1974, The Manoir
The worst day of her life.
Eveything had gone so fast, she did not have any time to properly think about it. She was told that her luggage was waiting for her in the carriage, and that she had to leave Beauxbatons at once to attend the mourning ceremony back home. Her heart beating in her chest was the only reminder of her being alive.
Agnes was sitting in the carriage, which looked scarier and more dull than it used to, now that she was alone in it. Her hands were crossed on her legs, and her eyes seemed lost in the vague. There was no thoughts, no feelings passing through her facial expression. But everything was burning and fuming inside of her, as if a fire had started in her chest. But it was as if she could not express it verbally, she was just enduring for now. There was nothing else to do. Her mother's tired face kept coming back to her mind and she restrained tears from falling down.
She arrived at night at the manoir. Just like when her grandfather passed, she wanted to go to her room, lock the door, and sleep until all was eventually over. But its was different now. She was the only family member of the lenoirs. She would probably have to talk to a lot of strangers and attend all sorts of rituals for the deads.
The house elf and maid welcomed her, crying and shouting in dispair.
- Our mistress! Our mistress!
Agnes preferred to ignore them and entered the house. There, a man was waiting for her, sitting in a chair, smoking on a pipe. He stood up when he saw her and removed his hat from his head.
- Miss Lenoir. I am Andre Tombociel. I am sorry for your loss. Your mother was a formidable witch. I will be here, helping you throughout the mourning process and guiding the funerals. Tomorrow, a few members of your family circle will join us to begin the long day that awaits us.
Agnes looked at him from head to toe. He was a middle-aged wizard with a mustache curling on its ends. His wand had been attached to his belt with a leather vertical case. He seemed quite comfortable in the house already, she thought. He must have been used to penetrate strangers' home and see them mourn.
He invited her to visit his mother room, where her body was resting until the funerals. But Agnes refused. She did not want to see her mum like this. She did not want her last sight of her to be in her death bed. It was not how she wanted to remember her. The young woman signed a few papers, and had to look through the funerals invitations before she could finally get some sleep. She had not cried yet since she'd heard the news in the headmistress office. That seemed already so long ago.
Agnes stayed in bed for hours, lying down and staring at the ceiling. Her mum Murielle was resting in the room next to her. She was dead. She would never wake up in the morning, Agnes would never hear her voice again. She would never spend christmas or any of her birthdays with her anymore. She was dead.
She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.
Her hands came slapping her ears. She didn't want to think about it. She did not want to cry. Her head started to hurt. She grabbed her glass of water resting on the nightstand. She drank the whole thing and held the empty glass for a bit. She was alive. Her mum had left her all alone in this world who was most certainly going to face a war, and she had no family left by her side to comfort her. She was just 15 years old. She was not ready to face all of this.
Her hand started shaking and the glass slipped and broke down on the wooden floor. It had made a loud noise, breaking the calm of the night. She could have fetch the house elf to come clean the mess. But it was somehow comforting to have another broken thing next to her. She was not the only one hurting, after all.
Strangely, it calmed her mind and the young witch slowly started to close her eyes and eventually found enough peace to fall asleep.
January 15th, 1974
The funerals were being held at the manoir. There was a small cementery for all the Lenoirs members to be buried in. She used to go a few times a year to pay her respects to her ancestries with her mother. But today, she was burying the latter.
Not that many people had showed up. A few of Murielle Lenoir's school friends and her neighboors. Also, a few gentlemen from Paris attended the funerals. They claimed to have worked with Monsieur Lenoir, Agnes's grandfather. A few other wizards were there but the young woman had not recognized any of them
Some held a speech, other sang a song. Agnes was looking down at her feet the whole time. It was too much pressure having to stare at these people telling stories about her mum's life, about how she loved to live. It was even more unbearable having to look at her cuffin.
It was cold that day, and very humid. It had rained a little bit in the early hours of the morning. Agnes's black leather mocassins were all wet and dirty from the muddy grass of the cementery.
- Murielle Lenoir's dearest daughter, Agnes, will give a few words.
She looked up instantly. She had told the mustache man she would not say anything during the ceremony. But he had try to convince her all morning how talking during these moments helped grieving. She hated him, to say the least.
The young witch slowly walked up, still avoiding to look at the cuffin. Her fingers entrelaced and she suddenly felt all the eyes on her, probably pitying her condition.
She cleared her throat.
- M-My mother... Murielle Lenoir. She was... She was...
Everyone was staring at her. A bunch of adults listening to a teenager talk about her dead mother, how thrilling did that sound? As she was about to give up on her speech, a familiar silhouette drew itself from the rest of the group. Jeanne. She'd made it. She had certainly heard the news and, knowing her, had not given the choice to her parents to let her travel to attend the funerals.
Agnes felt a fresh wind entering her lungs, as if she could finally breathe again. She took a couple of seconds before starting to speak again.
- My mother was an incredible witch. More than a witch, she was a wonderful person. She'd raised me alone with my grandparents. She was brave, loving, and she knew so many things. She was beautiful to me and to all people who knew her. Her laugh was contagious and she always liked to go on adventures. She would have loved to be a teacher. And, and she loved learning about creatures. She was truly the best mother a child could have hoped for. She was the best. Sh-she was my mom.
Tears were now falling down her cheeks, and Agnes couldn't do anything to stop it. Her throat hurt so bad, it was asking her all of her strenght not to fall on her knees, giving up on what remained of her dignity. Slowly, people started to raise their wand, one by one. A comforting light came out of it, commemorating the memory of Murielle. Agnes felt an arm surround her body, it was Jeanne. She gave her a timid smile, she seemed to have cried too. Together, they completed the ceremony but raising both of their wands.
Au revoir, maman