Chapter 10: The Funeral
When the euphoria of their strange success had faded, Harry and Hermione were faced with the sobering reality of the day.
Sirius's former room was a ghastly sight. When Harry peeled away his sodden duvet, the ruins of what lay beneath startled them. The bed was a charred and smoking mess and the burned wood portrait sat crumbling into charcoal in its centre.
Smoke had blackened the ceiling and much of the wallpaper, and the harsh odour of melted fabric lingered over the room.
They returned to the bathroom to collect some water to pour over the smouldering remains. When they arrived, they realised that they had left the tap running in their haste and the tub was now overflowing, flooding the bathroom floor and leaking out into the hall. Harry's boots made soft sucking noises as he strode across the wet tile to shut it off.
They filled tin rubbish bins with water from the tub and returned to Sirius's room to pour them carefully over the blackened remains of the bed. Twice they did this, until both were satisfied that the threat of fire had passed.
Together, they made their way back downstairs to the landing, stepping carefully around the shards of broken glass that littered the hallway. On the walls around them, the oil lamps flickered with a naked flame without their crystal chimneys to protect them. Harry and Hermione shared an uneasy look.
The old victrola was still playing - even through their magical earmuffs, they could hear the faintest screeching as the neared it. Harry turned the volume down and then tapped his wand on the needle to end the sound entirely. They both slid off their earmuffs as soon as this was done.
Before them, the former portrait of Mrs. Black stood empty. She was well and truly gone.
Harry lifted his hand onto the back of his head to prod gently at his injury. The lump had swelled to the size of a toddler's fist. The touch of his fingers was painful and he dropped his hand and leaned against the wall behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.
"Let me take a look at that," Hermione said, moving around next to him and sliding her hand between the wall and the back of his head. She carefully felt around the lump, examining its size, and frowned. "Well, it's not bleeding, but - it's quite bad, Harry. It must really be painful."
Exhaustion was creeping up fast now that Harry's adrenaline had burned itself out, and there was a fuzziness to his vision that he didn't care for. He pushed away from the wall and gestured to the portrait with his head. "Who do you reckon has the other portrait? Voldemort himself? Or one of his followers?"
Hermione's lip twitched at the casual mention of Voldemort, but Harry was pleased to see that she was well past the stage of wincing. "I don't know," she admitted. The question seemed to have troubled her. "She's been in this house for so long - whoever owns the other portrait must have received huge amounts of information. About the Order, about Sirius, and - oh, I can hardly bear to think on it - but they must have been gathering information about you, too, Harry. This is really very serious!"
Harry's face was a brooding mask. "They must know all about you and Ron, now. And the twins and Ginny, too."
Hermione frowned. "Harry, it's not like it's a secret that we're friends. Everyone at Hogwarts must know. I'm sure Malfoy has already told his father everything he knows about us. And he would have told V-Voldemort - at least before he was captured at the Ministry."
Harry stepped away from her, his temper flaring. "Don't say it so casually! If he knows about you, he'll use you against me!"
"Nothing has changed, Harry," Hermione said evenly in the face of his bluster. "He doesn't know anything more about us than a single conversation with one of the students at school couldn't have told him. It's not like we ever did anything particularly secretive here - you were so distraught last year… well, you mostly kept to yourself. So there was little for him to gain from spying on you then, anyway. And the only thing different today than yesterday is that he no longer has access to our secrets."
Harry's anger flickered out like a candle flame in the face of this logic and he scratched at his bandage uncomfortably. "He knew about Sirius… he knew how I felt about Sirius. And look what happened."
Hermione's face softened and she swept her arms around him at once. Harry stiffened in her embrace and did not return it, but she didn't seem to notice. "Oh, Harry, you mustn't think that way. Nothing is going to happen to us," she implored. "What happened with Sirius won't happen again. You said yourself - you know the difference now."
Harry did not quite share her confidence, but he kept his thoughts to himself. After a moment, Hermione let him go and stepped back to look at him. Harry was surprised to see that her eyes were moist. "Come on, then. Let's go into the kitchen. I need to change your bandage - you're bleeding again. And we should get some ice for that lump."
She turned and led him downstairs, picking through the portraits they had leaned haphazardly against the walls. They passed through the drawing room and Hermione stopped abruptly in the doorway to the kitchen. Harry had to pull up short to keep from walking straight into her back.
It was immediately clear why she had stopped. Harry froze as he looked over her shoulder into the kitchen beyond. Albus Dumbledore was sitting at the table, observing them silently.
"Please sit down, Harry, Miss Granger," he asked politely, but this was clearly not a request to be ignored. Harry and Hermione shared a quick glance before moving towards the table. Harry pulled out a chair and sat down promptly, but Hermione hesitated behind hers.
"Please, sir," she said after a moment. "Harry has a rather bad lump on his head. I'd like to get him some ice first."
Dumbledore peered through his half-moon glasses at Harry as if to verify this diagnosis before inclining his head. "Of course, Miss Granger."
She turned and bustled to the icebox, hunting around inside it for a few moments before reappearing with a bottle of butterbeer. Harry looked at it strangely and she shrugged. "I couldn't break any of the ice off. It must be charmed. This is the only thing in there that's cold enough."
She handed it to him and Harry dutifully pressed it against the back of his head before Hermione slid into her chair beside him.
"Well, I must say, it looks like you two have had something of an adventure tonight," Dumbledore stated calmly. "Would you care to explain?"
Harry and Hermione looked at each other as if unsure where to begin.
Dumbledore nodded absently and continued. "Perhaps it would be best if I were to start? Earlier this evening, Phineas informed me that the portraits in this house were near to riot from panic, and that he went to investigate but found his progress severely hampered. Most of the paintings in this home had, inexplicably, been removed from the walls, preventing him from entering them or communicating with their occupants. The ones he could visit were nearly unendurable - he complained of a terrible noise that nearly drove him mad. He was quite put out by all this and asked for me to come here to discover the reason behind your… impromptu redecorating."
"We found Kreacher earlier," Harry said bluntly. "He's dead."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose marginally at this declaration. "I see. This is a tragedy, but one that I can admit I anticipated might happen. Was his death self-inflicted?"
"He killed himself, yes," Harry confirmed.
"And how did this terrible discovery lead to your removal of the portraits?" Dumbledore prodded.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hermione began to answer. "When we were looking for Kreacher, we wondered about - well, we were remembering when Harry flooed here right before… what happened… at the Department of Mysteries. Kreacher seemed to confirm that Sirius had been taken there and that he was in danger. We all acted on that information, and that's why we ended up going."
Dumbledore's face seemed to darken with each word out of her mouth, until it was a stony, unreadable mask. "I was not aware that you flooed here before attempting your rescue, Harry. This is grave news, indeed. If Kreacher knew of Voldemort's plans-"
"Then Kreacher must have been in communication with someone from Voldemort's camp, if not Voldemort, himself," Harry cut in. "That's the conclusion we came to, as well."
Hermione looked mildly shocked that Harry had interrupted the headmaster, but the old wizard seemed to take no offense.
"Why did you not tell me this before?" Dumbledore asked after a moment of silence.
Harry shifted guiltily under his look. "After everything that happened… I had forgotten all about Kreacher, to be honest."
The headmaster leaned back and began to comb his fingers through his beard. "Continue, Harry."
Harry began to describe the events of the night, leaving nothing out. He detailed their search for Kreacher and Hermione's discovery of the moved shelf. He spoke haltingly of finding the house elf's body and then their discussion in the kitchen about Kreacher's activities. When Harry described his revelation about Mrs. Black's portrait, something in Dumbledore's eyes flashed in sudden comprehension about where the story was leading.
Harry ended his account with the burning of the portrait and Hermione nodded her approval at his description of the events.
Dumbledore pushed his chair back and stood to his full height. "You must take me to this portrait at once."
Harry and Hermione lead him upstairs past the landing where the headmaster stopped to observe the empty painting that Mrs. Black had previously occupied. He waved his hand over the frame slowly, as if sensing the wards, before motioning that they should continue on.
As they passed through the hall, Dumbledore's wand appeared in his hand, and a single flick had the piles of broken glass leaping into the air and fusing back together into the glass chimneys they previously were. Another flick and all the abandoned portraits reseated themselves on the walls.
They continued upstairs and across the wet floors of the hallway into Sirius's room. Harry and Hermione stepped aside to allow Dumbledore to examine the bed. Again, he held his hand over the remains of the portrait, seemingly deep in thought, before stepping back, satisfied.
"She is gone," he confirmed. "Even magic cannot return things that have been burned to their previous state."
Dumbledore plucked his spectacles off his face and cleaned them absently with the hem of his robes before turning back to favour Harry and Hermione with a strange, little smile.
"Well, Harry, it seems you have foiled Riddle's plans once again. And you, Miss Granger - your method for her capture was indeed ingenious," he said with a touch of pride in his voice. "However, much damage has already been done. I will have to inform the Order about this immediately. We must determine how much information could have already been passed on. I'm afraid I will have to send for Remus once the sun has risen. I trust you will find ways to occupy yourselves in the coming days."
"Yes, Professor," they both said dutifully.
"Very well, then. Harry, I'm afraid this news will likely delay our next meeting."
"You've never told me when the next meeting was going to be," Harry informed.
Dumbledore looked surprised. "Dear me - old age is indeed creeping up. Well, I will be sure to send Fawkes when I have secured a time."
The three exchanged brief goodbyes before the headmaster bowed his head and disapparated without a sound.
"I wish he had cleaned the water in the hallway," Harry said after he had left. "I reckon we're going to have to do it ourselves later, or the floorboards will start to mould."
"The only thing you're doing for the rest of the night is resting, Harry," Hermione asserted. "Don't think I haven't noticed that your dizziness is back. You probably still have traces of doxy venom in your system, and that head injury can't be helping."
"It's not that bad," Harry protested mechanically, but his heart wasn't really in it. Truthfully, he was exhausted and the pounding behind his eyes had not lessened as the evening went on. Sleep sounded very attractive.
"We'll put you up in Remus's room tonight," Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "Since all of your linens have been… well-"
"Melted?"
Hermione's lip twitched into the ghost of a smile. "Well, yes. Tomorrow we'll take the bedclothes off another bed and wash them for you, but this should be fine for tonight. Why don't you get ready and I'll meet you in Remus's room? I need to get another bandage."
Harry accepted this without comment and walked down the hall into the flooded lavatory. He cleaned the soot and dust off himself with a washrag and soap before brushing his teeth and carefully undoing the knot on his bandage. It was a relief to take it off - the cloth was filthy by now and the skin of his neck itched terribly beneath it.
Harry lifted his chin up and examined the bite wound in the mirror. It was not large - doxies were only slightly bigger than common bats - but it was red and angry from the venom and there was dried blood clotted around it. He cleaned this away as best he could, but it was painful and his ministrations caused the scab to break and blood to leak through again. He clapped some bath tissue over it and left the room.
Hermione was waiting for him in Remus's room with a tray of various bottles and flasks. She had him sit on the edge of the bed and tilt his head back before carefully peeling away the tissue and examining the wound. She made a small displeased noise before she tipped some potion onto a cotton ball and warned him that it would sting fiercely. Harry did his best to hold still as she gently dabbed it on the bite. When she was finished, she soaked another fabric bandage in a jar of anti-venom and then tied it around his neck.
Harry brushed the edge of the fabric with his fingers. The bandage was not nearly as uncomfortable when it was clean.
"You should leave this on overnight," Hermione said. "The venom should have worked its way out of your blood stream by the morning. You'll feel a lot better then."
"Hermione, where did you learn all this? We've never had any sort of healing lessons at Hogwarts."
Hermione looked thoughtful and sat down next to him on the bed. "Books, of course. And Harry, please don't tease."
Harry frowned at her. "Why would I tease you about that? You've been dead useful today."
Hermione slid her hand into the back of Harry's hair and he jerked forward a little in surprise. "May I?" she asked. He didn't reply and she must have taken this as assent, because her fingers continued their search for the lump on the back of his skull. When she found it, she carefully felt its dimensions and then dropped her hand back into her lap. "It's still very swollen. I wish I knew a numbing charm."
"It's fine," Harry reassured.
"What did you do with the bottle I gave you?"
Harry had the good sense to look sheepish. "I left it on the kitchen table."
Hermione sighed and stood up. "Well, you'll probably regret not icing it more in the morning. And don't take that bandage off when I leave."
"I'll try to restrain myself."
They wished one another goodnight and Hermione blew out the lamp before she disappeared out the door.
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Harry awoke the next morning to find Crookshanks settled against his stomach. His careful attempt to slide out of bed without the cat noticing was not as successful as he would have liked, and one little paw full of sharp claws dug itself into his abdomen.
He winced and carefully extracted himself. Crookshanks slit his eyes at him before licking the fur on his leg and pretending Harry didn't exist. Obviously, he was a bit ornery today. Harry wondered if this behaviour was some sort of revenge for the terrible noise they had made last night getting rid of the portrait. He reminded himself to check on Hedwig - she was probably as displeased as Crookshanks was.
Harry climbed out of bed and raked his hand through his hair before sliding it over the bump on the back of his head. It was still swollen, but much improved from yesterday. He grabbed his boots, trousers, and shirt from where he had laid them last night and went out into the hallway. There was still a fair amount of water around and the unpleasant smell of old, damp wood assaulted his nostrils. He avoided the mess as best he could and went into his room. He dressed with clean clothes and spent a few minutes bribing himself back into Hedwig's good graces with owl treats.
After a quick stop in the loo to bathe and rid himself of his unfortunately patchy facial hair, Harry checked on Hermione (he could see nothing above her bedcovers except a great mass of bushy, brown hair, but that was enough to assure him she was neither dead nor ill) and then made his way downstairs.
The victrola was still on the floor of the landing and Harry took that downstairs with him. After replacing it on its cabinet in the drawing room, Harry hesitated a moment before picking up his O.W.L. scores from the cabriolet table and reading through them again. It was hard to believe it was only yesterday that he had received them - it seemed like a week ago after everything that happened.
Feeling somewhat heartened by the reminder that he was one step closer to possibly becoming an Auror, he set his results back down and went into the kitchen. He was terribly hungry -Hermione, Remus, and he had all skipped dinner the previous night in their haste to find Kreacher.
The reminder of the house elf was sobering. Kreacher's body was still in the cupboard off the kitchen, and the thought unsettled him. Something would have to be done.
"Brooding again, I see," Hermione teased gently from the doorway. Harry looked up at her from where he had been staring at the floor, lost in thought. It was obvious she had made an attempt to tame her hair with a brush, but she was otherwise clearly fresh from bed and was still wearing her dressing gown. Harry was startled to see her this way, and it must have shown in his face because Hermione hesitated a moment before blushing and sliding into a chair at the table.
"Sorry," Harry said, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for.
"What were you thinking about?" Hermione asked after an awkward silence.
Harry leaned back against the counter and rubbed his arm. "Kreacher," he admitted. "We can't leave his body in the cupboard."
Hermione chewed her lip and she had that look on her face that Harry was slowly becoming familiar with - the look that meant she had something to say to him that he probably wouldn't like. "Harry," she began, folding her hands in her lap, "I was thinking - well, I thought that we should have a funeral. For Kreacher, I mean."
"A funeral?" Harry asked sceptically. "I thought we might just bury him somewhere in the back garden."
"Oh. Well," Hermione replied, looking at him in some surprise, "actually, I think that's a good idea. To lay him to rest near his home, I mean. But I think we should have some sort of service to- to honour his memory."
"Like a memorial service?" Harry asked, frowning. "Hermione, we didn't even have one of those for Sirius."
All the colour seemed to leave her face. "Oh! Oh, Harry," she breathed, "I hadn't even thought- I mean, I didn't realise… oh. Would you- would you like to have one?"
"No," Harry said at once.
She looked startled by his abrupt answer and seemed to be warring with herself between questioning him about it and respecting his wishes. After a moment of this struggle, she gave him a sad look and nodded. "Okay. But Harry - if you ever change your mind, you know I'll help you with anything you need."
"We should get Remus," Harry said after a moment. "The sun must be up."
He pulled the slat off its brace and opened the door to call down into the basement without waiting for a response from Hermione. The werewolf appeared in the kitchen shortly after, looking even more tired than before, if possible. The short trek up the stairs seemed to have nearly sapped him of his breath. However, despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes were sharp and intense.
"Did you find him?" he asked immediately.
Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and Hermione launched into a detailed account of the night. When she finished, Remus sat back in his chair in shock. "Mrs. Black! I can't believe we didn't think that she might have another portrait somewhere! It's fortunate this house is protected by the Fidelius Charm or she would have been able to lead them right to us."
Remus seemed lost in thought after this and Harry announced he was going to make breakfast. They were sitting down to a plate of bangers and muffins soon after.
"Professor, I was telling Harry - I think we should have a funeral for Kreacher," Hermione said after a sip of pumpkin juice. "To honour his memory."
Remus's fork froze on the way to his mouth. His face turned hard. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to honour that little beast's memory?"
Hermione looked absolutely bewildered by this response. She had clearly not expected Remus to disagree with her and she fumbled with a response. "Professor! He didn't know any better! Kreacher couldn't help how he was raised and how he was taught to think. I thought you, of all people, would-"
Remus's eyes flashed and even Harry was startled by his reaction. "You thought because I am a werewolf, I would sympathize with his plight? Well, I assure you, I have a great deal of sympathy for creatures that are forced to endure the exceedingly foolish and malicious prejudices of wizards. I also believe your empathy towards house elves speaks highly of your character. But what you are suggesting disappoints me utterly.
"I am a werewolf - a so-called 'dark creature' - and have had to tolerate more indignities because of that fact than you can possibly imagine. And yet, I am still able to differentiate between right and wrong. That basic choice - the decision all beings have to value life or to not - is what separates us from animals. Kreacher was a house elf and his life here was pitiable. But to absolve his pleasure in the destruction of Sirius's life just because of what he was is to dishonour all those house elves that struggle under similar conditions but are somehow able to resist succumbing to depravity."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen and Hermione looked positively ashen. Harry felt an urge to say something - to defend her, maybe - but in his heart, he agreed with Remus.
The remainder of breakfast was a silent, awkward affair.
Soon after, Fawkes arrived with Dumbledore's summons. Harry walked Remus to the drawing room fireplace where the werewolf provided a few instructions on how to contact him in the event of an emergency before vanishing in a rush of green flames.
When Harry returned to the kitchen, Hermione was still sitting at the table. She looked terribly upset and Harry felt something heavy settle in his chest. He pulled out the chair next to her and sat down quietly. He couldn't think of anything useful to say, so instead he just sat with her in silence, keeping her company.
After a few minutes, Hermione heaved a shaky breath and tilted her head forward so her face disappeared in a fall of brown hair. Harry hoped desperately that she wasn't crying.
"Do you think he's right?" she asked quietly.
Harry did not want to answer this question. She seemed to take his hesitance to respond as a 'yes'.
"He is right," she said after a few moments, still hiding her face behind her hair. "But I can't help it - I still feel sorry for Kreacher."
"That hardly makes you an awful person, Hermione."
Hermione looked up and Harry was relieved to see that her eyes were dry. He placed his forearms on the table and turned towards her. "Maybe we should still have that funeral," he suggested. "But instead of having it to honour Kreacher's memory, we could honour- well, we could remember that his life was sad, and that maybe things could have gone differently."
Harry wasn't sure whether this was the right thing to say, but Hermione began to nod and a small smile appeared on her face. "I- yes. Yes, that sounds like a good idea."
Harry sat back in his chair, feeling a bit surprised by his own diplomacy. "We can do it after we clean up breakfast. I'd rather not put it off. I don't really like the idea of his corpse being in the next room over."
Hermione's lips pursed at this blunt statement.
Harry stood and began to collect the dishes. He went to bring them to the sink, but a small hand on his arm stopped him. He glanced down questioningly at Hermione.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"…Thank you."
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An hour later they were ready. Hermione had dressed and procured an old blanket from a linen cupboard. Harry was carrying an oil lamp and a rusty shovel that he had found in a crumbling shed in the back garden.
They opened the door to Kreacher's cupboard and were again nearly overwhelmed by the smell. Hermione clutched the folded blanket it front of her. She glanced at the decapitated body once quickly, before looking away.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but-" she tried to explain. "I just can't."
Harry nodded wordlessly and took the blanket from her arms. He handed her the shovel and the lamp and she smiled at him weakly.
Harry took the blanket and laid it out in front of the hole in the wall. In the dim light, he could see several rats scurrying away from the nest, hiding from his looming presence. Gathering his courage, he carefully lifted the body of the house-elf and deposited it onto the blanket. The movement disturbed the head and it rolled a half-turn on the blanket. Harry grimaced and then placed that in the blanket, as well.
Quickly - more so he wouldn't have to look at the grisly sight than because of any actual urgency to his task - he rolled the body in the blanket and lifted it into his arms.
Hermione led the way through the house towards the heavy door to the back garden. Holding the shovel under her arm, she held the door open for Harry, and together they slipped outside.
It was still relatively early in the morning, and the garden was painted with long shadows. Like everything else at Grimmauld Place, it was a monument of neglect, overgrown with thorny plants and clinging vines. As they picked their way through this forest of disuse, some of the vines reached out and tried to wrap slyly around their arms and legs. Hermione batted at them with her shovel, but her swings were clumsy and had little effect.
"Just keep going," Harry instructed. "They'll snap off."
They pushed forward until at last they came to a small patch of ground that was not overrun with strange plants. There was grass here, and although it was thick and in desperate need of cutting, it was still the most welcoming area of the garden they had seen yet. There would be no better spot for what they planned.
Harry carefully laid down his bundle and took the shovel from Hermione. He estimated the size of the hole that would be necessary and began to dig. Harry was quite used to digging holes - he had planted each and every hedgerow at Number 4 Privet Drive - and he finished this task quickly.
Once done, he climbed out of the hole and set down the shovel. Hermione nodded in approval of his work.
"Do we-," Harry began, feeling unsure of what was expected. Despite all the people he knew who had died, he could not recall ever attending an actual funeral. "Should I put the body in?"
Hermione, too, seemed slightly unsure. "Yes. I think so."
Harry carefully lifted the bundle and stepped back down into the hole. He arranged it lengthwise before straightening and staring at what he had done. The rolled blanket looked so innocuous that it was hard to believe there was a decapitated body inside. An unpleasant feeling coiled in his stomach and he climbed out of the hole.
He went to stand next to Hermione and together they looked down into their make-shift grave. After several seconds, Hermione's fingers reached out and curled against his. He turned his wrist to take her hand fully in his own and she squeezed it gratefully. He was somewhat relieved to know that she felt as unsettled as he did.
Long minutes passed and neither moved. A strange atmosphere had settled over them and seemed to strip them of their desire to speak. Harry found that he was no longer thinking of Kreacher at all, but other things… and other people…
It was some time later before Harry wordlessly took the shovel and began to fill in the hole. Nothing had been said - no words of remembrance for Kreacher, no wishes for goodbye - but what had taken place seemed all the more poignant for the silence. When Harry was finished, the mound of dirt lay like a black scar in the grass.
Hermione gathered her lamp and retook his hand, and they returned to the house without a word.