Chapter 193. The Funeral and Bella.
December 29, 197. London. Highgate.
The weather had turned foul early that morning. Dark clouds had gathered over London, and within half an hour a relentless downpour began, showing no sign of letting up, as though the sky itself reflected the mood of every wizard in Magical Britain.
Funerals were being held across the country that day, but the main procession gathered at Highgate Cemetery, in a small corner set aside for wizards. The Minister of Magic himself presided over the ceremony; he had survived the day before but now walked with the aid of a cane.
Down a path of stone slabs, past rows upon rows of graves, hundreds of people moved in silence, each dressed in black, every face darker than the clouds above. No one spoke. Those who needed to speak did so only in hushed murmurs, and only subdued weeping accompanied the long procession.
Finally, after several minutes, they arrived at a pale archway set within a large iron fence. Two statues of angels flanked the entrance: a young man and a young woman in simple robes with folded wings on their backs, their faces turned toward the guests with warm but sorrowful smiles.
Passing through the archway, they faced a wide expanse of ground covered with graves: stone headstones carved with names and faces, each plot ringed by a small fence.
This was where nearly all Ministry of Magic employees had been buried, along with civilians lost during major incidents, since the organization's founding in 1707. The cemetery was so large that its far boundary, a tall iron fence nearly three meters high, was barely visible.
Harold, leading the procession, didn't stop. He kept walking until they finally reached hundreds of mounds of fresh earth, each one attended by a figure in dark robes bearing the Ministry of Magic insignia.
The grief they had held back finally broke free. Many of the mourners recognized familiar faces on the headstones. For some, it was friends or parents. For others, husbands or wives. But every person present felt the same thing: loss.
Dumbledore, his students and colleagues following behind him, couldn't suppress a heavy sigh. In the past ten years, he had stood in this place more than once, and each time the old man found himself thinking of his sister Ariana: her cold body in his arms, the peaceful expression on her face. The guilt that came with it settled over him like a weight, pulling him toward apathy and melancholy.
"Professor Slughorn, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick." The three Heads of House acknowledged him with silent, heavy nods and led their students away. Dumbledore turned to the three Gryffindors who remained: a seventh-year who was still holding himself together, jaw clenched and lips pressed tight, and two third-years who couldn't hold back their tears. "Mr. Spinnet."
"Headmaster, don't worry about me. I can manage." Mr. Spinnet gave a strained smile, his voice flat and careful.
"Very well, Mr. Spinnet. But if you wish to talk, my office is always open to you. And I'm sure Miss Fane is worried and waiting for your return." Dumbledore gently rested a hand on the Gryffindor's shoulder, genuine warmth in his voice. He understood better than most that at moments like this, someone simply needed to be left alone.
"Yes. Thank you." The seventh-year gave a grateful nod and made his way on unsteady legs toward two particular graves.
Dumbledore let out a long, heavy sigh. He looked down at the two students still standing with him and gave them a kind smile.
"Shall we go?"
At the same time, Harold stood watching the people weeping beside various graves and felt a crushing weight in his chest. He had given the orders. He bore the responsibility for every life under his authority. He had become a politician, and there were moments when he had been forced to act with real severity. But he had never lost his humanity, and he had never stopped being capable of grief.
"Tell everyone we'll begin the burial ceremony in one hour," he said grimly, pressing his fingers to his temples, trying to ease a dull headache. He had never imagined that something like this would happen during his term. But he didn't regret taking the post, because there was no telling who might have taken it instead, and things could have been far worse.
"Yes, Minister."
Severus himself did not attend the funeral. He saw no particular reason to, and spent the morning attending to his own affairs. After lunch, he received an invitation from a certain dark witch to go for a walk.
By four o'clock, he had Apparated to the park near Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the former home of the Blacks, which now stood empty. A house-elf visited occasionally to do a little cleaning, but that was all.
As he approached the large tree at the center of the park, which was still fairly busy despite the weather, he noticed her from a distance. She hadn't changed her habits. She was dressed, as always, in her favorite black gown.
"Bella, I'll be honest. I was rather surprised you decided to invite me yourself. Though you've picked a less-than-ideal time for a date." He smiled and nodded toward a certain event taking place in Highgate. The weather, a steady downpour, didn't help matters either. "So, what did you want? You didn't reach out just for company." He closed the distance and lifted her hand to his lips.
"This isn't a date. I want to ask something of you." She pulled her hand back and fixed her cold gaze on the smiling young man, whose expression didn't flicker in the slightest.
"Hmm. If it's within my power, I'll do my best to help. So what does my little squirrel want?"
"Fight me!" Bella said firmly, ignoring the nickname, and a wand appeared in her hand.
"Fight you? Why?" Severus raised an eyebrow in genuine puzzlement, though, thanks to his seal, he had already known the reason for this meeting long before she spoke: her own lack of confidence. The challenge itself wasn't a great surprise.
Bellatrix had become increasingly aware of her own weakness. The first blow to her pride had been the attack on Grimmauld Place. Without ihiros, neither she nor the rest of the family would likely have survived. The second blow was Regulus, who was developing far too quickly. Not long ago she had beaten him with barely half her skill, but now she had to fight him at nearly full strength. What surprised her most was the type of spells her cousin used, spells she had never seen anywhere else. When she pressed him on who had taught him, she was mildly surprised to learn that the answer was Severus.
That alone had given her reason to hold back. Her pride simply hadn't allowed her to push further and ask him to show her more. She eventually coaxed the fire-spear technique out of him, ostensibly out of curiosity, without truly understanding how powerful it was.
Then, on December 20th, she used it a second time, only as a distraction, intending to follow up with something stronger. The result genuinely shook her. The fire spear passed through an enormously thick stone wall like butter and killed the target on the other side.
After that, she began experimenting, pushing it until she found its limit: her father's best defensive charm. The charm held, but the spear still penetrated twenty centimeters into it before dissipating. The result left her speechless.
Even after that, she held herself back. She didn't run to her cousin to squeeze more spells out of him. She chose to think first. But the more she thought, the more she found herself inclined toward a direct conversation with Severus.
And then the battles settled it. Twice, she came within moments of death. Only his gift kept her alive both times. The opponents she faced were almost her equals, and the main reason was unfamiliarity. Wizards who used staves as their primary weapons were completely new to her, and three or four engagements hadn't given her enough time to adapt. Each one used a different set of spells with a strong focus on elemental transformation, while British wizards fought in a much more open and predictable manner, using a consistent style that was easy to read.
For all of these reasons, Bellatrix wanted to become stronger, far stronger, so that she would never again lose so shamefully. The day at Grimmauld Place. The two battles that followed. That weakness, that unforgivable weakness, was no longer something she could tolerate. To become stronger, she was even prepared to swallow her pride and ask Severus for help. He had made her cousin considerably more powerful in an extremely short time. But more than anything, she wanted to meet ihiros himself, the one who had taught him everything.
This challenge was also a way to gauge what she was up against. She had no doubt that Severus surpassed Regulus. Back in Diagon Alley, a year and a half ago, he had already shown remarkable combat instincts when he dealt with the kidnappers and withstood her attack without flinching, demonstrating impressive wandless, nonverbal magic as he disarmed someone without looking and cast Protego without turning around.
Beyond that, she hadn't forgotten what happened after that first meeting. He had been attacked, almost certainly by the same wizards they had fought recently, and had somehow held his own against a large group, judging by the number of bodies on the ground. He had not only held out until she arrived but had killed the majority of them, though she credited the artifacts his teacher had given him for that and attributed the terrifying explosion to the same source. Even so, he had displayed extraordinary skill and walked away from an almost hopeless situation alive.
She was certain he had grown considerably stronger since then. The question was: how much?
"I want to, and that's reason enough!"
"All right," Severus said, giving her a measured look and holding out his hand. "But not here. I have somewhere more suitable in mind, where we won't cause any trouble." She nodded confidently and took his hand. Before she could register what was happening, she found herself pulled into his arms.
"What are you..." Indignation flared within her immediately. She'd come here on serious business, and he was playing games.
"You're tense. Very tense." He smiled gently, traced her cheek with his hand, then pressed a finger to his lips. "This won't do. Before we do anything else, you need to relax a little. I propose we postpone the duel until nine and go somewhere to take your mind off things. What do you say?" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "And if you don't agree, I won't accept your challenge."
Cornered, Bellatrix didn't know how to respond. After several seconds, she exhaled in resignation and shook her head.
"I should have expected this. Fine, I agree. But afterward."
"Yes, yes, we'll absolutely fight afterward." He caught a very dangerous look from Black and, unable to resist, kissed her on the nose. She stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment, but before she could object, he disapparated from the park without ceremony.
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