot old man who's gone round the twist, and innocently ask, "Whatever are you on about?"
And before he can answer, before I catch a glimpse of his expression, I drop my cigarette to the cobbles, grinding it out with my heel, and turn and leave. All the while feeling his eyes trained onto my back as I make haste to the nearest apparition point.
When I arrive back at my flat, I shatter the nearest breakable thing available. Pulverizing it into a thousand tiny pieces.
…
A/N: This was written for the QLFC, team Tutshill Tornados.
Prompts used:
(Beater 2) The Turn of the Screw by Henry James: Write about someone two-faced.
12. (plot point) A Funeral
15. (dialogue) "You're better than this."
Word Count: 1423
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