Anathème la Maîtresse

VINTE DOUS

Chertsey Cemetery that evening was not very serene, there were about 11 people, including the priest, around the newly sealed tomb, writes PETUNIA ELSJE EVANS July 10, 1958, August 5, 1994, with an epitaph that only makes sense for a few who understand, Sayre's House axiom.

In our hȳr is the sowers; assayer evermore just to the one who sows.

Some of the few stood a little apart next to the nearest lush tree. Maureen wore a neutral knee-length dress with vintage suede shoes of the same color, her face invisible as two layers of short black mesh veils covered her head to her chin.

She leaned over Theo, who was wearing a black turtleneck with a black suit jacket, trousers, and dress shoes in the same muted color, he draped an arm around his companion's shoulder.

Then there are four foreign men and two women, each with cameras ranging from average to expensive brands, with notes in their hands, standing not far from the fence. Their purposes are very different from the 11 people who did come to mourn.

Maureen glanced at the reporters with disgust and wondered if they were there because they wanted to publicize the abuse victim who was killing herself after injuring her ex-husband or for some other reason.

"They looked like Aunt Petunia's college friends who often stopped by when going on play dates." Maureen's voice was muffled as she answered her companion's question about the identity of the small crowd standing not far from them

"The one in black robes like wizards is a priest to lead prayers, I don't know why they even need them, Aunt Petunia is not religious. I don't know the guy in the top hat and black Armani suits, and the well-dressed guy next to Dudley."

"Probably a social worker." Theo suggested and his companion tilted her head to the side before concluding by pondering, "But Armani, though?"

Before her partner could respond, they were distracted by the closing ceremony, and the crowd left one by one, with the exception of a woman she believed to be Aunt Petunia's college friend, a man she didn't know, and her much-fit cousin. He doesn't look overweight but is still on a big build for a 14-year-old boy.

After the entire crowd left, Maureen and Theo approached the new tomb and placed a bucket of three-colored petunia flowers. She knew it was cliché, but she couldn't help it, Aunt Petunia's pride that she carried in her name couldn't be toyed with.

Theo dragged her behind the tree in the furthest part of the graveyard before they reactivated the portkeys as there was that familiar crippling sensation of magic being cast through the air and, all of sudden, Dudley Dursley stood in front of them with a grey polished wand and the hilt of the snake's head at the end.

"Cousin." The said boy, surprisingly, inclined his head to Maureen

"Big D, you're-"

"Yes, I retains up to 13 basic spells, when Mother core's capacity were retains 17. She got me this squib custom wand and has been teaching me behind closed doors since she sent you away from that-"

Dudley clears his throat and promptly introduces the two people next to him that he had illusioned too, "This is Archie Campbell, Marquess of Lorne, our cousin, albeit distant. The fine lady right here is Stephanie Boyce, French's squib, my etiquette tutor, and Mother's solicitor."

The woman bowed fairly low while the man in Armani suits reached out to kiss her knuckles, which she complied as she half-curtsey, "Heather Potter. Pleasure, Your Lordship. This is my companion, Theodore Nott."

"Pleasure, Mr. Nott."

Lorne Marquess winked at Theo's muttered, "Pleasure." As he shook her newfound cousin's hands firmly