"If your whole life turns out to be a lie, what will you do then?"
"If everything you knew turns out to be a hoax, what will you do then?"
Graciana Duerre Weasley, twin sister of Ron Weasley, is a troublemaker. Mischievous but a little introvert, bo...
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DUMBLEDORE WAS DEAD. Snape killed him. Draco was gone.
Grace found herself thinking this over and over again. She knew something was wrong with Draco, but she never thought that things could've been that bad. How did she never realised it? If only she could've realised it maybe she could've the helped him, and maybe Dumbledore wouldn't have died.
Grace rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving an hour after the funeral. Downstairs, she found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the throne-like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was deserted too; Grace thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast, but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Grace avoided his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall; she had the uncomfortable feeling that Scrimgeour was looking for her. Among Scrimgeour's entourage Grace spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. She swiftly moved her eyes away from him; she still hadn't forgiven him and he still hadn't apologized.
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."
They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Grace glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver. She 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 Grace saw when she stepped out onto the stone steps from the front doors, toward the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed her face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the center of them: There was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day.
An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Grace did not recognize, but a few she 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 (Grace smiled softly at their sight); her mother and father, Molly and Arthur; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; 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 some people whom Grace 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 on the gleaming air.
