This is the last chapter, sorry if there was some confusion about the previous chapter.
I'm sorry Kerichi found this fic silly and unworthy to finish, but alas, you can't win them all. I had a guy on read this fic whose only positive comment was that I had the guts to kill my own character.
Thanks to all who've taken the time to finish reading this and those who've left feedback. This was my first shot at writing fan fiction, I assure you my new fic is much better although I enjoyed writing this one.
The July morning dawned cold, the sky a murky gray. Minerva McGonagall sat alone in her garden, staring into space. She didn't hear the person approaching the bench where she sat, didn't notice the man as he sat beside her, it was a few moments before she felt the weight of his hand upon her own. When she finally realized this she started, and turned to see her former husband, Erik Potak, studying her face with gray eyes that, for once, held no sparkle.
They sat for a long time without speaking. There wasn't any need; they shared the same pain. His grief was hers, she knew without being told just how hard it was for him to keep breathing. They understood each other, as they had never had before.
Finally, Erik spoke, his voice raspy, like Minerva, he had not used his voice much over the past few days.
"Kitty," he said gently. "You should be getting dressed for the funeral."
She nodded, but did not move. Erik said nothing else, merely squeezed her hand and looked down at the ground.
-
A gentle breeze caressed the group of people seated atop the hill. It was a beautiful spot; gently sloping hills dotted with wildflowers, not a village or house in sight, but no one present was able to appreciate the scenery.
An open casket surrounded by lilies lay in front of the people, a man in a somber black cloak stood beside it reciting prayers. They were in Hebrew; a language only one person in the crowd could speak. After the rabbi had finished, a man arose and began to play bagpipes. As the eerie notes drifted across the hill, a sob emerged from the crowd and everyone turned their eyes away, a mother's grief is painful to witness.
The well of tears that Minerva had found dry had been replenished. The tears that had not come now came without restraint. She sobbed loudly; shoulders shaking, one hand pressed to her face the other holding tight to Erik's hand. Her grip was tight, her fingernails dug deep into Erik's palm, it was painful but he did not flinch, he did not seem aware of the present, his eyes were unfocused, fixed on a spot far in the distance.
A few rows behind the grieving parents sat Albus Dumbledore. His expression was grave and he looked upon the sobbing Minerva with as much sympathy as it was possible for one person to express. Beside him sat Fidelus Flitwick, tears leaking from his eyes. Flitwick's tiny wife Hannah was crying too, she wiped her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief and sniffed, they had known Celeste since her birth and had loved her like a niece.
In the row opposite Dumbledore and the Flitwicks sat Lily and her husband James Potter. Because Remus, Minerva, and Erik had all been in no condition to do anything since Celeste's death, Lily, James and Sirius Black had made the funeral arrangements. Now Lily sat with her head upon James' shoulder, crying softly. The Weasley family sat behind them, all five children unusually well behaved and looking just as somber as their parents, both of who were crying.
In the seat beside Erik Potak sat Remus Lupin. Unlike Minerva, he had cried more than a few times since Celeste's death, but he still had plenty of tears left. He was slumped forward in his seat, sobbing, holding his face in his hands. Sirius Black sat beside him, one hand on Remus' shoulder, face set.
There were many other witches and wizards present, all of whom with wet eyes and heavy hearts. There was one wizard, however, who sat in the very back row, eyes dry and fixed upon the ground. Severus Snape had run out of tears days before, but the aching in his heart was no less, in fact it had grown. He had had a brief glimpse of Celeste's pale body when he had arrived, the sight of her bloodless lips and frozen form had sent a chill through his body. She was dead, she was never going to laugh or dance or cry ever again. Severus had learned from Minerva that Celeste and Remus had been engaged, Severus could remember vividly the day Celeste had told him she was in love with Remus Lupin, this memory cut a deeper hole into Severus' heart, Celeste would have been so happy as Remus' wife. But that didn't matter now because Celeste was dead. Severus and Remus had not spoken but Severus knew exactly how Remus was feeling, because the grief that showed plainly on Remus' features was the same grief that was etched onto Severus' heart. Severus tried to avoid thinking about Remus as much as possible; he hated him for many reasons but mostly because Severus knew that Remus had deserved Celeste's love and friendship far more than he had.
The bagpipes went silent and the only sound that could be heard was the poignant sound of sobs from Minerva and Remus. These sounds seemed to be swallowed up in the deafening silence, a silence so thick Severus felt he would be smothered. But Severus knew what the silence truly was, Minerva, Erik, and Remus understood it too. It was the hole, the great, gaping chasm where Celestina Amber Potak had once been; they understood it when no one else did, because it was the same silence that filled their hearts.
THE END