Chapter Four: Grave Circumstances

The funeral was held in the Shaw mansion. Beth cried on her father's shoulder throughout the service. She didn't mean to, but big tears kept welling up and rolling down her cheeks unchecked. She couldn't stand to look at Richard, still and cold in an open coffin, but she did see through her tears that his wand had been laid in the hands folded across his chest.

As the guests filed past the coffin before it was Banished away to the family crypt, Beth reached out and took his waxy hand. When she released it, she held his Society ring.

The Shaws, despite their grief, had somehow arranged a reception for the funeral goers downstairs in their grand ballroom. The vaulted walls were hung with black silk, the mirrors had all been covered. Long tables stretched from one end of the room to the other; guests sat in clusters, speaking quietly to one another. The chandeliers which had once been dazzling now gave off a more sedate light.

Beth faltered at the entrance. The black cloth looked like graveclothes; the whole room might have been a coffin, a tomb. She felt tears welling up again. "I - I'll be back," she told her father. As the first one drizzled down her cheek, she turned and fled into the powder room.

It was not empty. A gaggle of middle-aged witches, dabbing at their eye makeup and gossiping in low tones, thronged the mirrors, all dressed in black like a flock of frowzy crows. Beth skimmed past them into a toilet stall, where she bolted the door and fought to hold back her tears. This was no time to lose control.

"...laying on the floor by his bed. House elf found him..."

"Thank God. Think if it had been a parent..."

The witches at the bureau all suddenly lowered their voices. Beth sniffed resolutely and dried her eyes. She leaned against the wall of the stall.

"...don't care what the Prophet said, that boy's death was no accident."

The speaker's friend shushed her hastily. "I won't have you spreading rumors, Tess, not when poor Oberon and Genevieve are still grieving-"

"And such a silly rumor too!" added another friend, with a little frightened titter.

"It is not a rumor!" the first voice snapped. "I saw it personally while walking in the park. There was a Dark Mark over the Shaw house."

Beth's blood ran cold. She pressed herself closer to the wall.

"You said it didn't linger," whispered one friend derisively. "It was a reflection, of course - or someone sending up sparks..."

"I saw what I saw," said Tess resolutely. "And if dear Oberon hadn't insisted that the death be reported as an accident, I'd go to the Prophet. They know there were Death Eaters at the World Cup last year, you saw it there too, Marie-"

"Enough of this. We must be supportive of the Shaws now, it's all we can do - and we must not compound their grief by letting idle gossip slide into the wrong hands!"

There was a rustle of cloaks, and the door opening and closing. Beth waited for several seconds; then she slipped out of the powder room and crept upstairs.

She paused outside of Richard's bedroom, glancing up and down the lonely hallway. She cracked the door to make sure the room was empty; then she slid inside and closed the door behind her.

Richard's bedroom was almost exactly the way he had left it. Beth crossed the room quickly and opened the third bureau drawer from the bottom. In a back corner, beneath a pile of meticulously folded dress robes, lay a folded parchment and a small package wrapped in a white handkerchief. Beth took both and put them in her pocket. She opened the drawer above that. A bit of rummaging yielded a small glass vial with just a drop of yellowish liquid sliding around inside. She sniffed it and put it in her other pocket. Carefully rearranging the clothes, she left the bedroom and quietly made her way back downstairs.

The ballroom now hummed with muted conversation. The drinks and hors d'ouvres were still there, but Beth didn't feel like she could eat anything, so she passed them by. She spotted her father sitting by Melissa with her parents across the room, and started towards them.

"Elizabeth."

Beth turned around. There stood Mrs. Shaw, meticulously dressed as always, looking strained but no less dignified. Beth suddenly felt a swell of pity for this woman who had lost her only child. "Mrs. Shaw - I'm sorry..."

Mrs. Shaw did not look like she wanted to be hugged, so Beth kept her distance. "So am I," she said, formal voice wavering for just a moment. She cleared her throat. "My son ... was very close to you."

Beth felt like crying again and felt very stupid for it.

Mrs. Shaw held a crumpled black handkerchief in one hand; with the other, she reached into a pocket and brought out a small black box. She leaned forward to press it into Beth's hand.

"I'm certain he would have wanted you to have this. Do open it."

The box contained a silver ring, set magnificently with a single opal as smooth and black as a nighttime pond.

"Oh," said Beth, "I can't accept-"

Mrs. Shaw gently pushed Beth's fingers closed around the box. "Please do," she said. "He had intended to - to someday give it to special girl..." Her hand clenched the handkerchief tightly for just a second. Then she seemed to regain control; she looked up at Beth with a wan smile. "Oberon and I are so pleased to have met you."

"I'm glad to have known Richard." Beth's throat felt thick. "And ... you."

They both stood silently, face-to-face, staring at the floor. Then, without another word, without meeting each others' eyes, they turned and withdrew to their individual grief.

Beth tried not to look at the people she passed. Some knew who she had been to Richard, and that was bad; some didn't, and wondered what a shaggy-haired girl with a Muggle father was doing at such a high-class funeral, and that was worse. She walked as quickly as she could get away with and slid into a chair beside her father, across from Melissa and her parents.

"Hullo, Beth," said Mrs. Ollivander brightly, looking somewhat strained. "We were just having a chat with your father. He's been telling us all about your final Alchemy project. Top marks, wasn't it? Well done!"

"Drink this, Bethy," said her father gently, and pushed a glass of punch toward her.

"I've had a letter from Bruce," Melissa told her. Her voice held the same nervous liveliness as her mother's. "He's spent all summer giving lessons at the local Quidditch pitch. They're letting him referee some of the amateur games..." She laughed. It was not a cheerful sound. "But of course we'll hear all about that on the train to school."

"Not long until the start of term," Mr. Ollivander boomed, settling back in his seat. "Exciting, isn't it? The last one." He leaned across the table, and gave Mr. Parson a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Our girls are growing up."

"Da..." Melissa protested, reddening.

Beth sighed and took a drink of punch.

-'-'-

The sun had set by the time Beth and her father left the Shaw mansion by Floo network. One by one they stepped out of their own fireplace into the living room, flicking soot from their clothes.

Beth had never felt so utterly drained. Hardly feeling her feet on the ground, she moved mutely through the house and started up to her bedroom. She was halfway up the stairs when a soft voice halted her.

"Bethy."

Beth turned back. Her father stood at the foot of the stairs. He raised his eyes to her.

"I remember when I lost your mother," he said, his slow, soft voice clear in the silent stairwell. "It was as if someone'd taken my life away."

She had never heard him speak about her mother's imprisonment. Slowly, she sat down on a stair.

"But I had you to care for," he went on, lowering his eyes. "And there were new friends and new chances in America." He didn't look like he wanted to go on talking; her father was not given to long speeches. Still, he took a breath and said one more thing. "I promise. You'll be happy again."

Beth fled downstairs and crushed him in a hug.

-'-'-

But Dad doesn't know what I'm up against, Beth thought, on her way back upstairs. You don't just tell the Dark Lord you're quitting his army. I may be happy again someday, but it's going to be a long time.

She shut the bedroom door carefully behind her. Going to her dresser, she rummaged around in her jewelry box until she found a slim silver chain. She slid Richard's Society ring onto the chain, then added the opal ring that his mother had given her. She fastened it around her neck. The two rings chimed dully against one another; strange, since most people would only see one of them.

Beth turned and crossed the room. Closing the window and shutting the curtains tight, she finally took out the packet that she had retrieved in Richard's bedroom.

Carefully, she unwrapped the handkerchief. The Ledger, shrunk to the size of her palm, lay in the center of the cloth. She checked it over for damage, then wrapped it again and stuck it in her sock drawer. There wasn't a lock on it, but Beth had the feeling that if someone managed to trace the Ledger to her house, a lock wouldn't help much anyway.

She took out the empty vial, sniffed it again, and threw it in the trash. No one would think to look for it here, and it mustn't be found: everybody knew what you got if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.