Three days had passed since my grandmother's death.
I now found myself under the care of Aberforth Dumbledore, whose gruff deanor only partially masked his genuine care for my grandmother and, surprisingly, for . Despite his rough words and grumbles, I could sense the quiet sorrow beneath his steady presence. A sorrow that matched my own.
In those three days, my mories had returned in full. They were so vivid.
My na is Nero Cassius Nova Ravenclaw. I was born in 1971, and I am ten years old.
And...this is my second life.
Voldemort, the Dark Lord, had been "defeated" re weeks ago by a baby nad Harry Potter. The wizarding world should have been celebrating, but instead, I found myself swept up in the aftermath of the chaos left behind.
Bellatrix Lestrange's Cruciatus Curse had been the catalyst for the return of my past life's mories. mories of a man from the 21st-century, a Frenchman who loved reading Harry Potter fanfiction and had never imagined waking up as a part of the story he'd cherished.
I now bore the na Ravenclaw, heir to the legacy of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Yet, I couldn't recall any ntion of Ravenclaw descendants in the original series.
My mind buzzed with questions that I had no answers for. Was this world the sa as the one I had read about? Or had it diverged in ways I couldn't yet understand? How did I end up in this world?
Yet, these questions, these unknowns, could wait. The present called to in a way I couldn't ignore. My grandmother, lina Ravenclaw, was gone. And today, we would lay her to rest.
The funeral took place in the shadow of a majestic castle-like mausoleum, nestled amidst the rolling hills of the Ravenclaw family estate. The autumn air was crisp, carrying with it a bittersweet fragrance. It was as if the world itself had taken on the grief of her passing, a gentle sorrow that clung to the trees and the earth. The sun bathed the mourners in its warm, golden light, a stark contrast to the heaviness that hung in the air.
Witches and wizards from all corners of Britain had gathered to pay their respects. Their robes were muted, with blues and silvers adorning them to honor the Ravenclaw legacy. It felt like a dream, a reality I couldn't quite grasp. They were for lina Ravenclaw, the matriarch whose wisdom had shined on the magical world.
The ceremony began with a solemn procession, a parade of mories walking slowly beneath the shadow of the castle. My grandmother's body lay atop a floating bier of enchanted crystal, her figure draped in deep navy robes embroidered with a soaring eagle motif. She looked peaceful, as though she were rely asleep, her face serene and calm as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
The bier was carried by two enchanted silver eagles, their wings spread wide, gliding effortlessly through the air. Behind them, I walked with a heavy heart, my footsteps echoing in the silence that surrounded us. The mourners followed, but I could barely hear them. My thoughts were too clouded with grief, with a longing to turn back ti, to have just one more mont with her, one more conversation. But the cruel reality was that ti was a river that I could not reverse, and I was left to navigate its currents alone.
Aberforth Dumbledore, one of my grandmother's oldest and dearest friends, stepped forward to deliver the eulogy. His voice, normally rough and biting, was softened by grief. It was the first ti I had seen him vulnerable, his usually firm posture bent by sorrow.
"lina," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "was the kind of witch who didn't just live magic, she embodied it. She wasn't just a friend; she was a force of nature. Her wisdom guided so many, and her courage... well, it never wavered. Even at the end, she stood tall, protecting those she loved."
His words resonated deeply. She was a force of nature. I had heard that expression before, but now it had weight. I could almost feel her strength, the indomitable spirit that had protected against the Death Eaters. And now, she was gone. The Ravenclaw legacy was mine to carry. The weight of my new na pressed down on , but the weight of losing her was even heavier.
The procession continued, leading us to an enchanted glade where my grandmother would finally be laid to rest. Legends whispered that Rowena Ravenclaw herself had created this place, this serene, magical space. The trees around us seed to sway with a mournful energy, their leaves rustling as though whispering their own tribute to lina. A soft, magical glow illuminated the glade, casting everything in a surreal light that seed to separate the living from the dead.
Her coffin, carved from white ashwood and adorned with intricate silver runes, was lowered into the earth by magic. It was a slow, deliberate process. Each movent of the enchanted vines and roots seed to echo the finality of her departure. As the coffin descended, wands were raised in silent salute. Streams of light erupted from their tips, forming a constellation above her grave. The stars themselves had co to honor her, it seed, a tribute to her wisdom and her legacy.
A family tradition followed. Each mourner conjured a small blue fla, holding it in their palms as they whispered their personal mories or blessings for lina. The flas drifted upward, each one a token of love, of gratitude, of farewell. I couldn't find the words at first, the lump in my throat too large to speak. But eventually, they ca, whispered out through trembling lips.
"Thank you... for everything. I will make you proud, Grandma."
As the words left my mouth, I felt a strange sensation, as though sothing within shifted. For a fleeting mont, I thought I saw her, not as the body lying in the coffin, but as a silhouette in the light, soaring beside an eagle. I blinked, and she was gone, but the feeling lingered, a quiet sense of peace settling in my chest. Perhaps she was still here, in so way, watching over , her spirit soaring in the blue sky above.
The ceremony concluded with the Ravenclaw family motto spoken in unison:
"Wit beyond asure is man's greatest treasure."
As the magical light above her grave dissipated, an intricate silver eagle appeared etched into the earth, a lasting symbol of her legacy.
I stood there, frozen for a mont, as the last of the mourners began to disperse. My grandmother was gone, and I was left to carry on. But I would do it, for her, and for the na that I now wore like a heavy crown.
I was Nero Ravenclaw, heir to a legacy that soared on the wings of eagles. And though the sky seed empty without her, I would find a way to make sure her mory, her wisdom, and her strength lived on, soaring in the blue.
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