There was a sense of unease and suffocation as people stepped through the wards of Hogwarts and made their way toward the school grounds. Professor Filius Flitwick and Horace Slughorn stood at the entrance, quietly guiding the steady flow of newcomers.
The faces of those arriving were solemn, and whatever conversation took place was done in hushed whispers.
The news that the funeral of the two deceased Hufflepuff students would be held on the Hogwarts grounds and that everyone was permitted to attend had come as a shock.
Considering that Hogwarts had been under lockdown since the Hogsmeade attack, the sudden opening of its wards to the public was completely unexpected.
And yet, a large crowd had gathered. Not all had come to honor the two fallen students or offer condolences to their grieving parents. No. Most were drawn by something else.
Expectation. They were expecting something big. What were they expecting? No one could say exactly what. But something important. Something big.
Perhaps an official word from Hogwarts, or from Dumbledore himself.
So far, there has been none. The only official communication from the school had been the announcement of the funeral itself.
"What do you think the old coot is planning?" Bellatrix asked in a hushed tone.
"It is hard to guess," Antonio replied with a shrug. "Only he knows what goes in his mind."
They had just finished settling into the new Olario Manor and were about to head to the training grounds when they received a special publication of the newspaper carrying the announcement from Hogwarts. And of course, neither Antonio nor Bellatrix could resist from coming to Hogwarts. Both were keenly curious to know what Albus Dumbledore was thinking.
By all logic, opening the wards of Hogwarts so freely was an unsafe decision. It could be argued that the Death Eaters would not dare to attack such a large gathering, especially with Dumbledore himself present, but who could truly say what they were capable of? After all, no one had expected them to strike Hogsmeade either.
And this decision, it did not feel like Dumbledore Antonio knew. It was not calm or calculated or a rational decision. The decision felt emotional and impulsive.
Antonio considered the possibility that perhaps Albus was doing this deliberately to harvest sympathy through the deaths of the two students and to shift attention away from accountability. Technically, Dumbledore was not responsible for the attack itself. Hogsmeade and its safety did not fall under his jurisdiction. But the safety of the students did and for that, he would surely be blamed. And Dumbledore might be pulling this move to present himself as the victim. To gather sympathy. But Antonio could not be sure.
Antonio had never been able to place Albus Dumbledore clearly on the spectrum of good and evil. True, many of his decisions in the canon had been questionable, even debatable but was he truly evil? Or merely a man trapped by his own sense of infallibility?
Did he genuinely believe in the greater good he so often spoke of, or had it merely become a convenient justification for his choices? Antonio for a moment could understand Dumbledore's beliefs about the sacrifices to be made by few people. But was he really extracting sacrifices with something good in his mind or was he doing for his own some personal goals.
Antonio had never been able to reach a conclusion about this. And he thought that maybe he could get some idea about it today. Dumbledore's response to the attack on Hogsmeade and the words he would speak today was certainly going to give Antonio a lot of ideas.
Lost in these thoughts, Antonio reached the Hogwarts grounds where the funeral was to be held. More than a few hundred wizards and witches were huddled together. Reporters had taken the front line and obviously they would have been the first to arrive at Hogwarts.
There were many familiar faces in the gathered crowd, and he exchanged brief, silent nods of acknowledgment. It was not the place, or the moment for conversation.
Soon, the time for the funeral arrived. Antonio noticed Professor McGonagall entering from one side of the grounds, leading the students of Hogwarts. The other professors and the Prefects of the respective houses were managing the students though it did not really require any effort. The students were standing in strict, solemn formation, their faces pale and subdued. Minerva herself looked alert and tense, her sharp eyes scanning the area.
And then came Albus Dumbledore.
He walked slowly behind the students, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped. The weight of grief seemed to hang heavy upon him. For the first time, Antonio thought, the great Dumbledore truly looked his age. The smile on his face was not present and he looked weary.
The rites were conducted according to magical tradition. The air was heavy with mourning, and the parents of the two Hufflepuff students wept openly as the rituals were completed. When the last incantation was spoken, the bodies were gently lowered into the earth, and a wizard stepped forward to cast the final spell erecting two simple, gleaming tombstones in their place.
With the funeral complete, nearly every eye in the crowd instinctively turned toward Albus Dumbledore.
A female professor stepped forward quietly and guided the grieving parents away from the center of the gathering, leading them toward the small cluster where the other professors were standing.
Dumbledore drew in a long, steadying breath before finally moving. He walked slowly, each step measured, until he reached the center of the open space beside the two fresh tombstones.
Raising his palm, he conjured two delicate white flowers, each crafted entirely from pure magical energy. They floated gently through the air before settling upon the tombstones. The flowers were shimmering faintly, ethereal and radiant. As long as Dumbledore, or anyone else, continued to replenish their magic, those blossoms would never wither.
Dumbledore's wand, the Elder Wand, or the Deathstick, Antonio noted silently, slid gracefully from the old wizard's sleeve. With practiced ease, the headmaster raised it and tapped it lightly against his throat, casting a simple charm to amplify his voice.
He then lowered the wand, his expression solemn and distant. The crowd waited, tense and silent. It was finally time for Albus Dumbledore to speak.
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