Disclaimer: Hermione and Harry and so on don't belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling-I'm not making money, don't sue me. Joach, Morya and some other characters ARE mine, along with much of the things that are discribed.


Note: I don't know why I wrote this-its a little odd , I know, but it's more my style then most things that I've posted on here. It's also fairly short, but I don't like to prolong things such as this past the point of whats comfortable for me.
This "story" is supposed to be a letter from an elderly Hermione to her grandchildren shortly before her death. Please give me feedback. Thanks. ~Harmony~


My Final Explanation





Dearest Joach and Morya,

As I think back on my life, I realize that there was very few times when I was truly happy. When I was a young witch, attending the once-prestigious school of Hogwarts, I wasn't very well liked. I was too eager to show off my knowledge-I recognize that now-and as a result, people very rarely bothered to look past my snobbish shell. I think, perhaps, that that shell had been subconsciously created so as to protect me-before attending Hogwarts I had been afraid that my muggle heritage would brand me an outsider, or freak and because of that worked my hardest to make myself seem more, or less, than I was, but the actuality is that that same shell hurt me more than saved me.

There was Harry, of course, and Ron, who were good friends and supportive of who I was, but even they opened channels into my soul which some scheeming being, or simply Fate herself, could interject pain. Their sudden deaths brought me to my figurtive knees and sapped all will out of me for a time. I was neive, but not so neive that I didn't realize that my love for them was what caused this pain. I vowed never to love again.

But there, my sweets, is the problem. I discovered, as time went on, that however much one tries, however callouse one makes themselves, love is not a choice. I met your grandfather-dear Favious-and we were wed. This was the second time I was truly happy-the first being for a short period, in the company of Harry and Ron. We had your father, uncle and aunt, and I loved them as well. But, dispite my love for my children I found that I wasn't happy with them. I was too tied down, too grounded. Favious took a job at the ministry and would travel often while I was forced to stay home with the kids. I guess, for a time, I grew resentful of them.

I was relieved when first Jamal, then Tyke and Cora went to Hogwarts and I was again free. I spent several months wallowing in this newly re-found freedom, travelling and visiting old friends. But I discovered that the novelty of something such wears off soon, and I was longing for the days where my children held the beliefs that I could make the world right and perfect for them. I slipped into a depression, carefully masked by work, a depression that grew and finally exploded when your grandfather died.

I went away-leaving no word with my family, parents or friends, and travelled the world for nearly two years without contact. I never stayed in one place long, and never went somewhere which would revive memories that I'd just as well assume remain burried. When I finally deemed return home, your father had met your mother, and they were newlyweds.

My return surprised my children and friends, all of whom greeted me joyfully and listened to the few tales of travel I choose to tell them. I never managed to slip back into my old lifestyle completely-I sold the old house and all my possestions, save a few, then moved into a secluded cottage in the country side, where I was sure to be left mostly undisterbed. For several years I lived in solitude, having contact with only a few.

When you two were born, I let myself glimse love and happiness again as it was mirrored on your shining faces. I fell into the role of grandmother, and found myself quite well suited for it. I've watched you grow, becoming more and more what I wish for you, living your lives happily.

But now I grow old-I feel that I will soon reach death. I'm not scared, I welcome it. I write this for for two reasons, which I will reveal in more simple terms now-one: to let you know not to moarn when I pass. Think that I will not be leaving you, just re-joining loved ones and waiting for you. The years will slip by and you will find that our time here is limited and there is no room for moarning. Two: To let you know that life comes as a package-joy and sorrow mixed into one. Don't let yourself get eaten by one or the other-though things may seem especially bad (as with me) or especially good (as I hope it is with you) the realitiy is that they almost balance each other out. Life is a lesson, learn it well.

Your loving grandmother,
Hermione Granger-Parvati


Please put ANY comments.....