Where Your Treasure Is

1

The Cemetery

It was a day for chilled feet. The fog had rolled inland off the sea and settled in every space not occupied by a solid object making it seem as though everything projected a sort of static aura. It had been drizzling since late last night and the spongy soil was supersaturated to the point where people's toughest leather boots were easily soaked through.

As small cluster of people clad in black stood around a muddy, freshly dug grave. While by most accounts the grave, and the crowd's requisite somber garb would more than suggest that this was just another cheerless yet unremarkable funeral complete with cheerless though unremarkable attendees. However, the mourners in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow that day were by no means ordinary.

For one, with closer examination the observer would have come to realize that though traditional black, the mourner's vestments were atypical of any "normal" clothes; Instead, they were long black robes of varying cuts and textures though it could be safely assumed that most of the company selected wool in a futile attempt to keep out the damp. Second, and perhaps most importantly was the fact that each member of the party had, concealed within the folds of their garments, a wand much like the one that a stout man named Gawain Augusten (who was the sort of person determined to look unhappy even in more favourable circumstances) was using to chisel a new name into a dual tombstone, bearing the epitaph,

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Indeed, within a few moments it would have become clear to any onlooker that this was no ordinary funeral and these were no ordinary guests. These were wizards.

Standing in the front row were two young men who must have been brothers for they had, at a glance, a similar appearance. Nevertheless, after examining them for a bit the subtle differences that define individuals within a family would become more prominent.

The elder, Albus, was a bit shorter (though still a tall man by anyone's standards) and stood maintaining a curious air of emotive stoicism. He had spent most of last night developing this attitude and the oxymoron, strange as it was, seemed to fit perfectly with how he felt. He was deeply saddened by the series of events that had unfolded in the past the three days but trusted no one enough to allow them to be privy to his pathos. Not even his most obsequious (if not overly doting) admirer, Elphias Doge who stood to his left as a buffer zone of sorts between Albus and the soulful looking youth that was his younger brother Aberforth.

Taller than his brother with rumpled russet hair that was a shade less distinguished than Albus' auburn and a certain excess of limb, the almost comically lanky Aberforth was not accomplished at carefully masking his feelings as Albus did. He stood grimfaced with his shoulders collapsed inward as though he were in the state of imploding. I would be hard pressed to find and outsider who would have believed the stories of his school renowned combativeness, but it usually only took one look in his eyes to dispel people's preconceptions of Aberforth. They were vivid blue like his brother's but they gave the intense and unsettling impression of some unseen tumult raging just beneath still waters ready to devour anyone who dared disturb its level surface. It would soon become apparent that in Hogwarts an imposing physicality were little match against a hot temper and a certain amount of magical prowess.

As he read and reread the inscription on the tombstone he tumbled the words over in his mind like tumblers in a lock (treasure, heart, also, where, your, heart, will) Aberforth strained to remember the last few precious hours of relative normalcy before the bottom dropped out.