Wake
Who: Rudolph Atkins, Isaiah Boswell, Antonin Dolohov, Daphne Greengrass, Demetrius Greensmith, Auror Gunn, Draco Malfoy, Edric Nott, Theodore Nott, OPEN
What: Seeing family and saying goodbye
Where: Margo Nott's manor, Waterford, Ireland
When: 2 o'clock, Friday, June 9th, 2000
Status: Incomplete
The room smelled of musky cherry wood, like the coffin had been carved from a solid trunk just hours before. It was possible; Boswell stood at the foot of it, fingering the ridges and looking deeply blank, like he had yet to be accustomed to it.
Under the strong wood was the sweet scent of Rudy's, what could one call it?, bakery. Tarts and puffs and tiny cakes frosted pink and blue and yellow; hardly proper for a dignified bit of mourning, but Rudy had never been all that good at being proper and Edric appreciated the effort anyway. Wash it all down with the strong beverages left liberally around the room in cut crystal, and after a while anything will seem proper enough.
But all that was left to the good kids in the family. The ones who could come together and mourn openly without a wand at their backs. Margo Nott would have to be remembered by the bankers and tailors and aurors down there, not convicts.
By the gasping, glowing embers of the fire in the library, Edric watched the scene; listening to snippets of conversation, watching faces he barely recognized regard the woman they barely recognized with sad, scared eyes. Distant people, so unfamiliar with the concept of death. And young people, too familiar. A strange balance.
What: Seeing family and saying goodbye
Where: Margo Nott's manor, Waterford, Ireland
When: 2 o'clock, Friday, June 9th, 2000
Status: Incomplete
The room smelled of musky cherry wood, like the coffin had been carved from a solid trunk just hours before. It was possible; Boswell stood at the foot of it, fingering the ridges and looking deeply blank, like he had yet to be accustomed to it.
Under the strong wood was the sweet scent of Rudy's, what could one call it?, bakery. Tarts and puffs and tiny cakes frosted pink and blue and yellow; hardly proper for a dignified bit of mourning, but Rudy had never been all that good at being proper and Edric appreciated the effort anyway. Wash it all down with the strong beverages left liberally around the room in cut crystal, and after a while anything will seem proper enough.
But all that was left to the good kids in the family. The ones who could come together and mourn openly without a wand at their backs. Margo Nott would have to be remembered by the bankers and tailors and aurors down there, not convicts.
By the gasping, glowing embers of the fire in the library, Edric watched the scene; listening to snippets of conversation, watching faces he barely recognized regard the woman they barely recognized with sad, scared eyes. Distant people, so unfamiliar with the concept of death. And young people, too familiar. A strange balance.