A/n: Hello readers! Here's a new story I'm trying. I got really inspired by the song "Two Black Cadillac's" by Carrie Underwood and boom! This story came to be. I'm putting a twist on the lyrics though to give this my own interpretation. The lyrics will be the chapter titles. I hope you like it! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thanks to my beta MorbidKitten2!

Prologue

Two black Cadillac's driving in a slow parade/

Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day/

She could feel her lip trembling slightly despite herself. Even after the devastating revelation that he was gone and that she needed to be strong for her daughter, Hermione had yet to muster enough strength to keep from quivering at the mere thought of his death. It was horrifying to remember, and though no explanations had yet to show up determining the real cause of death and who killed him, she was determined that something would be found. Something had to be.

Her daughters minute hand gripped hers tightly, the black veil masking the better part of her mother's features. She couldn't fathom letting her child see her so weak, not when the sweet child was only three years old. Her son lay quivering on the bed behind her, the poor little thing too young to ever get to really know the man he would've called father.

She didn't want to go down to the procession, and more importantly she didn't want to be hounded by reporters eager for the latest scoop in her time of pain. She wanted the right to cry, and to not feel like that moment of vulnerability would be snap-shot and posted across the front page of the Daily Prophet. She just wanted to mourn her husband's passing like any other wife in the world. But unfortunately, not only had he been well-known across Europe, but he also couldn't have died a simple death. Even considering that caused her eyes to water, and she bat her lashes furiously to keep stray tears back. She couldn't think about the shape his body had been in, nor the scorching memory it might leave in her daughters mind. Even thinking about it caused her to worry. Rose didn't need those kinds of memories of her dad.

But then, the child was only three. She likely wouldn't even remember the set of events, just like Hugo. There might still be a chance for her to let them lead normal lives.

"Why can't he be here?" the girl asked, looking away from the tinted mirror to her mother. The brunette's breath hitched, wishing her little girl would ask some other sort of question. Of course they would ask where he went, but that didn't mean she felt ready to answer.

Hermione took a shaky breath. "I told you sweetie, he's gone far, far away."

"But he has to come back!" She pulled away, the long black dress swishing around her legs. "He said he would never ever go!"

She put a hand to her own head, begging the forming headache to stay away. She didn't rightly think she could handle that. "I know honey, but things changed. He's very happy where he is."

"Why can't he be happy with us?" The little girl asked, pulling away to sit upon her parents bed. "Why do we have to wear so much black? I don't want to go anywhere daddy isn't! He has to come back."

She closed her eyes, wishing for the first time that her young daughter wasn't quite so smart. "I know," she said quietly, bowing her head to hide the running tears, "I don't either."

A quiet knocking on the oak door told her time was drawing to a close, and whipping her head up she watched the ginger head of her best friend peer in, her eyes already rimmed in red. Her eldest son stood as her side, clasping her hand tightly.

"Harry says it's time to go," she said, her voice coming across scratchy. Hermione turned from her children to face the ginger woman, and half a moment later they were in each other's arms, each trembling just as much as the other.

"It's not going to get better, is it?" the brunette asked, gripping her longtime friend tightly. The girls head moved back and forth, and for a moment she wished the woman had lied.

"I don't know."

The progression was beautiful. Many came to the ceremony, but few and far were invited to the actual burial only a few hours later. Hermione didn't expect so many faces to show at the ceremony, so many people she had always assumed hated her guts.

Some of them she almost feared had come to simply leak to the tabloids. But this was a very well-known funeral, and not just anyone could enter. They had to have a special invitation, else a special, worthy reason to be there. She didn't honestly know why the extent of them came at all, but she didn't argue. They were just faces of people she couldn't- wouldn't- speak with. She gripped her son in one arm, her daughters hand in the other has the progression went on, never once loosening her grip. It might be too much for their young minds to grasp, but not hers. She finally understood what was going on, and she would never forget those few moments when she peered at the lid of the coffin, the body beneath too indistinguishable to be suitable to show an audience. She wouldn't want to terrorize anyone.

Harry and Ginny were compassionate, if not a bit depressed about things. She knew their two sons couldn't quite comprehend what was going on, just like Hugo. Perhaps if she had thought about it, she could've left her children with Molly. But then, this was their father. They deserved the right to be there at his burial, even if they would never remember it.

For some reason, during the moments between when they lowered the coffin and the time she threw dirt into a deep hole, she couldn't muster any tears. She spent days crying, and now her eyes refused to work. Perhaps she just couldn't let herself cry in that moment, not with her children standing so nearby, so very confused. They were just children; they didn't know the specifics.

It was only after the dirt hid the glamorous body box that she fell to her knees on the damp earth, one hand hitting the nearby grass as she released a painful cry. Someone nearby snatched Hugo from her arms, and despite the expensive clothing she wore she left herself fall directly into the earth, her sobs threatening to tear out of her chest. Not a single part of her wanted to accept that he was dead.

"Hermione," a voice said softly, pulling at the sleeve of her black gown, "You have to get up. You can't lie here. It's… it's going to rain."

"Leave me alone Harry," she choked, her voice coming out in a strained tone as she fought to hold back another sob. "Just leave me be!"

"Your children-"

"Take them with you," she croaked. "Take them to Grandma Molly's if you must. Take them anywhere, but don't leave them here."

"Hermione-"

"Just leave me alone," she breathed, dropping her head into the dewy grass. Part of her hoped that Rose was turned away from the scene, mostly so she couldn't see her mother in such a state. She had to be the rock in her children's life now, and she couldn't let them down. "Please, take them elsewhere, please. Just let me stay here."

The hand pulled back, releasing her from Harry's clutches. She didn't care that she hit the mud, ruining her gown as well as dirtying the expensive earrings he bought her only weeks before his departure from life. Drops slid from her eyes, her pain seeping from her body as she felt herself unravel.

He couldn't be gone.

"Mommy," a voice said, drawing her from the ground. She looked up and over her shoulder, wiping away as much grime as she could as she peered over at her daughter. The little girl stood holding Albus' hand, one finger sitting lightly in her mouth as she bit it in uncertainty. The widow instantly felt bad, for she knew she was distressing her daughter. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, propping herself on her knees as she continued, brushing the girls tresses behind her ear. "I just want a few minutes alone with your daddy."

"But that's not daddy," she argued, crossing her arms as that uncertain expression came back. "Daddy lives at home, but that man said he lives in the earth." She pointed over her mother's head, back towards the man overseeing the burial. Hermione glanced his way, watching the man shrug feebly.

Turning back, she gave her daughter an uncertain smile. "Daddy lives somewhere else now," she said slowly, watching her daughter's expression. "Don't worry; you'll see him again sometime."

"When?" she asked, her eyes pleading with the older woman, "I want to see him!"

"I-I'm sure you do," she agreed, glancing at Harry for help. "But right now you can't."

"Well why not?"

She pursed her lips; she never really had to explain something like this to a child before. "Because, your father has been asked to go someplace far, far away and help out some special people. He can't come home for some time." She gave her a strained smile, unsure if she was talking about Heaven and God from her muggle lifestyle, or Circe and Merlin. She didn't even want to consider where Ron's soul had gone, just that it was gone.

Rose looked unconvinced, but a glance at her Aunt and Uncle told her it was time to drop the topic. Everyone looked very sad, and she decided to stop asking questions for a while. Her mother looked hurt, and she didn't want to upset her more. "Okay mummy," she said, pretending she understood so that her mother might give her a real smile again.

Hermione leaned forward, kissing her daughter on the cheek. "That's my girl," she whispered. Clearing her voice, her eyes dropped. "Why don't you go with Albus and James for a while darling? I need a few minutes more here."

"Okay mommy," She agreed again, gripping her cousin's hand tighter. He smiled at her, though they both didn't really comprehend why all the adults seemed so sad. Her Aunt Ginny stood holding Hugo, and even as she surveyed the unfamiliar scene again her redheaded relative started ushering the children away. Uncle Harry didn't follow.

"Why won't daddy come?" Albus asked, glancing at his mom as she continued leading them away. The black car sat at the end of the cemetery, the driver poised by the hood. Since so few of them actually knew how to drive a car, it seemed necessary to have a chauffeur along.

"Daddy's going to help Aunt Hermione," Ginny said, refusing to let any of them look back. If any of them had looked closer, maybe they would've noticed the unshed tears in the ginger's eyes. Being strong just then wasn't something she was accomplishing too well.

And maybe if Ginny had been paying any attention, she would've noticed the figure off in the distance; the silent one, holding a handkerchief to her nose as she quietly cried. The uninvited guest to this event.

But that person wasn't focused on the woman with four children, but instead the funeral she wasn't allowed to attend. A part of her hated the woman kneeling in front of the grave, the bouquet of roses set beside the grave watered by her tears. There the lady kneeled, allowed to grieve however she pleased.

It was so unfair that she could not. Turning, she sniffed once more, the only bystander to have noticed her being the chauffeur. He didn't say a word as she stumbled off the grass, her short heels too difficult to manage in the damp ground. She bristled past the Cadillac, ignoring everyone inside.

Just like Hermione Weasely, a part of her died with Ron. And she would be damned if she lost every last bit of him after his death. His wife might be grieving, but she intended to take a stand.

No one may have known who she was before, but everyone would now.

A/n: Thoughts? This was a spur of the moment story, so I'm not entirely sure if I shall continue with it or not. I really didn't make any plans for this, I just started typing. So let me know what you think so I'm aware whether or not it's worthwhile to pursue! I just try to put a different spin on typical scenarios, hopefully keeping my stories a bit interesting. So please review so I know what I should do with this! Also, chapter length will increase as the story continues. This is acting like a Prologue- actually, it is the prologue.

One is for his wife/ The other for