AN: This is my first story. I do not own anything. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. Please review. I would love criticism or even just a small sentence on whether you liked the story or hated it. thank
She sat there waiting for her parents to pick her up from the station.
Actually, she was waiting for Frank to find her and bring her to the limo where her parents would be waiting to greet her. It was easier for her parents to stay in the car rather than be outside since we are quite recognizable especially when it is the three of us together. The only reason no one recognized her as one of the hottest socialite that graced the London scene was because she looked nothing like a socialite would look like. There was nothing flashy on the girl waiting on the bench surrounded by her luggage. Unless you looked closer and then you would notice how her shoes weren't the kind you would find at a normal shoe store. They were Marc Jacobs mary jane shoes that no normal teenager would wear. If you looked closer at her clothes you would notice that each and every piece was high quality cloth, a much higher quality than one would find a normal person would wear. Her hair was flowing freely and covered most of her beautiful face. No one would have given this girl a second glance and so would not have realized that she was the daughter of a former theater actress and the owner of one of the highest grossing companies in England and even the world.
Hermione Granger was not the daughter of two dentists as she had told her good friends at Hogwarts but rather one of those many socialites one reads in the paper. She knew what happened when people realized that you had money. They changed and saw and treated you differently. This girl did not want to be treated different but she wanted to be treated equally. She wanted people to know she was not just her money and that there was so much more to who she was. It was very hard to find true friends like that and she really didn't have those friends in the muggle world. Her only true friends in this world were her parents. She did feel guilty lying to her friends in Hogwarts but she didn't want things to change. Ron already had problems with the fact Harry had more money. He would probably get really jealous and git-like if she told him that she probably had more money than Harry. And Harry... Poor Harry ... he doesn't need to know. He will never return to the muggle world. This world had nothing to offer him except being neglected and hurt. She felt Harry didn't want to really know very much about the muggle world and so probably didn't want to know about her muggle life. The boy also had too much to think about (such as Voldermort and the loss of Sirius) than to wonder what his best friend's muggle life is like the girl on the bench thought.
Still sitting there, the girl began to rub her chest gently. Underneath her clothing there was a very large scar than ran across her chest. The school nurse had done a wonderful job at healing the girl before she left for home but deep down the girl knew that the injury would never truly heal. The injury would always hurt just a little bit and she felt as though that hurt would not go away until she confronted the one person that caused the injury. Maybe someday the girl thought she would get her chance to help throw Dolohov into Azkaban. She looked down at her custom made swiss watch and wondered where her parents or Frank were. They were never this late.
I just sat there staring out into space. It was almost as if I couldn't believe I was sitting at a funeral watching my parents being lowered into the ground. Who were all these people at the funeral? Did my parents really know any of these people that have come to pay their respects? Did any of these people even care or even know who my parents were? No she thought as the priest's voice washed over her already disengaged mind. None of these people knew who the Granger's truly were. They did not know how strong the three of us were when we were together or how lost I will be once it hits me that those bodies in those coffins were really my parents. These people didn't even know how they really died. It was not because of carbon monoxide poisoning but fucking Tom Riddle trying to make a point. He killed my parents- my loving, kind, fun, caring, happy parents. He murdered the most important people in the world -- he murdered the only people who truly knew, understood and accepted who I truly was.
My aunt is sobbing next to me - the bitch- she doesn't really care about my parents. The only reason she came her was because she wants the world to see how grief stricken she is over the loss of her beloved brother. She also wants to know whether or she she gets all of her beloved brother's money. That's all my extended family is thinking about I just know it. They all think one of them will become my guardian and so will be trusted with the company until I am of age and ready to take over.
Neither of my parents got along with their respective siblings. It seemed everyone was jealous of their success just as all my cousin were jealous of me. It worked out well since neither of my parents keep in touch with my aunts or uncles. It was very rare that they would come and see my parents and so it was very hard for me to believe that they actually came here to grieve. All my life my parents have been there to support me, laugh with me, scold me, help me, and love me. What will I do now? Who will I turn to? Who will laugh at my jokes or cry with me when I have a really bad day? Who will see who I truly am?
I haven't cried yet.
I didn't cry when I showed up at my house and there were officers running around my front porch.
I didn't cry when I saw two black body bags that I knew carried the bodies of my parents being taken out of my home.
I didn't cry when the officer told me that they had been found by Frank this morning when he came to pick them up so they could get me at the station.
I didn't cry at the funeral or during the reading of the will where I found out that they emancipated me in both worlds and left me everything.
I didn't cry when I pulled Dumbledore aside and demanded to know whether or not Voldermort murdered my parents. I didn't shed a single tear when the headmaster confirmed my suspicions nor when I told him that I did not want the wizarding world to know about my parents death. I made him promise not to tell a soul about the death of my parents and told him that if I found out that the Order was watching me for my protection I was going to shoot them with the shot gun my father kept in his office drawer. I was emancipated in both the muggle and wizarding world and so could use magic to protect myself and did not need nor want him meddling.
I didn't even cry when neighbors, coworkers, formers theater producers, the dry cleaner, etc stopped by the house to express their sadness at the loss of my parents.
After a few days, people finally started leaving me alone and stopped stopping by the house. The house was empty now that no one stopped by. I sent all the food, gifts, flowers, and shit that everyone so kindly thought a grieving daughter would need to the nearest homeless shelter. I had no use for such things.
I slowly walked through every room in my house trying to remember what they looked like before all this death and darkness. I silently walked into my parents bedroom. It looked as though they had just gone to work for they day and would return soon. The bed was made and the night cloths put away. I crawled into the large soft bed and just lay there staring out of the window on the ceiling. It was a beautifully clear night. At some point during that night -- or was it day-- I cried,
