The death of Albus Dumbledore brought about a very strange feeling for many people.
On one hand, many were immersed in sorrow—even those who usually hadn't shown much respect for Dumbledore seemed to grieve.
Harry saw Cornelius Fudge standing before Dumbledore's white marble tomb, delivering a eulogy and expressing his deep sorrow at the loss of a great wizard.
But Fudge was far from the most bizarre mourner.
In fact, even Lucius Malfoy attended the funeral, putting on the airs of an old friend. And he was just the tip of the iceberg. Among the dark crowd of mourners grieving for Dumbledore, who knew how many had once insulted or ridiculed the old man, calling him foolish?
It made Harry furious.
He felt that these people didn't deserve to stand here, didn't deserve to stand before Albus Dumbledore!
"Harry, sometimes people only begin to fairly evaluate someone after they've passed away," Cyrus said gently, trying to comfort him. "As long as someone is still alive, they're bound to stand in opposition to someone else."
"Of course, not all of these people are truly sincere," he added.
The world of adults could never be as simple as Harry's. They were experts in performance, in wearing masks. As long as doing so benefited them, they would show affection for anyone.
Especially after a well-known figure passes away, it's as if the entire world suddenly becomes their closest friend.
They speak of deep bonds, of working together and sharing ideas… and others, listening to these embellished, polished stories, are moved to tears.
On the other hand, after Dumbledore's death, Harry was surprised to find that life still went on.
The world hadn't collapsed because of Dumbledore's absence.
Classes still continued—though Professor McGonagall would often choke up and burst into tears mid-lecture—but the lessons went on nonetheless. Final exams weren't canceled. The visitors who came to mourn eventually came and went, and the school gradually returned to its quiet rhythm.
Strangely, after Dumbledore's passing, the usually cold and rainy weather at Hogwarts turned unusually pleasant.
Every day was sunny and bright. Harry felt like it shouldn't be this way—but that was simply how it was.
After many people left behind flowers in remembrance, the area before that white marble tomb grew quiet once more—and that made him deeply sad.
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the funeral had felt more like a grand event than a true farewell.
Those people hadn't come out of genuine grief for Dumbledore. They came because they had to, or because they wanted to use Dumbledore's name to elevate themselves.
In the end, the marble turned cold once again.
Only Grindelwald remained, keeping vigil before the grave day and night.
He looked older with each passing day.
The original Grindelwald, though already elderly, had always appeared before the public in full regalia.
From the first moment he stepped into the spotlight, he had dressed impeccably—more fashionable than many Muggles, always in a crisp trench coat, with neatly groomed hair and beard, exuding energy.
Often, Harry would forget just how old he really was.
But now, his hair was a mess, his beard had grown out, and no one knew how long it had been since he last changed his coat. It was as if he had aged a whole century overnight, becoming a dried-up old man.
He spent his days slumped against the tomb, as though all the bones had been pulled from his body and he couldn't stand on his own. No matter who passed by, he paid them no mind, muttering incomprehensible things to himself all day long.
Many people believed he had gone mad.
One night, Harry couldn't sleep at all.
He cast a Disillusionment Charm and slipped out of the castle, and somehow, in a daze, wandered to the white marble tomb.
Maybe it was too late in the night, or maybe he was hallucinating.
He saw an old man standing before the tomb, someone who looked almost exactly like Dumbledore. The shape of his features was nearly identical—only the beard seemed a bit shorter.
Harry nearly called out "Professor Dumbledore" without thinking.
In fact, he did call it out. But the moment he opened his mouth, that shadow vanished.
Later, Ron told him, "That must've been the barman from the Hog's Head."
"What?" Harry blinked. "The barman from the Hog's Head? No, I'm telling you—I saw Dumbledore—"
"Of course you saw him," Ron sighed. "His name's Aberforth Dumbledore," he added with a shrug. "You know, he's Dumbledore's brother—so naturally they look a lot alike."
"Dumbledore had a brother?" Harry was stunned—it was hard to believe. "How could he have a brother? I didn't even see him at the funeral!"
Ever since the news of Dumbledore's death had spread around the world and up to the time of his burial, countless people had come to see him.
Harry had grown numb from seeing so many tear-streaked faces. But he was certain he hadn't seen Aberforth among them.
"Well, they didn't exactly get along," Ron said.
"I only know because Dad told me. He said Aberforth couldn't stand Professor Dumbledore. When Dad went to break the news to him, that bad-tempered Aberforth slammed the door right in his face—almost broke his nose. He wasn't sad about the professor's death at all," Ron said, his voice uneasy. "He said the professor deserved it… that messing around with someone like Grindelwald and never learning his lesson—that this was his punishment."
Actually, Ron hadn't told him everything.
That day, Aberforth had even said they should celebrate, and he covered everyone's tab at the Hog's Head…
Harry felt even worse.
He thought the world was just so unfair. Professor Dumbledore had done so much for the wizarding world—and yet, in death, he was met with such loneliness.
A group of people who had opposed him put on false displays of grief at his funeral, while his own family cursed him, saying he got what he deserved.
Harry suddenly remembered something Dumbledore had once told him—that every Christmas, he received countless books because everyone assumed a great wizard would love books.
But Dumbledore had said he didn't like them. What he really liked, more than books, were wool socks.
Because socks meant family.
"I should've given him a pair of wool socks.."
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