It seemed like everyone in your small world was there. People you'd not seen since your seventh year came up and hugged you. Like a party almost, only everyone was in black and there was a small klatch near the front where the members never stopped crying.

And there was a casket on display, of course.

He was the hero of the wizarding world, which delivered all the pomp and circumstance one would expect. Flowery speeches were given by the Minister of Magic and, more than once, you caught a person towards the back falling asleep. Everyone stared when a round, redheaded woman wailed and had to be escorted from the room by her equally redheaded husband.

A blond boy alternately smirked and scowled from the back of the room. You were surprised to see him there. You knew who he was because of his name. Last you'd heard, his father was still in Azkaban. There'd be no spectacle from him here, only scowling. The next time you looked in his direction, he was gone.

You were somewhat relieved to see you recognised most of the professors in attendance. The small man's head hung sadly, making him seem even shorter. The one with the severe bun and the tight-lipped smile was there, too. Tears streamed down her face in a straight line before dripping off her chin. You remembered she taught you how to turn a teaspoon into a turnip and wondered if she taught him, too. The gameskeeper sobbed quietly. People expected him to make more noise, but all you saw was his whole, huge body shaking. Lips pressed in a straight line, the one who made five of your seven years hell looked exactly as you remembered him. His hair was still lank, his skin sallow, his eyes devoid of light. And the Headmaster? You saw no twinkle in his eye.

When the formal speeches ended, you found yourself getting choked up. When a friend of his father's told everyone he was truly the last one left, you were unsure what he meant, but his sad, prematurely-lined face stuck with you.

Two girls clutched at one another; one dark-skinned with a plait, the other fair. They told everyone that he was loved and will be missed.

Three boys placed a Gryffindor banner over the coffin and all tried to look brave, but the roundest of them looked like he was going to be ill. You remember that he had a very kind face.

More redheads talked in turn. One gave another boring Ministry-type speech, but he seemed dishevelled and the words lacked conviction. The girl just cried and cried, but wouldn't let anyone touch her.

When the ceremony was over, you found yourself lingering, watching everyone as they left. Finally, almost everyone was gone, except a boy (another of the redheads) and a girl (pretty, with frizzy hair). They started fighting - about what, you weren't sure - but abruptly stopped, each looking to the front of the room. The girl grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him to the front. With their free hands, they both touched the casket.

You heard them whisper "goodbye" in unison and then you stood up to leave. The boy helped the now crying girl to the fireplace, placing a protective arm around her before the Floo made them disappear in a puff of smoke.

Before exiting, you looked to the front of the room once more. In the big, empty room, the casket seemed too small somehow, like it never quite reached its fullest potential.