Chapter 111: Chapter 111: The End of an Era

The next morning broke slow and gray, as if the sky itself mourned.

Hogwarts had never felt so quiet. The castle usually stirred with life even at dawn—portraits whispering, students beginning to rise—but today, everything was still.

Word of Dumbledore’s death had swept through the school like wildfire. By sunrise, even the very walls seemed to grieve. The great oak doors stood open, and a black flag bearing the Hogwarts crest hung above the entrance, its edges fluttering faintly in the breeze.

Inside the hospital wing, Harry sat in silence, unsure what to feel.

His thoughts were a storm. For years, Dumbledore had been like a grandfather—wise, quirky, always there to protect him when he stumbled into danger. But lately, things had changed. Since Voldemort’s return, Harry had grown more aware of the secrets Dumbledore kept and the weight of expectations he placed on him.

Sirius’s near-death at the Ministry had been the turning point. His time at Grimmauld Place had opened Harry’s eyes to the complexity of the wizarding world, and the fact that Dumbledore—whether out of wisdom or manipulation—had played a long game with everyone’s lives, including his.

“Can’t hate him,” Harry murmured, more to himself than to Sirius, who sat quietly nearby. “Should be able to. After everything he kept from me, everything he did to me, to you… but I can’t.”

“That’s because you’re not built for hate, pup.” Sirius’s voice was gentle. “Despite everything they tried to beat into you.”

They’d talked through the night—about the fake Horcrux Harry and Dumbledore had hunted down and the wasted journey. Though Harry and Sirius were not happy about the failed hunt, someone was.

Kreacher was ecstatic to have Regulus’s locket returned, clutching it like a holy relic while tears streamed down his ancient face.

McGonagall arrived as the sun finally showed itself, her usual severity cracked by grief.

“The Ministry insists on a state funeral,” she said, lips pursed in disapproval. “Though Albus wanted something simple. This afternoon, by the lake. Students, staff, the Order…” She paused. “And every vulture who can wrangle an invitation.”

“He’d have hated that,” Harry said.

“He’d have found it amusing,” McGonagall corrected softly. “Watching them pretend they supported him while secretly celebrating one less obstacle to their ambitions.”

—

By noon, the grounds had transformed.

Hundreds of white chairs stood in perfect rows facing the Great Lake, their pristine surfaces almost obscene against the summer grass.

The gathering crowd was a study in contrasts—Ministry officials in elaborate dress robes mingling uneasily with battle-scarred Aurors, Diagon Alley shopkeepers standing beside mysterious figures in travel-worn cloaks.

Even a delegation of goblins had come, standing apart with expressions of wary respect.

Arthur Hayes materialized at the forest’s edge, having Apparated directly through Hogwarts’s ancient wards like they were cobwebs. He found a position near the back, watching the factions of the magical world gather to mourn the fall of a king.

A moment later, a figure detached from the crowd and walked toward him.

“Glad you could make it,” said Sirius Black, his voice low.

“I wouldn’t miss the end of an era,” Arthur replied coolly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you thought so highly of the Headmaster.”

“I don’t,” Arthur said flatly. “He was a complicated man. Claimed to want the best for the wizarding world, but kept the status quo intact. No change. Just more of the same.”

Sirius sighed. “Not the best time to speak ill of the dead.”

“You asked for my opinion.”

“Fair point.” Sirius glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Want to hear something interesting? I think the old man planned his death with Snape.”

Arthur arched a brow. “Oh? Since when did Sirius Black grow a brain and start thinking?”

“Since nearly falling through the Veil,” Sirius replied dryly. “But you’re not surprised?”

“No. I could feel the curse clinging to him from far away. Even without Snape, he wouldn’t have lasted long.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “I saw it too.”

Arthur studied the lake. “So, did you invite me here just for the funeral? Or is there something more?”

“There is,” Sirius admitted. “But after the funeral.”

Arthur was curious, but as the ceremony began, Sirius gave him a brief nod and returned to the front row beside Harry.

From the depths of the lake rose a haunting, melodic hum as the merpeople sang their mourning song. Their haunting voices echoed across the grounds.

Arthur, watching it all unfold, had to admit—Dumbledore had been a master politician. He’d made countless allies. Whether those alliances were based on truth or illusion, he couldn’t say.

The eulogies began. McGonagall spoke first, her voice steady but her hands trembling. Moody followed, along with other Ministry figures and friends who had known Dumbledore in life.

Then came the moment no one expected.

Brilliant white flames erupted around Dumbledore’s body and the table upon which it lay. The fire rose high, obscuring the body entirely. White smoke twisted into strange shapes, and for one breathtaking instant, Harry swore he saw a phoenix soaring into the sky. Then the flames vanished.

In their place stood a pristine white marble tomb, encasing the body and the table beneath.

Arthur stared at the gleaming monument, positioned perfectly to catch the sun’s rays, visible from every window in the castle. A permanent reminder of Dumbledore’s importance.

How typical, he thought with a mixture of amusement and pity. Even in death, he ensures he won’t be forgotten. I wonder what Headmasters Dippet, Black, or any of the others would think—centuries of service, and they rest in distant graveyards while Dumbledore claims the grounds themselves.

The tomb stood like a marble accusation against the ordinary deaths of extraordinary people. Even the Founders hadn’t demanded such prominence in their final rest.

But then, Arthur mused, Dumbledore always did believe he was special. And perhaps he was right.

A few startled cries rang out as a volley of arrows arced overhead—but fell far short of the crowd. Arthur turned his head toward the trees and saw the centaurs lower their bows in solemn tribute before fading into the forest. The merpeople, too, slipped beneath the surface and were gone.

The ceremony was over.

—

As the mourners began to disperse, Arthur saw Sirius return, this time with Amelia Bones at his side.

Arthur greeted her with a slight smirk. “Hello, Madam Bones—or should I say Minister Bones. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr. Hayes,” she said, lips quirking. “Heard you’ve been causing trouble in the Muggle world.”

“Oh? Someone complained?”

“Yes,” Amelia said dryly. “But I’ve had my hands full with Voldemort, so I sent them packing. Just try not to get caught.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Arthur replied. “No reason to worry.”

“Confident about covering your tracks, are you?” Sirius asked.

Arthur grinned. “I liked the dumb Sirius better.”

They laughed.

Amelia sobered. “Just be careful. If someone brings proof to the ICW, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“They won’t find any.” Arthur said calmly. His confidence was absolute. “Besides, shouldn’t you worry more about what’s coming? Without Dumbledore, every Dark wizard sympathizer will feel emboldened.”

“Unless someone deals with Voldemort directly.” She looked at him meaningfully. “It would save countless lives.”

“And ensure nothing changes.” Arthur’s voice hardened. “Another Dark Lord would rise within a generation. The rot goes deeper than one madman.”

Amelia sighed. “Well, I need to speak with Minerva about how Hogwarts handles bullying and Muggleborn discrimination.”

“That would be a good start,” Arthur said. “If you want a more convincing reason, I think that same discrimination played a role in Voldemort’s creation. Though… so did his unnatural birth.”

Sirius blinked. “How do you know?”

Arthur smirked. “Oh, so Harry’s had his Voldemort life-history lessons with Dumbledore? Looks like he passed the notes to you too.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “Was Voldemort… a Muggleborn?”

“Technically. Squib mother, Muggle father, but descended from Slytherin through the Gaunts.” Arthur’s smile turned sharp. “Ironic, isn’t it? The blood purist champion is exactly what he claims to despise.”

“That information could turn some supporters away,” Amelia mused. “Sirius, we need to meet properly. Soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Sirius agreed. “My place.”

“Will do,” Amelia said. “I’ve got to return. Can’t leave the Ministry unguarded too long. Goodbye.”

As Amelia departed, Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Is there something brewing between you two?”

“Old Padfoot still has his charm.” Sirius grinned. “Speaking of which, did you notice Harry with Susan Bones? Like godfather, like godson.”

“I thought he’d end up with Granger.”

“Hermione’s too headstrong for him. Susan’s a better match. You should’ve seen Harry this year—he’s been happier. Smiling more.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “Moving on, what did you want to talk about?”

“Not here,” Sirius said, glancing around. “Too open.”

Arthur nodded. “I know somewhere absolutely private.”

He grasped Sirius’s shoulder. Reality twisted.

They vanished from Hogwarts grounds with a crack that made several people spin around in shock. Apparating through those wards should have been impossible.

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