"The poor boy. Oh, the poor, poor boy." Minerva McGonagall wiped her teary
eyes. "I should have seen it. He always was more gentle than that brute he
hung out with." Her gaze fell to the simple long box that was being put
into the ground.
Remus Lupin said nothing, his face haggard and drawn. The only remaining piece of his last friend was being laid to rest. He was alone with the memories of childhood laughter ringing hauntingly in his ears.
"He was brave." He heard himself say. And then, "A Gryffindor." It had been years since school but it felt right. Everyone had always wondered when the tiny little boy would roar like the lion he was supposed to be.
"The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes." Dumbledore said gravely. Whatever magic power kept his ancient age at bay failed this day as he looked down at the box that held one of his students, one of the children he had looked after and called his own.
Bravery and self-sacrifice, he thought. The traits of a hero, a martyr. A Gryffindor. How strange that Sirius Black should be from the same House, swearing vengeance on Peter Pettigrew still.
He was, after all, a dead man.
Remus Lupin said nothing, his face haggard and drawn. The only remaining piece of his last friend was being laid to rest. He was alone with the memories of childhood laughter ringing hauntingly in his ears.
"He was brave." He heard himself say. And then, "A Gryffindor." It had been years since school but it felt right. Everyone had always wondered when the tiny little boy would roar like the lion he was supposed to be.
"The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes." Dumbledore said gravely. Whatever magic power kept his ancient age at bay failed this day as he looked down at the box that held one of his students, one of the children he had looked after and called his own.
Bravery and self-sacrifice, he thought. The traits of a hero, a martyr. A Gryffindor. How strange that Sirius Black should be from the same House, swearing vengeance on Peter Pettigrew still.
He was, after all, a dead man.