Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures - H.P.S.T Chapter 1528: People Attending the Funeral

Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy either, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.

He was stabbing them with such force and not even eating them. No one could tell whether he was imagining the kipper as Percy or Snape — either way, both were people he absolutely loathed.

Over at the Slytherin table Crabbe and Goyle were muttering together and occasionally glancing around.

Hulking boys though they were, they looked oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between them, bossing them around.

As if they had lost their brain command, Crabbe and Goyle were completely adrift.

But in times like these, no matter how ill-intentioned a Slytherin might be, no one would dare cause trouble. Lying low was by far the wisest option.

Looking beyond the Slytherin table, Evan glanced around and spotted Sirius in the shadows near the Great Hall doors.

He hadn’t gone outside to wait at the funeral grounds, nor had he joined in the somber breakfast. Sirius insisted on taking charge of the funeral’s security.

Although the possibility was very low, everyone was afraid that Voldemort would appear at the funeral.

Evan could not help but wonder, what if Voldemort suddenly appeared at Hogwarts?

Just then, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.

“It is nearly time,” she said. “Please follow your Heads of Houses out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me.”

Evan stood up and moved forward with the line.

They filed out from behind their benches in near silence.

Slughorn stood at the front of the Slytherin line, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver.

Next to him, Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff, had never looked so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat.

And then there was Professor Flitwick, in deep maroon dress robes trimmed with blue lace, though Evan couldn’t see him at the moment.

In fact, everyone was wearing their most solemn and formal attire.

When they reached the entrance hall, Evan also 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 went out of the castle gate and came outside. They were heading toward the lake.

It was one of the most beautiful and pleasant summer days; the weather was perfect, and warm sunlight streamed down. On the open ground before the lake stood rows and rows of chairs, easily over a thousand.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young, blond-haired and of Eastern descent.

Evan didn’t recognize most of them, but some of the foreigners still seemed familiar. He had seen their portraits and names in various magic books.

These were all highly accomplished figures in different fields of magic, and all of them had known Dumbledore personally.

At the outermost edge of the chairs sat the rest of the members of the Order of the Phoenix: the Weasleys, Bill and Fleur, Fred and George in their jackets of black dragon skin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody who had not quite recovered, and Tonks, whose hair had miraculously returned to vividest pink.   

Next to her was Remus Lupin, with whom Tonks seemed to be holding hands.

Perhaps it was because the werewolf Fenrir Greyback had been killed and Lupin had finally had his revenge; or because of what Lupin and Tonks had experienced together in the battle a few days ago; or perhaps…

Anyway, it was a sudden change. Lupin, who had been avoiding Tonks for a long time, suddenly accepted her, which made Tonks come alive, as could be seen from the color of her hair.

Oh, and there were Hagrid and Madame Maxime, who were particularly eye-catching and took up about five or six chairs on their own.

Hagrid looked deeply downcast, and Madame Maxime was whispering something softly to him.

In addition, Evan spotted Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express.

Of course, there was also the barman of the Hog’s Head, Dumbledore’s brother: Aberforth Dumbledore.

His face gave nothing away, and he sat quietly, inconspicuously. Other than Evan, it seemed no one else recognized who he was.

On the left, all the vampires were there, and next to them were the ghosts of Hogwarts, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.

By the lake, the centaur Firenze stood there like a sentinel, and Sirius was already standing next to him.

Evan, Harry, Hermione, Elaine, Gabrielle, Ginny and Ron filed into the seats at the end of a row beside the lake.

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, including students from Hogwarts and wizards from outside the school.

Cornelius Fudge walked past toward the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual.

Then, Evan saw Rita Skeeter, seated in an inconspicuous spot, clutching a notebook in her red-taloned hand. Her flamboyant green quill was scribbling furiously on the pages.

When she noticed Evan’s gaze, she gave him an awkward smile and quickly looked away; but the quill didn’t stop writing.

Right then, a suppressed, angry growl came from Harry. Hermione nudged Evan, and when he turned his head, he saw someone he hadn’t seen in a long time — Dolores Umbridge.

She was sitting among a group of Ministry officials, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls. Her toadlike face showed not the slightest trace of sorrow.

Umbridge seemed to have recovered from that tremendous trauma; at least on the surface, nothing seemed wrong. But she kept glancing nervously toward the Forbidden Forest nearby, as if terrified that something might come charging out at any moment.

At last, everyone was seated.

Right in the front row sat Scrimgeour and Professor McGonagall, with other prominent figures beside them.

Scrimgeour looked grave and dignified, very impressive.

Evan didn’t know how he had spent the past few days, but from the news that had come in, the situation in the Ministry of Magic was a mess.

If Voldemort hadn’t chosen to hold off until after Dumbledore’s funeral, things would have been even worse.

So, by that logic — shouldn’t he be mourning Dumbledore’s death?

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