Chapter 27: Resting Bones

The trial of Darius Finch took place a week later, brought forward at the request of Barty Crouch. He was found guilty on all but one count and was sent to Azkaban prison for the unforeseeable future. The one charge he had escaped was the murder of Rowan; it had been ruled that it was impossible to definitely say that he had been directly responsible. Amelia had been more than frustrated by that, having to hold her tongue as the verdict was read out. It would be unlikely that the person who had actually killed Rowan would ever be found. Or, at least, it was unlikely it would ever be proved that they had been found.

Now that Darius was in jail, Amelia wondered what would become of all his other butterflies. Would those girls have the presence of mind to take control of their own lives or would somebody else step into the role of master and keeper? That was the thing about the end of the case; one was always left with so many questions. It was never really over, was it, the thought echoing the words that had been spoken in the interview room. But that wasn't what he had meant, Amelia was sure. She was still pondering the remark a day after he had been convicted, as she walked over the soft grass of the cemetery. It was such a large area, that one could look out and simply see space, a vast greenness with the occasional headstone dotted here and there. It was a peaceful place, Amelia found, less sad than more confined and formal graveyards. She walked beside Fabian. Dolores and Gideon were behind them. Making up a third row was Frank, Alice and Hestia Jones. In her hands was a small tree in a black pot; today was the day to lay Rowan to rest.

The group came to a base of a hill. A spot had been neatly marked out with medium sized stones, about a metre or so length. A headstone, the same light grey colour, had already been carved and placed. Amelia had had it done, as she had not known who else to go to. When she had been trying to decide on an inscription, it had occurred to her that she really didn't know a lot about her. She didn't even know Rowan's birthday. So Amelia had simply tried to put down what she did know, something that would sum up the girl she had met. The inscription read:

Rowan Griffith. Gryffindor. Herbologist. Friend. Hero.

Alice went up behind Amelia and placed her hand on her shoulder.

"It's beautiful," she said softly.

Amelia nodded but didn't say anything.

Gideon took over at this point, his low, stoic voice reading out a tribute. Amelia had thought about finding some sort of official, but she didn't know if Rowan had had a religious affiliation or anything of the kind, so she just left it. Anyway, Gideon's talk of the frailty of life and the gift of friendship seemed to do the job just nicely. Amelia felt a hot tear slide down her face. She reached up a hand to touch it with a sort of curiosity. It was the first time she had cried since Rowan's death. Somehow, she'd just forgot to do it.

At the end of Gideon's speech, the wizard stepped back from the graveside, leaving it clear for Amelia to plant the tree. Swallowing, Amelia went forward and knelt down, gently laying the pot plant beside her. Fabian followed and brought out a small spade from his jacket, which he handed to his partner. It would've been incredibly quick to dig the hole with magic. It would've been a lot cleaner too, but, Amelia thought as the dirt flicked from the spade and onto her trousers, this was the right way. It felt more final, as if the only way to properly let go was to place the roots of tree into the ground herself. Nobody spoke as she worked. Nobody spoke as she took the tree from its pot and transferred it to the newly dug space at the base of the grave plot. Nobody spoke as she brushed the last bits of dirt back into place, securing the seedling in place. Nobody spoke as she stood up, brushed the dirt off her knees and continued to stare silently at the grave. Dolores made a motion to Gideon, suggesting that they leave. They did, followed by Alice, Frank and Hestia. The only two left now in the solemn stillness were Fabian and Amelia.

"Bones," Fabian said quietly, in an attempt to rouse her from wherever she had gone, "Amelia."

The witch shook her head, as if to get rid of what was clouding her. Momentarily she had been lost in thought, wondering how long it would take for the seedling to become a fully fledged growth. She'd just have to come back and see. Giving the wizard a small smile as she passed, Amelia started to walk away. Fabian caught up with her, after taking one last look at the grave, and fell into step beside her.

"You know what's close to here," he said slowly.

Amelia's jaw tightened, her face suddenly becoming stoney.

"I don't want to go there, Fabian," she said, a warning note in her voice.

"I think it would be good for you," Fabian said calmly.

"What do you know," Amelia muttered, though the comment sounded insincere.

Fabian remained calm.

"Quite a bit actually."

Amelia stopped walking, her head tilting back to look at the sky. It had been an entirely blue one when they'd arrived; now it was beginning to grey.

"It scares me, Fabian," she admitted simply.

He nodded.

"I understand," the wizard said, "I don't particularly like to visit my parents either."

Amelia gave a small laugh, bitterness tainting the impulse.

"At least yours are alive."

The gravestone that marked the final resting place of Mr and Mrs Bones was barely a ten minute walk from where Rowan lay. Had she subconsciously chosen Rowan's place because of it, Amelia wondered. Unable to locate the whereabouts of any family graves, perhaps it was nicer to think that Rowan was near people who had some kind of mutual connection. Perhaps she had secretly wanted an excuse to come here.

Susan Rowena Bones née Toogood

Aged 68

John Edgar Bones

Aged 72

Tomorrow is always a brighter day.

The quote had been a favourite saying of her mother's. Amelia had heard it many a time, the soothing sound coming to her over the sound of her own tears. She heard it now, the memory echoing like an actual sound through her ears. And, just as she had done as a child to trigger that eternal phrase, Amelia broke into violent and noisy sobs. Fabian stood by and let her cry alone for a minute, before going to her and wrapping her in his arms. She cried into his chest, feeling sad and weak and stupid and comforted and safe and alone and apart and broken all at the same time. Surely this was too much emotion for any one person. When it looked as though all the tears were gone, Amelia wiped her eyes and forced herself to look once more at the graves.

"You were right," she said, her voice croaky, "I needed to come here."

"Denying the past won't help us in the future," Fabian said quietly.

Amelia looked up at him.

"So says the Prophet Fabian," she said with a slight smile, "Is this wisdom a recent development?"

"Nah," Fabian grinned, "I've always been pretty on to it. My effortless charisma and charm tends to blind people to the fact though."

Amelia laughed and linked her arm through his.

"Come on," she said, "I think it's time we both started to move on."