Disclaimer: I own nothing of J.K. Rowling, the Harry Potter books, or of the characters. All I own are my ideas.

If you love it, let it go.

This saying rang in my head as I placed the flowers in front of the grave.

If you love it, let it go.

My tears ran down my face freely. I averted my face so that they would not fall onto her grave.

I knelt there, and I just stared and cried silent tears. I didn't have any energy to sob anymore. I had already sobbed non-stop for a week.

I was getting dirt all over my black skirt, but I didn't care. I had smudged makeup all over my face, but I didn't care.

Through blurred eyes, I saw a familiar figure drop down next to me. He wrapped his arms around me and said nothing. I heard his sniffs and I knew that he too, had barely anything to cry anymore, but he had to cry, because there was nothing else he could do.

We would never be able to bring her back; we would never see her again. He would never have the chance to walk her down the aisle to give her away, and I would never have the chance to pretend not to cry as I watched her say 'I do.' I would never hold her children, my grandchildren, in my arms; I would never be able to argue with her about how she raised her children, something all mothers of mothers got to do.

I heard Derrick suck in a deep breath and huskily said, "Jane, get up. Someone's coming over."

I ignored him. I was already a mess, and still crying. There was no point trying to look presentable. I would only fail miserably. So, instead, I stared at the quote on the headstone.

Hermione Jane Granger

1979-1996

Lost, but forever loved.

A daughter and a friend, she will be

Forever missed.

The quote I decided on made my tears fall faster. A choking sound swelled up from the back of my throat and continued on through to my mouth. I could still sob, after all. I reveled in the feeling of total loss when I just cried like that. The only time I felt that I was truly honoring her passing was when I was sobbing my heart out. Pathetic, but that's what mothers who lose their only daughter, only child, do. I knew, because I now joined their ranks.

"Mrs. Granger?" A soft voice from above me. My husband weakly tugged me up, but I refused to budge. I ignored the voice as well. All I wanted to do was scream. I wanted to shout, can't you see I'm dying here? She is dead, but I am dying! She was my life, the least you can do is let me mourn her death in peace…

But I didn't, because to do that would require strength, and I didn't have any of that left.

I heard my husband rise and speak softly to the stranger. I registered this automatically, not hearing what they were saying, and not caring either.

I caught the last few words, and I cringed. "- I can't do anything with her. She refuses to sleep, only doing so when she's exhausted with crying. She doesn't eat, except for when I force her. She only drinks water."

Had I really been like that for a week? Could you really blame me?

A sad sigh. "Ron's been exactly like that as well. I don't think he will ever go back to what he was before, but hopefully I can bring closure for you and her."

Derrick hesitated, and said softly, "I would be eternally grateful for that, Mr. Potter."

"Harry, please. And it's the least I could do my best friend's mother. I know it's what Hermione would want."

And that was when I fell to the ground, howling and whimpering, because he saying her name had cut through my heart like a knife cut through an apple. Hermione…my baby girl, my darling daughter, gone! Closure? No…no closure can be given to a mother who has lost her child. His intentions were good, but although he had been her best friend, he would never understand the pain I was going through until he became a father and then lost his own child. It was an indescribable pain, and the only way to imitate it would be to hold you heart in your hand and squeeze it tightly. My chest felt constricted, and I could barely breathe. Just her name had done this to me. Truly, I never thought that this would happen to me. I always thought I would be strong enough that I could move on, because that would have been what she wanted.

But I wasn't. I couldn't save her when she needed to be saved, and now I couldn't do what she would have most wanted me to do in her death.

I was a failure as a mother.

I rocked back and forth on the ground, clutching my knees to my chest, and crying my eyes out, not caring what I looked like to other people.

Even through my haze of tears, I could see the heart-broken expression on Derrick's face. He had lost his daughter, and now he was losing his wife. He picked me up gently and cradled me in his arms, the way he used to do for Hermione when she had still been a small child. The memory of her sucking her thumb as her father carried her to her bedroom, a total look of innocence on her round face made me cry even harder and I clutched myself to his chest, crying into his shirt.

Harry, who Hermione had spoken of numerous times, must have felt uncomfortable, but he didn't leave. Instead, he walked closer and said quietly, "I really think she needs to read it. Could we go back to the house?"

Derrick nodded stiffly and carried me to the car, with me still sobbing uncontrollably. Harry opened the front passenger seat and Derrick carefully deposited me in it, buckling my seat belt for me, because I was incapable of doing such things by myself any more.

Without another word, he closed the door and went over to the driver's seat. Someone, Harry, I assumed, slipped into the back seat. After what seemed like mere minutes, we had arrived back home. The actual journey was at least 30 minutes, and I was still crying. I numbly wondered how my body still contained fluids to produce my tears.

Again, I was in my husband's arms and he carried me into the house, into the living room. I curled up on the couch but made no other movement. He gestured at the other sofa to the boy and then sat down next to me. He grabbed the nearly empty box of tissue and handed it to me. It was routine by now. We would go to the graveyard in the morning, we would come back, and I would sit there and try to stop crying as soon as possible.

Because someone who was a practically a stranger was sitting in front of me, I stopped sooner than I usually did. With a last shuddering breath, I wiped my eyes and faced the boy.

He was exactly as Hermione had described him. Black, messy hair, round glasses, lightning shaped scar. I almost cried when I remember the amusement she had spoken with when describing his crazy hair. Oh, the irony.

He was looking at me, not condescendingly at the broken woman, nor pityingly, as most people did, but with understanding in his clear, but puffy green eyes. For some strange reason, this made me get angry. What the hell did he understand? He had no idea what I was going through.

"What do you want?" I asked abruptly, rudely.

He reached into the cloak I had only just realized her was wearing and pulled out a letter. "This is from her. We found it when we were going through the belongings she left behind. It was addressed to you."

I didn't care. I had tuned out after he said it was from her. I stared at it hungrily, and at the same time, apprehensively.

"There were 3 letters, one to me, one to Ron, and one to you both. She must have written them in case anything happened to her. She must have known about how we would have reacted, and these letters are her parting words to us. Please, read this. I have read mine, and from the bottom of my heart, I am grateful to her. It has not yet brought me peace of mind, but it had assuaged most of my guilt. Ron hasn't read her letter, but that's because he's in denial. He refuses to accept that she's…gone. He loved… loves her. He didn't really realize that until she wasn't around, but he does now." He said all of this in a soft voice, eyes downcast. He had obviously thought a lot about this.

"I'm sorry that I didn't come to the funeral, but I couldn't, at the time. I was feeling too guilty, because it's because of me that she's dead. She saved my life, and because of that, she's gone. I owe her everything." The raven-haired boy bit his lip, and he continued sadly, "I know how you feel because that's how I feel as well. I loved her like a sister, and I miss her. Every night I fall asleep not accepting that she's dead, and every morning I wake up and expect to see her, but I don't, and then I remember, and then I cry."

I didn't know when I'd gotten up, but I was standing over the boy furiously. "You have no idea what I'm going through right now. You weren't the one who gave birth to her, to watch her grow up into a beautiful, smart woman. You lost a friend, I lost a daughter! I will never have one again, Potter! Don't tell me you understand how I feel, because there's no way in hell you can until you lose a child of your own."

Instead of backing down, as I expected him to, he fought back. His eyes tightened and he stared just as furiously at me as I was staring at him. In a cold voice, he said, "You think I don't understand? I've known her for 7 seven years, I've been with her as she laughed, as she cried, and I, I watched her die, Mrs. Granger. I watched the life leave her eyes! You think you're the only one affected because you gave birth to her? We were her best friends, and now she's gone! Ron hasn't eaten anything since that day, nor has he slept! He's convinced that if he starves himself of everything, it will be a big enough sacrifice to the gods and she will come back.'

In a softer voice, he continued, 'We were her friends too, Mrs. Granger. We loved her, just like you, and we lost her, just like you. I understand what you fell because truly, I feel it as well. It's a sensation of being unable to breathe when you hear the sound of her name, and when you hear someone laugh just like her, you feel your heart break because it's not her, and when you see brown hair, you immediately turn to the person, only to die again and again because it's just not her.' His voice cracked and with tears falling from his eyes, he whispered, 'And it will never be her, ever."

My tears were falling to match his at his impassioned speech, and I automatically enclosed him in my arms, because when he cried, he looked like a young boy of Hermione's age, and I couldn't help myself. My husband wrapped both of us up in his strong arms, and we stood there, crying together over our shared loss.

After a while, we finally pulled apart and Harry handed the slightly crumpled envelope to me. I took it reverently and pulled open the flap. With shaking fingers, I pulled the folded paper open, almost tearing it in my haste and nervousness.

Mum, Dad,

If you're reading this, then I'm gone. Please don't blame anyone for my death. It's no one's fault, though if you must, then blame Fate.

Miss me, if you must, but never lose sight of the bigger picture. Mourn me, but don't forget about each other. Think about me, but not only about me. I know you will never forget about me, so if for just one day you don't think about me, that's perfectly fine.

Dad, please, take care of mum. I love you.

Mum, I will love you forever, and I know you would say exactly the same thing. It's okay to move one, mum. There's no point crying over me every single day. I hope that one day, you can look back on our happy memories together, and laugh instead of cry. When that day comes, know that I'm looking down on you and laughing together with you.

If I've ever done wrong to you, this is the only place I have that I can apologize. Out of the three letters I'm writing, this is the hardest, because I have so much to say, yet so little time to say it. As I sit here writing this, people are running around, preparing for the war that's going to happen in 60 minutes. Please be proud of me, instead of angered. It's for the greater good.

I have so much to say, but at the very end, it only comes down to one thing. I love you. 3 words, so carelessly thrown about by so many people, suddenly means so much when you think you're about to die.

If you love me, let me go.

Mum, Dad, I love you, forever and ever, no matter what.

Hermione.

The paper fluttered to the floor, and so did I. Yet again, my tears fell. She saw through me so easily, knew me so well. She knew that I would not forgive myself, so she forgave me first. She knew that this was exactly what I would need to move one, so she gave me an easy way out.

My tears fell again, but this time, they were tears of freedom, tears that spoke of one day being able to heal.

If you love me, let me go.

This is just something that's been stuck in my head for a while, and I also wrote it because I've never seen anything written from the point of Hermione's parents. If there is something like that, I don't know about it, and any similarities are unintentional.

Reviews please. And please don't cry... Or rather, do, because it would mean that I've gotten what I've wanted to get across.