The cause of death listed in the obituary, and the article in the Prophet, are goddamned lies.

Dad was killed by a bomb. In an assassination attempt against the Lord Protector.

We had a visit from Cornelius Fudge this morning, ungodly early. Supposedly to offer his condolences, but really to inform us of the cover story and make sure we keep our mouths shut. I dealt with him, and it took every scrap of self-control I had to--

Well. That's the story, and we can't say otherwise.

We are

god

we're together. That's the most comfort we can give each other. And the rituals. The beehives have been turned, and the mirrors and the clocks covered.

Mum is quiet, and numb. She hasn't slept yet, but I'm hoping that when Poppy gets here tonight, she can look Mum over and give her something she's willing to take, so she'll be able to rest tonight.

Oh: one thing. Dad's wand.

Mum and Charlie and the twins and I talked about it. We all just knew that Dad wouldn't have wanted his wand to be buried with him; he'd want it to be passed on. Best of all would be to keep it for a kid at Moddey Dhoo, one of the ones that he saved. Although someone at Sherwood would be better than nothing if the wand doesn't fit anyone at the Sanctuary. The thing is, because of Percy we have to act like we're gonna bury it with him. Could Melli make a mock up copy of Dad's wand, and we can switch it at the last moment, right before the funeral?

Thanks to Tonks, who was here last night. Poppy will be coming tonight. There are a lot of others, friends from school, and neighbours and people from the office, and the barter network, trying to be a comfort.

Except that nothing is, really.

I have to go, I promised Ginny I'd try again to eat. Maybe I'll manage it this time.