Bidding Farewell

[Avie Mitchell]

Of all the things that Avie's aunt had wished to never see it was the death of any of her children, and she had definitely extended that wish to her nephew, they weren't blood related but she had helped raise the boy, receiving the note had been bad, but seeing the body still filled her nightmares. How could such a thing have happened to the sweet boy, a boy so full of life, even when his mother had died and the boy had finally realised, he was still trying each day to smile, to bring smiles to those around him. She knew that during his short life she had done wrong by him, but she had never wanted anything like this to happen. Avie had been like a third son to her, and he was gone, no more would the sound of the piano being played fill the house, no longer would the mud tracks bring her anger, no more would she just have to stop and listen to either hear his excited tone or the joyous laughter. It was all gone. He was gone. Avie was gone.

The funeral had been her job to plan, and every part of it felt like a fresh wound, the young boy deserved the best of life, he deserved to live out his dreams, to continue to spread his joy. But, it was too late to think of what might've been because Avie was gone and his body had been laid in a box he would've found silly, wearing a suit he would've thought stupid, and with people crying which he would've hated. Finally, the day she had dreaded most arrived and Avie's aunt felt even worse, her eyes red and bloodshot from tears, she stood at the front of the hall, beside the picture of Avie they'd picked out for this final send off, it had been taken earlier in the year, where he stood waving, a smile so clear on his face, the picture seemingly taken moments after he'd laughed, his full name written underneath, Avery Charles Mitchell with the date of his birth and then his death date. Avie's aunt hated the picture, since it reminded her so much of the boy whose smile she'd never see again, whose laughter she would never hear again and the name felt so wrong, he'd never been Avery. They'd extended an invitation to all those who had known Avie, to any who wished to pay their respects to him, she knew that his school had had a formal announcement of his death, and was allowing students to attend this should they want to. She felt inadequate to speak, but she knew neither her husband nor her sons could do it, and asking any of his friends to her was just out of the question. Behind her, covered with flowers, and a good few rocks was the casket Avie now lay in, it didn't seem real, oh how she wanted none of this to be real, she hadn't always gotten along with the boy but this, this was wrong.

Eventually it appeared that most who wanted to attend had, she cleared her throat and moved to speak, standing right next to the picture, she wiped her eyes shooting a glance back at the flowers and finally resting on the people who come to this, "Thank you for coming," she began politely, she'd prepared something, but now in front of everyone she couldn't find the words, she could only be glad that Avie's mother wasn't here to see this, "It is with heavy hearts that we gather today. I can not comprehend what has happened, I keep waiting for someone to tell me it's not true because it seems inconceivable that someone who was just so full of life could be gone and that we are here today to mourn his passing," She paused, glancing down, taking in a short breath trying to adjust her emotions before continuing, telling the story of how Avie's rock obsession had come to be, how he had loved school, quidditch, photography, she spoke of how he'd gone from a wide eyed and curious child to the active and talented young adult they'd all come to know, how caring he'd been to all those around him, "Avie was forgiving, he barely held a grudge, you could lose your mind at him and one moment later he would've already forgiven you. He only ever saw the good in people, he could bring it out of them even if he was the only one to see it. He loved so freely, so openly, he loved everything and everyone," Avie's aunt paused again shaking her head a little, "Avie would've hated this, seeing people upset was just wrong to him, he'd tell us to smile, give every person a hug and probably suggest we go find rocks, because what better cure for sorrow, or anything really, was there than hugs and rocks," She stopped again letting the moment pass, "It is hard to say goodbye to him, but we must; Avie, you'll be sorely missed, rest in peace," With nothing more to say she nodded, moving a few steps back and an official concluded the affair inviting people to a secondary location for food and drinks. Once all had left they would cremate the body and the ashes placed within a jar. She stood near the front of the room, shaking people's hands accepting condolences, giving her own to those who'd clearly been close to him, allowing some to approach the casket. Nothing in her life would ever be right again, because he was gone and he wasn't ever coming back but at least this day was one step closer to being over.
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Out of Character:

This funeral topic is open for anyone who wishes to join, students, professors, adult, anyone who knew Avie, doesn't have to be met him, all are welcome to join.
Students who wish to attend show first get permission, by PMing the headmistress, who will decided if they are allowed to attend.

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Death. The easiest and most difficult part of life, for the one inside the coffin and for those standing beside it, respectively. Monty was not a friend, relative, or even patron of the Mitchell family; but he was gravely sorry for the Aunt's loss, and felt morally impelled to attend Avie's funeral and pay his respects among those unromantically closer. He wore a plain black suit and tie, the dullness of his usually bright attire adding to the sense that there was something terribly wrong with the world, as there was: Avie was no longer in it.

One of the last to arrive, Monty slid quietly into the back row, placing himself with deliberate distance from anybody who might know him. He did not cry, but in his humility he grew self-conscious enough that he was glad for his decision. There was no dignity in death, but truth be told, there wasn't a great deal more of it in life.

After the speech was given the Professor stood a little way back from the guests, holding his head with a solemn bow that stole nearly an inch from his height. He did not have condolences, for in the company he shared his words would only have been degrading. Nobody wanted to hear how sorry he was for their loss. How Avie's death had crippled him, and how he would be permanently and irreversibly striken by the news. Because really, he would not. As a teacher, children entered and exited Monty's life on a regular basis, albeit not usually so traumatically. At best, he would grieve for a month. It would go on hurting those around him for as long as they continued to live. So how could he possibly tell them he was sorry?

But the rawness of it all left him exposed, hurting. He didn't like to be reminded of his mortality, or that of those he cared for. He didn't like to feel normal, as he did in his plain suit, as he did in his solemnity. Perhaps this discomfort was a consequence of his not having attended a funeral since his youth - a time during which he had never felt so exposed and undignified. But above all, he could not bear to think that a child so young and kind as Avie Mitchell had died; not because the boy would never see the chance to grow up, but because his friends would have to grow up without him.

 

[Victoire Fontaine]

This final year of her school had been anything other than what the head girl had wanted it to be, she hadn't wanted the silly boy from her muggle studies class whom she had come to really enjoy as a friend to have died. It shouldn't have happened, it was supposed to be a year where they all out did one another and then moved off into the world, ready to face whatever it may and would throw, but such a thing had been ripped out from underneath. Victoire couldn't believe that she'd had to get permission to go to a funeral and not because getting permission for something was an annoying or unbelievable thing, but that she had to attend a funeral in the first place, the funeral of someone her age, someone who she had come to love, someone who she now knew she'd miss a lot. It felt difficult to know what to do, she'd found herself a seat in this funeral and her eyes stayed focused on the front where a woman stood, next to the picture of the boy they were celebrating, it seemed so odd to her that he wasn't among them any more, that no longer would she seem him running about the school, that he would be remembered for the marks he left on the school, on the lives of those around him. Victoire had never experienced death in any definition of the term, she'd been pretty lucky, but her inexperience made this no easier, she couldn't help the tears which sprung to her eyes the moment that Avie's aunt began speaking. She could only see the boy the woman was describing in her mind, she could imagine such a young boy, a boy who had never really grown up, who would never.

Victoire couldn't really keep herself in check, she knew she hadn't been as close to him as others had been, people whom she could feel nothing but sympathy for, how hard this must've hit them. For Victoire she knew it was different, she'd always known the boy, they had been friends as the years had progressed, she hadn't ever been as close to him as others. That all being said it hardly made the situation any easier for her, she could only wipe the tears with the back of her hand, Victoire wished desperately that magic, the magic she had come to love and cherish could fix this, it had a fix for everything else, but it hadn't stopped this from happening. The teen stood up when it was over, still wiping the tears from her eyes and she went to greet the aunt of the boy she'd known, but unable to make herself look at anything other than the woman in front of her, she had nothing to give her except condolences she knew would mean nothing to this woman but it felt like the right thing to do. So, Victoire did just that, only then upon releasing the woman and before turning away looked to the picture one last time, she'd always see him in pictures, the yearbook would be a difficult thing to see, but she held on to her last memory of him, held it tight and knew no matter what came to be, no matter where her life ended up, she would always remember him and she would always miss him.
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[Jean Snow]

Death was not something that Jean was unfamiliar with, though he never expected it to happen to someone he knew so closely, someone his own age. His father had died, back when he was three, but he only had the vaguest memories of the man. Being lifted into the air, the smell of his cologne. Tiny things that he never truly knew if he remembered on his own or because someone had told him about them. Still, it was nothing like this. He'd grown up with Avie in a sense. They hadn't been in the same house, but he'd shared classes with him and had grown, over a long period of time, to enjoy the guy's company. They'd even become patrol partners. The teenager had almost decided against attending the event, ready to use the Headmistress as an excuse as to why he hadn't attended, but in the end he'd known that this was the right thing to do. Donning a set of all black wizarding robes, Jean had arrived with the other students who'd been granted permission to attend the funeral, hanging back and talking very little.

Keeping his gaze anywhere but the front of the room, Jean managed to find an empty seat behind an older male as a woman began speaking. It was no one he recognized, but to Jean it didn't matter. The Gryffindor kept his gaze raised towards the ceiling, not wanting to glance at the casket in the front of the room or the many flowers, and he especially didn't want to glance at the picture at the front of the room. Seeing it as soon as he'd walked into the place had been something he'd been unprepared for. He'd hitched a breath, the first time he'd seen Avie since. The Head Boy hadn't been prepared to see his friend as he'd known him, happy and waving. And the desperation for that image to be real and knowing that it could never be had been enough to make Jean's eyes water. He'd quickly glanced away, refusing to look there again, cursing at himself as his gaze seemed drawn in that direction whenever he looked down. That was why he was staring determinedly at the ceiling, counting whatever there seemed to be more than one of - candles, paintings. The words being said by the woman in front, his aunt he'd learned shortly before arriving. Jean had never known that Avie lived with an aunt. He realized that there were a number of things he'd never known and even more that he never would. As the woman finished, Jean watched as person after person, his girlfriend included, headed to his aunt to talk to her. It was an odd thing to see, but he couldn't bring himself to be one of those people. The teenager hung back, leaning against the wall, eager to return to the castle.

 

[Orwell Brocken]

Orwell liked to pride his existence on the earth with love, he loved freely and often without question, he loved his family, his community, his friends, the flowers, the creatures, just about everyone. In his mind love was everything, and yet though his heart felt constantly filled with love, today and the last week it had felt empty because he couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. it was not the first death he had experienced, but this one felt so wrong in just so many ways. He had never been close to the boy, never really known him as others had, but the infectious smile had always been welcome around the gardens. It was why when he'd heard the news he'd thrown himself into the work at the garden, grown more flowers than he could've ever needed for the valentine's day roses and for him, because the boy had so enjoyed them, even if he'd often just crushed the flowers in his hands, or thrown rocks at them. It was why the purple haired boy had arrived at this funeral with his arms bursting with flowers, a rather odd sight at such a somber affair. He had pushed his way to the front of the room as others had taken their seat and handed the flowers to the woman at the front who placed them with the rest, he offered nothing but the flowers, not sure he'd find the words to express it.

Orwell quickly found himself a seat, and he couldn't think of life outside of school, much like within his community death hit hard because they were together in a small space, eating, living, experiencing life together, intricately linked without meaning to. He didn't know how he would fair outside of such an environment, he couldn't help but wonder how lonely it would be. Orwell glanced at the picture of Avie as the woman at the front spoke, from what Orwell had known about him perhaps life outside the school would've been a real struggle, he knew the boy had been good at quidditch and he had had some very close friends, but without the structure and security of school how well might he have faired? He didn't think death was a kinder fate, he couldn't imagine how those closer to him had felt upon realising he was gone, that he would never get the chance to grow up, to experience more of life, to meet new people but perhaps remaining a child forever ensured that he'd never experience the hardships that might've erased the happiness within him and his glowing smile. Orwell shook his head, not wanting to contemplate that much longer, focusing on the tail end of what the woman had said, leaving the moment he could, Orwell wanted to keep busy, go back to the safety of his gardens and move on. So when people began moving he left, giving Jean a small smile as he passed him, walking straight out.
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