Black Funeral

Lucretia Black followed behind Arcturus, Orion's sister, who was married to Ignatius Prevet. She wore a dark robe, was not tall, and had completely gray hair. Her facial features resembled Orion's by about 50 or 60 percent, but her eyes were much gentler than his.

She walked over to Walburga, gently squeezed her arm, and said nothing.

Narcissa followed behind her parents.

Her deep black gown and golden hair stood out starkly in the dim light. In this cemetery surrounded by yew trees, where everything was dark and somber, she was like the only light that hadn't been filtered out.

She saw Regulus, their eyes met briefly, she nodded slightly, and then looked away.

Lucius Malfoy stood a step behind her, his platinum blonde hair cascading over his shoulders. He wore a dark grey gown, almost black, but with a very faint grey undertone, different in texture from the pure black of the Black family.

Leaning on the Snake-headed Staff, her Emerald eyes flashed.

His gaze swept across the cemetery, landing on Regulus, and he nodded.

Abraxas Malfoy walked at the very back, his hair gray, his steps steady, and his posture upright.

His face was quite wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and clear, and he walked with even more energy than Lucius.

His gaze swept from the top to the bottom of the cemetery, lingering on Pollux's tomb for a while before returning to his own.

He walked past Lucius, went straight to Orion, and whispered a few words to him.

The two Patriarch stood together; one had black hair and was in his prime, while the other had white hair but was still vigorous and energetic.

Orion nodded, Abraxas nodded as well, patting Orion's arm.

Between two Patriarch of the same generation, there's not much to say at a funeral, nor is it necessary; Orion needs no words of comfort.

Regulus watched Abraxas's retreating figure.

The old man is in great spirits and looks even more robust than at the Christmas Banquet last time.

He looked away. Abraxas was a seasoned and highly skilled wizard; a quick glance was enough, staring at him would easily be noticed.

The Roxier family members also arrived, Cygnus Roxier, the current Patriarch of the Roxier family.

In terms of relationship, he is Druella's brother, though they are not blood relatives due to some connections, but his personal visit makes sense.

No one from the Lestrange family was there, no Bellatrix, Andromeda didn't come either.

Everyone who was supposed to come has arrived.

About twenty people stood in the cemetery, scattered around the tomb, their dark robes blending almost into the background in the shade of the yew trees. After a moment of silence, the ceremony began.

Arcturus III walked to the front of the tomb and presided over the ceremony.

Pollux's coffin floats above the tomb; it Yew, the same type as the yew trees surrounding the cemetery.

When the Black family chose this place as their burial site, they planted the first yew trees.

Each generation thereafter replants them; the old yews have been around for over a thousand years, while the new ones are several decades old.

Each yew tree here corresponds to a Black; for each Black who passes away, one tree is used to make a coffin.

In wizarding tradition, the yew tree represents death and rebirth, as well as eternity.

Death takes people away, but the family tree remains, and so does Black.

The surface of the coffin was engraved with the Black family's Twin Star Sirius Crest and a Rune of ancient Ancient Latin, Rune glowed faintly, a pale silver-gray. Arcturus raised his wand and drew Rune above the coffin.

Silver-gray light flowed from the tip of the staff, condensed into shapes in the air, and fell one by one, embedding itself into the surface of the coffin.

With each falling coffin, the light on it intensifies.

The new Rune joined together with the original Rune on the coffin, forming a larger array that covered the entire coffin lid.

Having finished drawing, Arcturus put away his wand, stood up straight, and then chanted a spell.

His voice was deep and Old English, the syllables echoing under the canopy.

The incantation was long, carrying the meaning of prayer. The sound was bounced back by the purple robe, overlapping with the newly recited syllables, layer upon layer, growing louder and louder until it covered the entire cemetery.

The meaning of the incantation is to encourage the deceased to move forward bravely, without looking back.

In the world of Magic, after a wizard dies, his soul has two paths.

Most people continued on, into Limbo, and then further on, into the true place of death.

A few people didn't leave; they stayed and became ghosts.

To become a ghost is considered extremely disgraceful by ancient Pureblood families.

Ghosts are the lingering of the soul, the result of being unable to let go, unable to complete, and unable to accept certain truths.

The souls that remain in the human world are neither alive nor dead; they are stuck in the middle, forever stuck.

There is nothing more shameful than having one's ancestors reduced to ghosts. The Black family should move on, with dignity and integrity.

However, propriety is not always a given; for centuries, few members of the Black family have been detached from Dark Arts.

Dark Arts damages the soul, leaving wounds, cracks, and traces of being corrupted by curses.

Whether you can reach your the End with these things on your journey is anyone's guess.

Therefore, rituals exist to help the deceased let go of their obsessions and heal the wounds in their souls.

Smooth the wounds of the soul, fill the cracks, and let the departed spirit carry on with Complete Soul.

This is an ancient blessing, much older than the International Statute of Secrecy, much older than the Ministry of Magic's black-and-white division.

Even before the term "Dark Arts" existed, the Black used this ritual to bid farewell to the dead.

Arcturus's voice echoed through the cemetery, and the Rune on the coffin gradually brightened, changing from silver-gray to silver-white, and from silver-white to bright white. The light was warm, completely different from the atmosphere of the cemetery, and carried an indescribable sense of comfort.

The light grew brighter and brighter, overflowing from the surface of the coffin and shining on the ground, turning the centuries-old moss on the surrounding tombstones silvery-green, and the entire cemetery was enveloped in warm light.

It lasted for about ten seconds, and then the light slowly faded. Starting from the outermost ring, the Rune dimmed one by one, returning to their initial faint silver-gray color.

Arcturus III stepped forward, his voice ringing out once more. "The family's Magic Power heritage will not be severed by the passing of one person." He walked to the coffin, placed his right hand on it, and channeled a wisp of Magic Power into it, Rune on the coffin to glow briefly.

The members of the Black family walked up to the coffin one by one.

Orion was the first to walk over, stand next to the coffin, place his right hand on the wood, his palm touching the Rune. The Rune lit up, and he withdrew his hand and returned to his original position.

Then came Walburga, who stood there for a long time with her eyes closed, her Magic Power light and gentle, the Rune glowing for a long time as well.

Then came Cygnus III, Lucretia, Druella, Narcissa, and then Regulus.

Regulus stepped forward and placed his right hand on the coffin.

The Yew was cool and smooth. Through the coffin, he could feel the magic inside. Pollux ' Magic Power was still there, very weak, almost dissipated, but traces remained. He channeled a wisp of Magic Power into it, and the Rune lit up. A silver-gray light flowed between his palm and the coffin for a moment, then dimmed. He withdrew his hand and returned to his original position.

Sirius was the last to go up. He placed his hand on the coffin, touched it, and then quickly withdrew it, as if he had been burned.

The Rune flashed, and before it had even finished lighting up, he withdrew his hand, his face expressionless as he returned it, his hand back in his pocket. All the family members had left.

Arcturus gently lifted his wand, and the coffin floated to the location of the tomb, beginning to descend slowly and gradually sink into the earth. The earth closed in from both sides, covering the coffin.

The new tombstones grew from the ground, the stone growing, solidifying, and taking shape from the soil, with the deceased's name, birth and death dates, and the Black family crest appearing on the surface.

Pollux Black, 1912–1974.

New stones, new inscriptions, new coats of arms have joined this row, Pollux Black, from this day forward, is with his ancestors.

The ceremony ended, and the cemetery remained quiet for a long time, with the wind rustling through the gaps in the yew tree canopy.

The crowd slowly dispersed.

The Black huddled together in small groups, talking quietly, while the non- Black stood respectfully on the periphery, giving the Black family their own space. Narcissa walked over from her parents' side, bypassing several relatives who were talking, and stood in front of Regulus.

The last time they were alone together was at Hogwarts.

After the Christmas Banquet, something seemed to separate them: Bellatrix, the ruins of the Lestrange Manor, the grey Magic Power and green spells of that night.

She was there; she saw it all. Her two closest relatives were fighting like that right in front of her, and she couldn't do anything about it.

They haven't spoken alone since, because they haven't had the opportunity, and also because they don't know how or what to say.

Narcissa looked at him, her eyes filled with many things: concern, worry, and a little unspeakable grievance.

Then she raised her hand and straightened his collar, smoothing out a slightly turned-up edge.

Her voice was gentle. "You've lost weight."

Regulus looked at her, smiled, and, as always, showed her affection.

"Cousin, I ate well."

Narcissa stared at him for a while, a slow smile appearing on her lips.

Regulus asked casually, "Has the wedding date been set?"

Narcissa paused slightly, then her expression brightened, her eyes relaxed, and she exuded an undeniable sense of happiness. "Lucius wants to hold a banquet at the manor in June, and preparations are underway."

She began to talk about some wedding details: what kind of flowers to use, the style of the gown not yet finalized, and the guest list she had compiled three times, Lucius still felt was not comprehensive enough.

As she spoke, she laughed at herself and shook her head, "He was more nervous than I was."

"Lucius is always thoughtful."

"Too thoughtful," Narcissa said with a hint of helpless amusement, "She even picked out the color of the napkins herself." Regulus listened, a smile playing on his lips.

Narcissa is very happy.

In marriages arranged by Pureblood families, happiness is a rare commodity.

Most arranged marriages are transactions, with each family getting what they need. Whether the newlyweds have feelings for each other is unimportant; surnames, bloodlines, and interests are what matter. Occasionally, you'll find a couple who can get along well with each other, which is considered lucky. Narcissa and Lucius, however, are a rare example of a truly happy couple in the context of Pureblood families marriages.

"Cousin," Regulus said earnestly in a soft voice, "If you need anything in the future, come to me."

Narcissa was stunned.

She knew, of course, that he wasn't talking about helping with wedding preparations, nor about everyday family matters.

She knew what he meant.

Regulus smiled, a hint of relief in his expression, and raised his chin. "You know, I'm very capable."

Narcissa looked at him and suddenly laughed.

The smile held a sense of relief, and a kind of ease that only family members experience after speaking their minds.

She reached out and patted his shoulder, as affectionately as before, and softly replied, "I know."

Then she looked away and glanced to the side.

Sirius stood two meters away, hands in his pockets, pursing his lips, his gaze drifting upwards, with an expression that said, "I didn't see or hear anything."

Narcissa walked over to Sirius.

Sirius's expression was a little awkward, not impatient, but more like an embarrassment at not knowing how to participate in such a heartwarming scene. It could also be an instinctive reaction when the female elders of the Black family approach him, probably a conditioned reflex left over from his time with Walburga. Narcissa looked him up and down, then reached out and straightened his collar as well.

You've lost weight too.

"I haven't lost weight." Sirius turned his head and leaned back slightly, but didn't dodge.

Narcissa ignored his reaction, released his hand, stood a little further away, and glanced back and forth between him and Regulus.

"It seems to have grown a little taller again?" She looked at the top of Sirius's head, a smile playing on her lips. "But one..."

Sirius's expression began to shift subtly. His lips turned down, his eyebrows rose, and he turned his head, his eyes widening in a silent message: you'd better not say it.

Narcissa wisely said nothing, only smiled slightly, and then told him, "Eat well."

"I know, I know."

Sirius muttered to himself, his gaze drifting elsewhere, his hand taking out of his pocket and then putting it back in.

Narcissa looked at him with gentle acceptance in her eyes.

She knew what was going on with Sirius —his choice of Gryffindor, his defiance of his family, his perpetual impatience, his constant desire to escape—but he was also her brother. And she could see that the relationship between Sirius and Regulus was different now.

So Narcissa also became close to Sirius, because of Regulus, because of Black.

Regulus watched from the side, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Just then, someone walked over from the side.

Lucius Malfoy stood not far away, watching Narcissa and the two brothers talk, but he didn't come over, leaving them space.

Now that Narcissa had finished talking, he came over.

Lucius extended his right hand, without any pretense, his face full of friendliness. "Regulus."

Regulus looked at him and shook his hand in return. "Lucius."

The two men stood under the yew tree in the dim light, while in the distance, the Black were still talking in hushed tones.

Lucius released his grip, glanced at Narcissa, and then looked away. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about."