word count: 592
Amelia stares at the coffin, and her heart tries to rip itself into shreds. Edgar is in there. Edgar is gone. Her dear, beloved brother. Her best friend. The bravest man she's ever known. The world is a cruel and unjust place, and he's been taken from her, much too soon.
It doesn't make sense. How could her brother, one of the loudest, most alive people she knows be reduced to little more than a body inside a wooden box? It isn't fair. Amelia knows how the world works; working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, especially with so many Death Eaters on the loose, she's seen first-hand just how terrible things can be.
Still, this is different. This is her Edgar.
All Amelia can do is stare as the coffin is lowered into the ground. Someone says a few words, but Amelia barely registers them at all. Someone else rests a hand on her shoulder, offering it a gentle squeeze that is surely meant to be reassuring, but it makes Amelia flinch.
And then it's over. The dirt is charmed so that it falls neatly over the coffin, sealing the grave with a heavy sense of finality. Around her, people begin to leave, but Amelia stays firmly in place, eyes fixed upon the grave. If she stays long enough, surely Edgar will appear from one of the other gravestones. He'll laugh and give her that mischievous he picked up from the Prewetts and say something like, "Did you see the look on your face? Like anyone could actually kill me!"
But that doesn't happen. Of course it doesn't. That sort of thing only ever happens in fiction, and this painful nightmare is, unfortunately, reality.
"He was a good man."
Amelia looks up at the sound of that rough voice. Alastor appears at her side, head bowed solemnly.
"The best," she agrees. She lets out a heavy sigh. "If you're here to spout off that constant vigilance rubbish, I'm not in the mood."
He lets out a barking laugh. "Time and a place for that," he assures her. "I wanted to ask how you're doing."
Amelia opens her mouth to dismiss him, to tell him how she's perfectly fine. Instead, a sob bubbles from her throat, spilling out. The tears quickly follow. Amelia has tried to be strong because Edgar was strong, but now her illusion has shattered. "It hurts," she rasps. "It hurts so much, Alastor."
He wraps an arm around her with a warmth Amelia never knew he was capable of. Alastor isn't a cruel man. He can be harsh, but it's always in the name of justice. Still, the gentle touch is unexpected, but it isn't unpleasant. It's the sort of hug her brother would have given her. Gentle, warm, a silent reminder that there are good things left in this world, even when it doesn't feel like it.
"Let's get some food in you," he says. "Food and a nice cuppa. That's what you need."
"I'll be okay," she insists.
"Of course you will. You're one of the toughest witches I've ever met. But until then, let your friends help you."
Friends. If she's honest, Amelia has never thought of her co-workers as such. But maybe they are. After all, none of them had to come today. None of them had to check in on her. They could have easily offered their condolences and gone about their lives.
Amelia feels fresh tears prick her eyes, and she quickly blinks them away. "A cuppa sounds wonderful right now."
