Part XIII
Shuffling was heard as well as the scraping of chairs against the marble stone of an empty classroom and teachers, Aurors and other members of the order slowly and calmly filed in, taking a seat and waiting. Up at the front of the crowd stood, Professor McGonagoll, at one side, Remus Lupin at the other and in between the heiress of Dumbledore, watching, with haunted and tired eyes.
Once everyone was seated and silence ensued, Ten stood up from her seat.
"Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for coming under this short notice," Ten spoke up loud and clear with a strong voice. "I know that there are problems to be solved and death eaters to be captured but I am very gratefully for sparing some time of your job to come to this brief meeting. I would like to personally thank you all for fighting alongside my grandfather, to defend the students and Hogwarts itself and that I hope your loyalty towards my grandfather is still there, burning strong.
"As a group, we have no leader, but that does not mean we fall apart and fight each other. The position for the Order of Phoenix leadership is open as well as the Keeper. We need either one or two people from this room to take up those responsibilities and lead us to survival of this war.
"Lastly, you are all invited and warmly welcome to attend my grandfather's… funeral," she whispered the last word. After a while of silence, with Ten not looking at anyone, Professor McGonagoll spoke.
"You're dismissed. Thank you."
The sound of scraping was heard again as well as mutterings around the place. Remus Lupin walked down the aisle between the chairs towards Mad-Eye Moody, and was engaged in a conversation with hushed voice. Ten was gently lead to the head of Hogwarts's office, which now belonged to Professor McGonagoll, as she was the deputy head of school, when Dumbledore was alive.
Tired and small tears escaped the eyes of the heiress as she laid down onto the bed in the small room at the back of the office, forcing herself to get some rest.
-00-
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Hermione. Professor McGonagoll had risen to her feet and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.
"It is nearly time," she said. "Please follow you Heads of House out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."
They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Harry glimpsed David at the head of Slytherin column, wearing black robes embroidered with silver. He had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the Entrance Hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs.
They were heading, as Harry saw when he stepped out on to the stone steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed his face as they followed Professor McGonagoll in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful January's day.
An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most Harry did not recognise, but there were a few that he did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink, Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands, Ten herself, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragonskin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two-and-a-half chairs on her own, Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbour, the hairy bass player from the wizarding group the Weird Sisters, Ernie Pang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley, and some people whom Harry merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head, and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.
Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry filed into seats at the end of the front row beside the lake. Instinctively, the boy-who-lived hand reached for the heiress free one, sitting beside her and held it gently. Said girl turned to face him and gave a small smile, which didn't reached her eyes. Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder gently, hugging his arm as they all waited. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna. They alone of all DA had responded to Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Harry knew why: they were the ones who had missed the DA most… probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting…
Cornelius Fudge walked past them towards the second front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Harry next recognised Rita Skeeter, who, he was infuriated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand; and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-coloured curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, she gave a start and scurried hastily to a seat a good distance away.
The staffs were seated at last. Harry could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified at the end of the row with Professor McGonagoll. He wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. But then he head music, strange, otherworldly music, and he forgot his dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. He was not the only one: many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.
"In there," whispered Ten in Harry's ear.
And he saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding him horribly of the Inferi; a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language he did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made that hair on Harry's neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As he looked down into the wild faces of the singers he had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Hermione nudged him and he looked round.
Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Harry knew to be Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in Harry and Ten's throat at the sight: for a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. Ron looked white and shocked. Tears were falling thick and fast into both Ginny and Hermione's laps.
Hagrid placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalised looks from some, including, Harry saw Dolores Umbridge… but Harry knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. He tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid along with Ten as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going. Harry and Ten glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realised what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulder-like head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head, so that his chair legs sank into the ground. Harry had a wonderful momentary urge to laugh. He heard a very soft giggle beside him and a small smile tugged at his lips. But then the music stopped and they turned to face the front again.
A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. Harry could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of heads. "Nobility of spirit"…"intellectual contribution"… "Greatness of heart"… it did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore, as Harry had known him. He heard a small tutt and turned to the girl hugging his arm.
"Those aren't his words," she whispered, briefly looking up at Harry before resting her head on his shoulder again. "Grandfather's idea of a few words would be: 'nitwit', 'oddment', 'blubber', and 'tweak'." She looked up at him and noticed that the boy was trying to suppress a grin… what was the matter with them?
There was a soft splashing noise to his left and he saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen, too. He remembered Dumbledore crouching at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Harry now sat, and conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Harry wondered where Dumbledore had learned Mermish. There was so much he had never asked him, so much he should have said…
And then, without warning, it swept over them, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead, gone… Harry could not prevent the tears spilling from his eyes: he looked away from Ten and the others and stare out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the little man in black droned on… there was movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pray their respects, too. They did not move into the open but Harry saw them standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides. And Harry remembered his first nightmarish trip into the Forest, the first time he had ever encountered the thing that was then Voldemort, and how he had faced him, and how he and Dumbledore had discussed fighting a loosing battle not long thereafter. It was important, Dumbeldore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated…
And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one: that the shelter of a parent's arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark tat he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was more alone than he had ever been before.
The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Harry waited for somebody else to get to his or her feet; he expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.
I lay, looking at my hands
I search in these lines
I've not the answer
I'm crying and I don't know
Watching the sky
I search the answer
Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air and made strange shapes: Harry and Ten, thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that he saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but the next second the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested.
There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Harry knew, the centaurs' tribute: he saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees. Likewise the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view.
Harry looked at Ginny, Ron and Hermione: Ron's face was screwed up as though the sunlight was blinding him. Hermione and Ginny's face was glazed with tears. Harry turned to look at Ten but she was no longer hugging his arm, nor was sitting beside him.
"Ten?" Harry called. Remus tapped his shoulder gently then pointed at a direction. Harry followed his finger and found Ten standing beside the white tomb, face emotionless except her eyes: filled with sadness, lonely, and seemed that it would never ever be filled with happiness. Harry slowly stood up.
I'm free, free to be
I'm not another lair
I just want to be myself… myself
Letting out a sigh, the brunette turned her back on the tomb and aimlessly walked the grounds of Hogwarts.
And now the beat inside me
Is sort of a cold breeze and I've
Never any feeling inside
Ruining me…
Bring my body
Carry it to another world
I know I live… but like a stone I'm falling down.
"Tenebrae!"
Said girl turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly towards her around the bank, leaning on his walking stick.
"I've been hoping to have another word… do you mind if I walk a little way with you?"
"No," said Ten indifferently, and set off again.
"Tenebrae, this was a dreadful tragedy," said Scrimgeour quietly, "I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a great wizard. We had out disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I-"
"Just leave me alone!" and with that, she left him at the edge of the lake. Ten continued walking away, away from grief, despair, loneliness... just walking. Up ahead something entered her vision. It was a Quidditch pitch. Ten was glad for it, for the highest tower can hide her. But she failed to notice someone following her.
Slowly, as if the gravity has increased its weight, Ten walked up the spiral staircase until she reached the top of the tower and sat down in her usual seat where she would have sat at a Quidditch match; a seat beside her Grandfather. Leaning forward, she placed her arms crossed against the railing of the seat and placed her head on top, looking, staring into a space.
I pray, looking into the sky
I can feel this rain
Right now it's falling on me
Fly I just want to fly
Life is all mine
Some days I cry alone,
But I know I'm not the only one
I'm here, another day is gone
I don't want to die…?
Please be there when I'll arrive, don't cry please.
FLASHBACK
"GWANDFADDER! GWANDFADDER! VERE ARE VOU!" a young version of Tenebrae ran down the dark corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, crying, with tears stinging her eyes as well as rolling down her soft red cheeks. Her bare feet padded against the cold, stone floor and blindly, she bumped into something.
"Tenebrae?" a soft voice called out, concern.
Said girl, lifted her head up to lock gaze with the exact duplicate eyes of hers. Her face scrunched up and she hugged his knees tightly, sobbing.
"Why the tears?" the headmaster knelt down to be levelled with her and scooped her up in one arm, the other occupied in holding his wand, the tip of it lit in a bright light.
"I had a bad dweam," sobbed the young child, rubbing her eyes.
"Awww, there, there now," soothed Dumbledore, making his way back to his office. The dark corridor in which Ten ran in, was no longer dark, but brightly lit to show number of moving portraits, asleep, snoring. Some were snoring like a saw, that it made Ten make a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Dumbledore smiled nevertheless as he looked down at his only relative.
The golden gargoyle now appeared in front of the two relatives and Dumbledore gave the password, which immediately, made the statue sprang to life.
"Aw, what's the matter sweetie," the gargoyle spoke sympathetically.
"I had a bad dweam," chocked the girl.
"Want a candy?" the gargoyle asked, sticking out a golden tongue that had a very juicy, strawberry flavoured lollypop. But Ten politely shook her head and clutched the robes of her grandfather.
"I'll have that, if you don't mind," he spoke, his hand reaching out for the candy. But the tongue disappeared back into the gargoyle's mouth.
"Fat chance, old man," joked the statue. Ten hiccoughed again. Chuckling, Dumbledore walked up the spiral staircase and into his brightly lit room, making his way towards his chair. He comfortably held his granddaughter and ran his fingers through her soft, brunette hair while whispering unknown yet comforting words.
"Don't let go of me," the girl yawned, falling asleep.
"Never, my little raspberry" the old man whispered, as he left a light kiss on her forehead.
-00-
"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday my dear little raspberry! Happy Birthday to you!" sang Dumbledore.
A 10-year-old version of Ten gasped at the sight of a very large, strawberry birthday cake, with the number ten as candles.
The giant cake was placed on the table surrounded by many other dishes such as crisps, chocolates, biscuits, butterbeer and surrounding the table, once the light brightened, were many witches and wizards, all smiling down at the little girl.
With tears of joy, Ten ran to her grandfather and hugged her tight. The witches and wizards were all a very good audience, as they all awed at the sweet scene.
"You think I would forget my little raspberry's birthday?" Dumbledore lightly questioned the girl.
"I almost doubted you. But I shouldn't have, shouldn't I?"
"No you shouldn't," laughed the old man.
"I love you grandfather,"
"And I love you,"
END OF FLASHBACK
And now the beat inside me
Is sort of a cold breeze and I've
Never any feeling inside
Ruining me…
Bring my body
Carry it to another world
I know I live… but like a stone I'm falling down
Falling down.
After what seems to be a long time, Harry moved away from the entrance of the tower where he was leaning against, and walked up to the girl. Lightly touching her skin, he felt coldness underneath his warm fingers. He unclasped his cloak and placed the clothing on the girl's shoulder, sitting down beside her in his usual seat during Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs match against each other.
Tenebrae opened her eyes when she felt something against her skin and looked behind her, to see her lover. Sighing, she pulled the cloak around her tighter, leaning backwards against her chair. For another long moment, she stared in front of her, enjoying the silence company. She then rested her head on the boy's shoulder. Immediately, the boy-who-lived pulled her gently onto his lap, holding her tight and close, keeping her warm, and keeping her away from the dark, the sadness, the loneliness and the sorrow she's currently feeling.
"You're not alone," he whispered. Ten could only nod.