/𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒\ [𝒔. 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌]

𝟒.𝟙.𝟣

"behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain." ~ Bob Dylan

Andrew Blake's funeral was a grim affair to say the least. Most agreed he'd died too young, lived too short, and that his children were far too small to be left fatherless. It was a small service, only close friends and family. The few wizards who attended dressed in muggle clothes to appease the muggle majority. Jane sat in the front row, crying softly into a handkerchief, Artemis and Percy at her side. Artemis was staring at the coffin being lowered into the ground with unflinching, unblinking eyes. She hadn't looked away from it since the pallbearers had carried it down the aisle. It was the last bit of her father she'd ever see. She couldn't stop thinking about how scratchy the collar of her black dress was and she tugged at it in annoyance.

Percy reached over silently and pulled her hand away, setting it gently back in her lap. "Here," he whispered, leaning over to fix the fold of the collar so it wouldn't scratch her as much. She didn't look at him. She was still staring at the coffin, not paying attention to a word the gray-haired man she'd never seen before was saying at the front of the stuffy room. Behind her sat the few of her father's relatives who had deigned to show up. The Goyle side of the family was there merely out of obligation. They hadn't spoken to Jane, and Jane didn't try to approach them. She'd never met her husband's family, and she'd heard enough about them to know it was best to stay away.

When at last the service was over, Jane, Percy, and Artemis gathered at the doors to accept condolences and thank the funeral-goers for attending. Artemis was bored and fidgety. She was young, but not young enough to not understand what was happening. She wished she was. She wished she didn't have to feel the crushing weight of the fact she would never see her father again. Never hear his booming laugh, never sit on his shoulders and feel like she was the tallest person in the world, never stroll through the art museum with him and answer his questions with rapid-fire excitement.

Uncle Gregory and Aunt Isobel were the next in line to say their goodbyes, a small boy with trouble etched all over his face was trailing behind them, eyeing the crowd with almost amusement. "Jane," Aunt Isobel said stiffly, reaching out to kiss Jane formally on the cheek. "Our condolences."

"Thank you," Jane murmured, wiping at her eyes and pulling Artemis a little closer to her side instinctively.

"Out of allegiance to our family," Aunt Isobel continued, looking as though she hated the words coming out of her own mouth, "-if you need any assistance in the coming years, we are willing to allow the children to come and stay with us. We believe they may profit from being brought up with... our type."

Jane stiffened, her grip on Artemis's shoulder tightening almost painfully. "That won't be necessary, Isobel. I thank you for your condolences."

"Of course," Aunt Isobel said smoothly, and she glided off, Uncle Gregory and Gregory at her heels.

Artemis tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mum, it's hot in here."