◤ chapter one: ❛ bank on
the funeral ❜ ◢

✧

SICKLY HOT SWEAT STUCK TO HER SKIN. Arms covered in black fabric of her dress, the family pendent hanging from her neck, and classic studs on her ears. A black bow held her hair, strands framing her face. Simple rings adorning her fingers and heels on her feet. In the mirror, Greer Ainsley stood as a composed girl. Dry eyes, dolled up face, standing tall.

         Her father always called them royalty. A long list of Ainsleys went on to become Ministers of Magic, the last being her great-grandfather Claudian Ainsley, advisors of the minister, or the leaders of their respected Departments. Throughout history, it was clear that her family had a hand in meddling the events and current affairs of the wizarding world. King Alistair Ainsley lived along with his daughter, Princess Alisia Greer Ainsley.

         She didn't wear a tiara, but her dress was fine silk and jewelry expensive, and she looked the part of a princess. The final look, the finishing features, ruled her life; the outside representation mattered, not the inside state. As long as she looked composed, she was. The world need not know anything different. Appearances mattered, but they hadn't to Morgan.

         Morgan with frazzled hair, imperfect faces, clothes with holes – she never looked put together, never completely composed. The outside was madness, she never cared to manipulate how others viewed her. It felt disgraceful to look the exact opposite of Morgan when she lived, but eyes would be watching, and Greer Ainsley would be damned if she didn't put on a good show.

         "You look very nice."

         Her eyes glanced towards her friend. Carmichael Carrow wore a black suit, stood tall, and looked even more composed than her. She couldn't remember a time before knowing him. Their magic grew together; she was there when he first accidently set a chair on fire, and he witnessed her hexing her hair to turn pink.

         "Thank you. You look good, too," she returned the compliment. Ainsleys were always polite. Cordial and charming, always returning what was given to them, and giving more in most instances.

         Carmichael looked around the room. Paint chipped walls, distressed dresser, creaking floors. It was not the Ainsley manor by any means. "What a...quaint bedroom you have now."

         She shrugged. Her room had been perfect; the softest sheets, marble dresser, white wardrobe matching her white bedframe. Everything matched, looking clean and pristine. "Helen didn't want to stay at the manor."

         "Of course."

         His lips quirked up, head turned downward, as if they were sharing a joke. She blinked in return. A confession, perhaps, an unspoken chain of events, but not a joke. She could not joke when flashes of Morgan's still body flooded her mind when she closed her eyes.

         "Will you be giving a eulogy?" he moved across the room, fingers fluttering against her dresser, glancing at himself in the mirror.

         "No. Helen asked, but I refused."

         Though she tried to help with the planning, Helen refused. She took up the mantle of planning her niece's funeral – "It's not my first one, dear" – only asking Greer which classmates to invite and if she would like to speak. Greer knew the answer to the first, knew everyone Morgan had ever spoken to at school, but the second...

         She had so many words she wanted to tell Morgan. So many apologies spilling from her mouth if ever the chance, but speaking on her behalf, stating her character and her life before others...?

         Greer did not deserve a lot of things in life, and she certainly did not deserve this honor. Morgan was not her friend – more accurately, she was not a friend to Morgan – and Morgan deserved a friend to speak about her, not a girl who was too intertwined with her death.

         People talked, had their suspicions, but no one would ever be able to confirm that she was present that night. It was an unspoken agreement that Alistair Ainsley murdered Morgan Lee – the timing of her death after that damning article was too suspicious – but Greer's part in it was still up in the air.

         Not even Carmichael or Nikolai knew the truth. They could guess, but not know. She lied to Dumbledore, and she would lie to anyone who asked. It was a truth she could never admit.

         "Ah," Carmichael's eyebrows lifted slightly, lips showing teeth to reveal a joke, pride glinting in his eyes. She stared. Fleetingly, she wondered if he would report that to her father.

         As promised, he had not contacted her, but that did not mean he couldn't contact others. Perhaps Carmichael, or the Carrow family, or somewhere along the chain her friend had a chance to deliver information to him.

         Never trust anyone outside of your family, Alistair instilled in her, at any moment, anyone – even a friend – can betray you.

         "Nikolai is meeting us there, right?"

         He nodded. "He wanted to come over earlier and get ready with us, but his father refused."

         Eyeing the clock, she looked back at him. "It's about time."

         His head cocked towards the door. "Lead the way," he brought out his arm, she intertwined it with hers.

         Carmichael was not warm, he would hardly be the friend she would choose to cry with, but having him now was comforting. In the ways that mattered, Carmichael knew her better than anyone else. They lived close by, his family good friends with hers, and he had always been there. They watched each other age, counted on each other's presence, and she couldn't imagine a life without him.

         "Ah, there you are, dear," Helen smiled weakly at the sight of them. Teary-eyed, her smile faltered. Greer gave her one back, small but polite, seeing the stark contrast between them. Greer looked like she was going to a prestigious event; Helen looked like she barely had it together. Helen looked more prepared for a funeral than she could ever allow herself.

         "Are you ready?"

         Helen faltered more. She cursed herself internally for the question – how could she be? She wasn't even ready herself. Helen decided on an open casket funeral, Morgan's body magically persevered long enough for her delayed funeral, and Greer didn't think she would be able to look at Morgan.

         Helen let out a breath as if it was a laugh. "Let's get going. I don't want anyone to arrive before us."

         They followed the older woman to the fireplace, taking a handful of Floo Powder in their hands, stating the location, and Greer felt the world whirl around her before balancing again. A beautiful church stood before them.

         "My brother-in-law was Christian," Helen reminisced, "They went to this church every Sunday for years. Their – their funeral service was here too. It felt fitting."

         Fitting, in a morbid sense. Planning a funeral wasn't a casual event, wasn't magic; it was sad. But it was also fitting because it was peaceful.

         It's okay – I'm okay.

         Morgan made peace with death, and she hoped Morgan found it after death. If anyone deserved it, Morgan did.

         Carmichael grimaced at the mention of Morgan's father. He had no magical blood, the evangelical ties proved that without stating it. Greer remained blank. Her views on a lot of matters had changed through the years, Morgan accelerated that process.

         As family, Helen sat at the first pew, closest to the casket. She insisted that Greer sit with her. Everything inside her protested – she didn't deserve it, she watched Morgan die – but she couldn't deny Helen either. People piled in. Those she knew, those she didn't. Helen hugged many people, Greer stood near the front but away from Morgan's casket, not daring to peer in.

         Carmichael stood with her, Nikolai joining when he arrived. "Love the stain glass," he mused. It was the greatest compliment Nikolai would give to something muggle.

         Morgan's friends stood together. Adeline Miller and Dominic Ackles, who knew Morgan better than anyone, joined by Remus Lupin and his friends. Only months ago she was warning Morgan to stay away from Lupin, pleading for Morgan to distance herself from anyone Alistair deemed less than worthy. Morgan hadn't listened, flaunted her relationship with Lupin, and now she watched the boy with red-rimmed eyes.

         Greer didn't have any more tears.

         She used them all up, sobbing for hours until her head pounded and she couldn't see straight. Her face had been wet, soaked with tears, that night. She remembered staring in a mirror, bloodshot eyes and stained cheeks, a raw throat, and a feeling of emptiness flooding over her.

         The emptiness stayed. A hollow core nestling into her chest, growing and feeding on her grief.

         "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for that Lupin boy," Carmichael sneered quietly, "I bet if he hadn't filled her head with fantastical bullshit of being a hero, she wouldn't have died."

         Greer swallowed.

         Morgan might not be a hero, but she was brave. Braver than Greer was by a longshot. Any brave girl would have told the truth, stated exactly what happened that night, laid out the details plain and clear, never allowing this injustice. No – any brave girl wouldn't have allowed Morgan to die in the first place.

         But Greer Ainsley was not raised to be brave; she was raised to manipulate. To be cordial and polite, play her cards right, having a hand in every pile. Bravery was loud, Greer was taught to be quiet.

         "Hear, hear," Nikolai muttered in agreement.

         "We can't change the past, so it's best not to speculate," Greer's cold tone signaled finality, cutting off the conversation before they could continue. Internally, she rioted. Lupin held no blame in Morgan's death; that laid on her father's shoulders.

         He murdered Morgan in front of her. He mercilessly snapped his wand using the Killing Curse. He took a life without care, without empathy. In cold blood Morgan Lee died, now Greer Ainsley was left to pick up the pieces.

         People passed by the casket. They peered down at a teenage girl who wouldn't age another day. Stuck forever at seventeen, still bodied, perfectly pristine. Nikolai nudged her in that direction, her body moving against her will. Morgan laid holding roses, reminiscent the ones she left behind on her bedside table that now adorned hers, eyes closed with a peaceful look coating her features. She looked put together in all the ways Morgan had never looked alive.

         It's okay – I'm okay.

         Morgan looked peaceful that night. She had a smile on her face, eyes staring straight into Greer's soul, searing her. She let out a shaky breath, tearing her eyes away from her body, grip tightening on Carmichael's arm. He had the courtesy not to mention it.

         Helen gave a beautiful eulogy. Greer listened intently, clutching every word, guilt rising in her gut as she did. She painted a beautiful picture of a vibrant Morgan Lee, always determined and always defiant, even from a young age. She spoke of the dreams Morgan had, the caring niece she was, and her hopes for peace.

         If Greer had tears left, they would have spilled.

         Helen was alone.

         The realization hit her like a freight train. Helen had no husband, no children, no siblings, no parents. Her family had all died. Helen had lost them all, her last remaining member taken by Greer's father. Helen had taken her in, but it wasn't the same, she knew that. She was not Morgan, nor could she ever be – Helen Lee remained while everyone else was gone.

         Adeline followed.

         She didn't hear a word. Still, she sat, mind warped on that fact. She played a part in taking Helen's last family member; she left this woman alone in the world. Alistair didn't have to face the consequences of his actions, and even if he did, he wouldn't have cared. But Greer did.

         Dominic third.

         He spoke of a side she never knew. Morgan Lee, a friend. He spoke of her strengths, how brave she was, recounting stories of their friendship and how much she meant to him.

         Remus Lupin finished.

         At the end of his speech, his eyes found hers. Flicker of anger passed through before her tore his gaze away. The anger didn't bother her – she knew her hand in this, and while she didn't rage against herself, she regretted. Rage left her long ago.

         It was too hot to stay at the cemetery. When they arrived, they saw the plot of land Helen ordered for Morgan's casket, the priest blessed it, and people began to file out. Greer stayed, as did Helen. People Greer didn't recognize went first, Carmichael and Nikolai asked if she wanted them to stay but she let them go.

         Leaving her back turned to the guests, she looked at Morgan's eternal resting place. The hole was dug, but nothing more. It would take months of the headstone to come in, she would be at school by then, but her eyes wandered to the graves next to Morgan's. Her parents.

         "It's a tragedy, isn't it?"

         Her back straightened as the voice approached her. She didn't have to look to know who it was. Remus Lupin stood beside her now. She wouldn't let his bitter tone affect her.

         "It is," she said curtly. A truth, a truth she vehemently held, but not one she would say in such a tone.

         "She knew she was going to die. Prepared for it, I know that now," Lupin laughed, "Left a note explaining everything. I didn't know she knew. Maybe I did, but didn't want to admit it."

         "Morgan was smart," Greer returned. Morgan didn't leave her a note, and she felt a bit envious about that. She laughed at herself; as if Morgan would willingly leave her anything. They weren't friends – she was the daughter of Morgan's murderer. She played a part in this tragedy.

         "Smart, yes. Morgan certainly was," she could feel his eyes on her, "You knew. I bet you knew from the start."

         Guilt stormed her gut. She did. If everything had gone to plan, her father would've gotten all the information he needed from Helen about the Order of the Phoenix, and once she seized to be useful, Helen and Morgan Lee would die.

         A tragic accident, really, he explained, they would've ended up at the wrong place at the wrong place. You can't blame a mad wizard for killing someone.

         She turned. Staring straight at him, but not meeting his eyes. "Morgan's death should've never occurred. It was a tragedy, and I hope she has found peace."

         All truths, but not statements Lupin wanted. Lupin wanted a confession, or perhaps guilt. Greer had lived long enough in politics, where words were knives, and one had to dance around the issue at hand. Never be blunt, but coy. She said everything around the words Lupin wanted to hear.

         "Do you even feel guilty?" he whispered, nostrils flared.

         Every day, she would have answered. If Greer Ainsley were a truthful person, she would have given him this confession. An admittance that an injustice occurred, and guilt drowned her.

         "I didn't kill her," she said instead.

         "I hope your father rots."

         So do I.

✧

         DECONSTRUCTING GREER AINSLEY took longer that night. A simple charm to rid herself of makeup. Skilled fingers unlacing the ribbon in her hair. Gliding rings off her fingers with gentle regard for the jewelry on her ears as well. She eyed the enchanted rose on her bedside table as she brushed her hair. Morgan had it on hers, and while clearing her dorm, no one had taken it, so Greer swiped it to keep.

         She didn't deserve anything of Morgan's, yet couldn't resist the rose.

         Her fingers toyed with her necklace. The crest of her family stared back at her. Her father gave it to her for her eleventh birthday – a reminder of who she represented while at Hogwarts; a weight to fulfill. She had never taken it off. Her fingers found the clasp, releasing the chain, carefully easing the pendent from her neck.

         Bare, she looked at herself.

         An emptiness grew inside her. She wished she could replace that feeling with tears, because at least her sobs would seize. "I'm sorry," she whispered. A true she would never give to anyone. Carmichael and Nikolai would twist it, and no one else deserved it from her.

         They needed it, perhaps, but she didn't deserve to feel guilty after all she had done. She was too far gone now, but there was never a point where she could turn back.

         The lights flickered. A figure flashed in the reflection in her mirror, but when she whipped her head around to catch it, the figure was gone. She let out a shaky breath. No – she was imagining things. Dead people stayed dead, they didn't appear in her mirror then disappear.

         Morgan was gone. She accepted that.

         Greer Ainsley stood alone in her room. A rose on her bedside table and flashes of lifeless eyes, she slept, unaware of the dead girl standing above her bed.