|Wished RPG Mods (wishedmod) wrote in wished,|
@ 2009-11-13 23:01:00
|Entry tags:||!1997: 11, !incomplete|
Dumbledore's Funeral Thread
Who: Anyone there (Feel free to start scenes in comments, or just to have your character pay their respects or disrespects!)
What: Dumbledore's funeral
Where: Hogwarts Grounds, by the lake
Standing with the other Professors, Minerva wasn't surprised that she could hold back her emotions. She had years of practice, after all, and the last thing she could imagine Albus Dumbledore wanting was her tears, or anyone else's for that matter. Had it been up to him, the song that played would have been jolly - there would have been bright colours and sweets and laughter. No one, though, particularly felt like laughing. She wasn't surprised. Nor was she surprised by the mass of people who had turned up to pay their respects. Looking around at those gathered she couldn't remember the last time the grounds of the school had been so diverse. Hogwarts teachers, staff, and students of course, and various wizards and witches of all ages but beyond that there were ghosts and centaurs filed in next to one another. Even a few merpeople had deigned to make an appearance, and one giant, though both small groups looked more as if they were investigating than mourning.
Albus had been draped in purple velvet - fitting, she thought - and entombed in a white marble sarcophagus beside the lake. Absently, Minerva thought that he would have far preferred this placement for his final resting place if the Giant Squid was still close by. As it was, she thought that here he might be a bit lonely - the only Hogwarts Headmaster to be buried on the grounds. She hoped, during her time at the helm of the school, that she might deserve such an honor.
As the speeches to Dumbledore's memory came to an end, the gathered company stood and began to file past the sarcophagus to pay their final respects, to speak their final silent words to the man they all respected and loved. The haunting sounds of a mournful dirge echoed over the waters of the lake, performed by the Weird Sisters off to the side, their usual wild outfits suitably subdued for the event. They weren't the only guests of note. Wizards and witches from all walks of life, more then one of them some sort of celebrity in the wizarding world, filed past to pay their respects. All of them had been touched, one way or another, but the life or words of Albus Dumbledore.
The sarcophagus gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight, smooth white marble, etched with magical runes and wards, the letters of his name carved across the lid, already worn smooth by the innumerable fingertips that had brushed it as his mourners marched past.