It was an ordinary sunny day in Godric Hollow, and there was nothing suspicious about the coterie of people all dressed in black congregating outside the local church. Nothing, that is until you got a closer look, then you would see their garb was not ordinary, in fact, every attendee of the funeral that day was dressed in robes and, if you looked close enough, you would notice that, despite it being midday, there were a parliament of owls perched on the trees adjacent to the church. The church itself was mounted on top of a hill which looked over the quaint village below. From this vantage, you could see the ordinary muggle-born of Godric Hollow go about their day as if nothing unusual was happening. A postman could be seen delivering mail around the various red post-boxes, a resident cycled back home with her groceries, and a mother walked to the park with her toddler in tow and baby in a pram. Little were they to know how momentous today was, that this was the day to commemorate and celebrate the greatest wizard who had ever lived.