Chapter 892 - Pyre

Early Christmas Eve morning, a large burial pyre is held for the dead and the dead that are only remnants rather than a whole. The event is solemnly filled with the sounds of those grieving their loved ones. There are very few reporters present as even they had a shard of human decency left. A few photographers were taken off the flaming giant pyres, but beyond that, the reporters quickly retreated leaving the families and friends to grieve.

The reporters would instead flock to the mass family funerals that would be held on Christmas Day. The Minister of Magic Eugenia Jenkins would address the public at the funerals for the deceased Auror's and A.P.D. officers, who had lost their lives in the line of combat. Many Auror's, A.P.D. officers and other Ministry officials would be in attendance to salute their comrades and friends in a final goodbye.

Among the rows of Auror's, the figure of Auror Dawlish can be seen with his head held high to keep his tears at bay. He'd lost his partner, Auror Clements, and he hadn't been the only one. Countless Auror's mourned comrades, friends, and loved ones.

Among those at the public pyre is the newly wedded couple, who had cut their honeymoon short. The slightly hunched over squib's face is horribly pasty white, his bulging pale eyes are red from weeping, and his sunken cheeks are even deeper. The caretaker of Hogwarts Argus Filch noisily stifles a sob and dries his bulbous, purple nose with a damp hankie. "I should have been there," he croaked hoarsely with sorrow.

The Hogwarts librarian, a dark-haired witch with suspicious eyes gazes tenderly at her newly wedded husband with sorrow and heartbreak. Irma Pince now Irma Filch had always carried a silent torch for the squib. It had not been until the last year that Argus finally gained the courage to court. With great delight, she had accepted his courting and they had eloped on a romantic honeymoon in Scotland. They had been ever so happy until an owl arrived at their honeymoon cottage carrying the news and deaths of his only brother, Roderic, and that of his family.

"It wasn't your fault, Argy," Irma whispered tenderly to her husband. "You couldn't have possibly had known."

"I know, Irmy," Argus lets out a stifled sob and nods his head in understanding, but just because his mind accepted his newly wedded wife's words that does not mean his heart listened. With the death of his younger brother, everything that belonged to Roderic had been willed to Argrus. He would have to sell his brother's shop and home-. He simply didn't have the heart to deal with their belonging's especially those of his tiny nephew.

The only silver lining to the entire awful ordeal is that morning Reginald Prince had removed every single item from the Filch cottage that had ever belonged to Eileen Prince and her son. Argus heart had broken all over again as he vanished and put away his brother's belongings for safekeeping. He knew that Reginald Prince had only aided in the endeavor to safeguard and protect the interests of the Prince household. Still, it was a small mercy that Argus had been profoundly grateful for.

The newly wedded Filch couple are far from the only ones in similar situations after the giant attack. Countless other families suddenly had orphaned children, orphaned youths, and sole ȧduŀt survivors. Once the winter holidays ended and the students returned to Hogwarts' at least dozens of children would return to find friends missing and numbered among the dead, others whose lives would forever be changed by the loss, while newly orphaned children and youths would be left in the care of near or distant kin.

Elsewhere in a guest room within the depths of Malfoy manor is a toasty warm room. The creaking of a rocking chair is heard as a short, curvy, fiery red-head witch, Molly Weasley. She still looks rather pale as she holds her oldest son, William whom they all called Bill, in her ŀȧp. She gently pats the top of her handsome lad's red hair as his shadowed blue eyes sleepily closed. Her son had been able to sleep without waking up shrieking with nightmares ever since the attack. He had regressed a bit only able to fall asleep in the company of his parents or that of Lorcan D'Eath.

Pressing a kiss to the soft head of her son, Molly finishes the children's story of Babbitty Rabitty and her Cackling Stump from Tales of Beedle the Bard. And so, "Babbity hopped out of the grounds and far away, and ever after a golden-statue of the washerwoman stood upon the tree stump, and no witch or wizard was ever persecuted in the kingdom again.' The end," she quietly said gently closing the children's tale about a clever old animagus witch, who taught a muggle king a sound lesson and ensured the survival of any wizard and witch in the kingdom from persecution.

"If only life were just as easy," Molly whispered to herself.

In the background, a peaceful clicking sound can be heard as two silver knitting needles hover in the air. The enchanted needles patiently knit a warm blue sweater that is only halfway done. The sweater looked like it was for a boy, but a much larger size than that of her two sons.

Molly glances at the knitting needles in approval, before turning her gaze to the slumbering figure of the very pale boy lying in bed, Lorcan D'Eath. The poor child had been in a deep slumber ever since that terrible tragic night and had yet to awaken. The healer that had been summoned explicated that it was a combination of exhaustion and shock and that the child would awaken any day now.

Molly unconsciously hugs Bill tighter to her ċhėst. Her parents in conjunction with the Blacks are preparing the funeral of her Uncle Ignatius Prewett and his wife, Lucretia (nee Black). The funerals would be held tomorrow on Christmas day with many of the other pureblood funerals as today the massive funeral pyres by the Ministry of Magic were being held for the civilians, and the brave Auror's. She knew that her two older brothers Gideon and Fabian, both were in attendance as Auror Percius Clement had perished in the second giant attack at the village of Mould-on-the-Would.

A stifled sniff escapes from Molly, her lip quivering. She quickly blinks the tears away from her watery brown eyes and uses a silk hankie to dab at the corner of her eye. Sighing quietly, she glances down at her still flat stomach. The healer had confirmed that she was pregnant, but she is required to rest after her stressful shock to ensure the safety of the fetus. If all went well, she would birth a child in August.

A tender smile appears on her stomach as a bit of fear can be seen in Molly's eyes in concern for the safety of her children including her unborn child. She rubs her stomach to comfort herself secure in the knowledge that for now, her children are safe. She and Arthur had already discussed potential names for the child, if the babe was another boy, they would name him, Percy Ignatius Weasley after the late Auror Percius Clements and her Uncle Ignatius Prewett. If the child was finally a girl she would be, Ginevra Molly Weasley. However, they truly wouldn't know for some time, but according to her mother, Mrs. Prewett, it would be another boy.. Normally Molly would have scoffed her mother's words except Mrs. Prewett had so far always guessed accurately the gender of every single of her grandchildren…