Here Comes the Sun
Disclaimer: I don't own either 'Glee' or 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: After a personal tragedy, Adelaide Potter transfers from Crawford Country School for Girls to William McKinley High. She's in search of a fresh start, but some ghosts aren't meant to be forgotten, and some dreams will never fade. No Magic AU. Fem!Harry.
Rating: M for language, violence, character death and mild adult themes. Possible triggers.
Author: tlyxor1.
Chapter One: No More Cry
I want to feel just like before,
Before the rain came in my door
Shook me up, turned me round,
Made me cry til I would drown
No More Cry - The Corrs
If I die young
Lay me down in a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The lyrics run through my head on a loop, one of the only songs I've been able to bare hearing since I received the news. It's up there with 'Winter' by Bayside, and 'Heaven' by Brian Adams, and maybe its masochistic of me to make myself cry the way I do, but I'm sad, and grieving, and my best friend is dead, so in my mind, it's all rather justifiable. At least, that's how I'm kidding myself, and my parents are sympathetic enough to let me wallow in my own misery.
At least for now.
"Its time to go, Adelaide," Jean murmurs beside me, and Hermione's mother's hand, small, and delicate, and so very soft, hasn't left mine for hours. I've known her forever, and she's been like my second mom since Hermione and I were children, and I honestly don't understand how the woman is still standing tall, and stately, so proud and beautiful in her heartrending grief. "Its time for the wake, love."
I nod, and follow Jean to my father's car where Paul, Hermione's dad, and my parents, James and Lily, are waiting for us, sombre expressions on their grief lined faces. I wonder fleetingly if I look as old as they do in this moment, as though I've aged a lifetime in a week, but the thought doesn't last, and in the car, as Hermione's favourite Taylor Swift album plays through the car's speakers, and I cry a little more on the way to the wake, I ask myself how I'm going to live a life without Hermione Granger in it, when the only life I've ever known is with the busy haired brunette by my side, inseparable, through thick and thin, best friends - sisters - forever.
It was never supposed to end this way.
At the age of eleven, after constant migraines and other such ailments, Hermione's doctors found a malignant brain tumour directly behind her left optic nerve. She was rushed into neurosurgery, and chemo after that, and after three years of battling the disease, she went into remission, to the joy of everyone. It didn't matter that she was vision impaired, and bald, and so damnably thin. She was alive, and in one piece, and that was all that mattered.
Except it came back, the tumour, the cancer, far more vicious than before. And two years later, Hermione was tired, and resigned, and so she stopped the treatment, refused that last surgery - that last ditch attempt, we all knew - and six months later, she was gone, out of my reach like a leaf in the wind, or the tune in my head of a song long forgotten.
Except I can never forget Hermione Granger.
I couldn't if I tried.
"Will you be playing at the wake, Adelaide?" Jean queries in her seat to the left of me. In her lap, she holds a crucifix, and I wonder if that gives her strength to get through the unbearably long days, the sleepless nights, the gaping chasm that is Hermione's absence. "I think she'd have liked that."
In the silence that follows, there are a lot of things I want to say. I want to ask why it matters that Hermione would have liked it? She's dead, its her goddamn wake and its not like she'll ever see it. I want to ask why Jean thinks that. I want to ask why she's bothered asking, because its not as if I'll say no.
Not now.
Except I don't say anything of the sort, and I only nod, because Hermione Granger loved when I sang, and danced, and performed, and to honour her memory, to honour my best friend in life and in death, I will sing at her wake, and that is that.
I can do nothing else.
I don't mention that I intend to quit everything of the sort directly after the wake. I don't mention that I intend to pack away my guitar, and my music, and I don't mention that I don't intend to unpack them ever again. I think that will only devastate Jean and Paul more, and after everything, I don't think I can handle that. I don't think they can, either.
The fact is though, that music is just a sharp, stabbing reminder of the friend I've lost, and I just can't deal with that. I probably will never be able to, because this hurt is something I will never recover from.
How can I?
The rest of the drive to the Granger's residence is spent in silence, the only sound the strains of Taylor Swift's 'Fearless' album, and my occasional sniffles as I mouth along the words to Hermione's favourite songs. Despite my condemnation for the cheesy lines and what have you, she had worshiped Taylor Swift, idolised the woman like she'd only ever idolised Eleanor Roosevelt, Oprah Winfrey and Hilary Clinton, and by the time we pull into the Grangers' driveway, I'm wrung out, exhausted, and ready to sleep away all the grief I can't shake for the life of me.
Their house is beautiful, a large, two storey affair with a terracotta roof and white shutters on the window. They have a front porch, and I can remember countless hours spent seated on the porch swing beside Hermione, my guitar in her lap, teaching her all the chords to all her favourite songs.
I wish I had appreciated the time more.
Jude and Angus, my younger brothers, are waiting for us there, and they approach, all dapper in their suits, eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, and almost appearing as wrung out as I feel. Hermione's younger brother, Adrian, is there too, and I'm reminded of his speech at the service, and I start to cry all over again, because its perhaps the most heartbreaking thing I've heard all day.
"Hermione, you're the best sister I could ever have, and I would give anything to have you back, because I don't know how to live my life without you in it."
My mother holds me close, and I cry into her jacket, but I pull myself together quickly, wipe my eyes and follow her inside, unsure of how the hell I'll manage to get through an entire set for the sake of the Grangers, who probably need the performance as much as I do.
Inside the living room, I see a small stage set up in the corner, but before it, the Grangers are stood, Jean and Paul and Adrian, accepting the condolences with sad smiles and quiet thanks. I note that Jean's heels look like death traps, and I wonder if the pain from those deter from the pain in her heart, but then someone turns on a powerpoint, and its just photos, and photos, and more photos, and as I see images of myself and Hermione through the years, I'm beckoned forward, a guitar is thrust in my hands, and Jean gives me an encouraging hug, and so I play my guitar, and I cry, but its cathartic, and so I continue.
'here Comes the Sun' and 'Let it Be' by the Beatles, 'No More Cry and Everybody Hurts' by the Corrs'. 'If I Die Young' by the Band Perry, 'Winter' by Bayside, a mellow, acoustic version of Yellowcard's 'View From Heaven'. Finally though, the speeches are about to start, and so I clear my throat, with one more song in mind.
"There was one song that helped Hermione through those difficult days and now, as I remember her life, I hope it, too, can give me strength the same way it did her…"
If it were any other occasion, I might have been embarrassed by the fact, but I'm pretty sure I can play 'Fearless' by Taylor Swift in my sleep, but this time, I pour my heart and soul into the song, and when I'm done, I'm not the only one crying. I step off stage, give a faceless stranger my borrowed guitar and fall into my father's arms, where he rocks me from side to side and guides me out of the room. He hums under his breath, and murmurs promises that everything will be alright into my ear, and I take comfort in his voice, regardless of how false his words are.
"I miss her so much."
"I know, Delle, I know. You'll be alright though, I promise you. It hurts now, but the pain will fade."
And if I try hard enough, I can just kid myself into believing him. If only until I'm reminded of the unforgiving, bitter truth: Hermione Granger is dead, and there is no recovering from that.
Author's Note: I promise, it gets happier from here on out. It's finished, ten chapters, plus an epilogue, posted daily, and not long at all. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, leave a review, -t.