Narcissa Malfoy sighed in frustration. Somehow, she’d had the job of arranging her aunt’s funeral foisted upon her. The older generations of the Black family had tacitly agreed that it should be the task of someone young, which left either Narcissa or her five year old son, Draco. Narcissa briefly imagined their faces if she allowed Draco to organize it and smiled to herself. A dragon themed funeral with cake, balloons, party hats and a round of Quidditch would probably cause such distress amongst the older generation that Narcissa would be stuck planning several more funerals. Instead she had to plan the funeral for an aunt she didn’t particularly like, to be attended by many people she was less fond of. If Bella weren’t rotting in Azkaban… she’d likely have still made her younger sister take care of the unpleasant task. Bella hadn’t ever been a particularly helpful sister, not like Andr…
Narcissa gave herself a little shake and went back to pretending she had only one older sister. However, her imagination once again took hold and she wondered what Andromeda would do if she suddenly received a letter from Narcissa explaining that since she was older it should be her job to plan the damn funeral.
There was a loud crack and Dobby appeared in the room. Narcissa glared at him in an attempt to hide her guilt over thinking about Andromeda.
“Mistress requested tea,” squeaked the elf.
“Well put it over there and let me get back to work,” she snapped at him.
Dobby bowed obediently and disappeared with another loud crack. Narcissa rubbed her temples, she wasn’t sure if her headache was due to the planning or Dobby’s exit. She took a quill and wrote a quick note to Lucretia Prewett nee Black, politely requesting black roses for the funeral. Lucretia had an elaborate garden and black roses were traditional for a pure-blood’s funeral.
Narcissa had already provided Dobby with a list of refreshments he was expected to prepare. Normally, Narcissa would have asked Walburga’s house-elf, Kreacher, to do it. However, Kreacher was in such a state that Narcissa was concerned he might accidentally poison them all. The old house-elf had been quite devoted to Walburga and kept randomly bursting into tears. He had been the one to find his mistress’s body and had alerted her parents.
Narcissa had already arranged for the tombstone and coffin exactly as Pollux Black had requested. Walburga had quite thoughtfully been wearing her best black dress robes when she’d died, so that was another problem taken care of. However, it seemed that Walburga had misplaced her wedding band and engagement ring, for while she was wearing a beautiful emerald necklace, neither ring could be found either on her hand or in Grimmauld Place.
Not that it particularly mattered since Walburga had left everything except a tea-set to her son, Sirius. This had shocked everyone, especially since no one in the family had acknowledged Sirius’s existence or said his name since Walburga had blasted him off the family tapestry. It simply didn’t make sense. Not only did Sirius not deserve any of his inheritance, he would never see it since he was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. Meanwhile there were much more deserving persons in the Black family, persons who had not disgraced the family and subsequently been disowned, persons who could find a use for an immense house and all the valuables within. Meanwhile Narcissa, who was graciously planning her aunt’s funeral without complaint, had received the tea-set.
It was a very nice goblin made tea-set that had once belonged to Narcissa’s great-great-grandmother. Narcissa was quite pleased with it, but had rather expected her aunt to leave her considerably more, the emerald necklace for instance.
‘Borrowing’ any of Sirius’s inheritance was out of the question. Pollux Black had already discovered this when he had tried to take an old music box and a locket from the house. Kreacher had attacked him with a saucepan screaming that his mistress had given him orders to keep everything safe for Sirius. No matter how many times Pollux punished the elf, Kreacher still refused to let any of the heirlooms leave Grimmauld Place.
Narcissa’s thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the clock. She would need to have dinner ready soon and Draco needed a bath before dinner. She’d have to finish the planning then.
The day of the funeral was gray and dismal. Roughly twenty people had shown up to pay their last respects. Pollux and Irma Black looked quite somber, dressed in long black robes. All three of their children were dead. Cygnus had died the same year as Orion. Cygnus had always been their favourite, but the death of their last child took a toll on Pollux and Irma.
Arcturus and Melania Black were clearly there only because they were expected to be. They had never been particularly fond of their daughter-in-law and had not protested at her being buried next to her brother, rather than their son. Lucretia Prewett was too busy accepting compliments on the lovely black roses to give much thought to her late sister-in-law.
Narcissa was critically studying her reflection in her hand mirror. Black was her maiden name, not her colour. She felt she looked washed out and pale in the black dress robes. Lucius was busy renewing business contacts with Harfang Longbottom and Marcus Burke and had left Draco in her care.
She noticed that one of Walburga’s cousins, Humphrey Crabbe, and his wife, Isabelle, had a son about Draco’s age and made a mental note to set up a play-date. There were very few pure-blood children Draco’s age and since he was an only child, he rarely had anyone to play with.
Pollux Black cleared his throat. The rest of the group stood in silence, even Draco and Vincent. Pollux spoke slowly and deliberately. “Walburga was my first child. She was an attractive girl, with a flair for Potions. She honoured her noble heritage by marrying a pure-blood wizard and produced an heir to the house of Black.”
No one commented on the fact that the heir to the house of Black had been shunned and was serving a life sentence in Azkaban.
“A few years later, she bore a second son. She managed the house of our forefathers while raising two children. She was a model wife and mother.”
Melania Black sniffed; she felt Pollux was grossly exaggerating Walburga’s virtues. Had she known that Orion had been murdered by his model wife, she would likely have had a good deal more to say. As it was, she tried to pretend that she had sniffed as a result of being overcome by emotion.
Araminta Meliflua nee Crabbe, one of Walburga’s other cousins, stepped forward. Araminta was one of the few in attendance who looked truly saddened by Walburga’s passing. A tear trickled down her cheek as she placed a long stemmed black rose on the coffin. The rest of the mourners followed suit, walking in a circle. Once the last rose had been placed on the coffin, they left for the Malfoy manor for refreshments.
Raindrops began to fall on the new gravestone upon which was inscribed:
November 9, 1925 “ October 18, 1985
Daughter of Pollux and Irma Black
Sister of Cygnus Black
Wife of Orion Black
Mother of Regulus Black
Toujours Pur
Over the next ten years, no one noticed that flowers appeared daily upon the gravestones of Regina, Alphard and Regulus. Kreacher had followed his orders as best he could and nothing had left Grimmauld Place, however he was unable to destroy the locket. Then one day the unthinkable happened. Sirius Black returned to claim the house and its possessions, ordering Kreacher not to leave the premises. Just as no one had noticed the daily appearance of the flowers, no one noticed when they stopped appearing. As the names on the graves began to fade, so did the memory of those who lay buried there.