At some point, Hermione wondered what happened, what changed.
Staring down at the gravestone by her feet, she clutched the last gift Harriet had left her with before her departure from the mortal world towards her chest: a small hard-bound diary with a purple cover and clear sheets. Her other hand held an umbrella upright, rain droplets bouncing off onto the puddles over the floor, splashing and creating ripples.
St. Jerome's Graveyard, parallel to the Church of its reverent saint, was a place Hermione had not visited in a week. Since then, the amount and variety of flowers had grown, and the letter box on the side had been completely filled to the brim. Lilies, gladioli, carnations, roses, you name it. Floral baskets were lined around the grave, and numerous crocheted wreaths were strewn along.
The rain continued pouring down around her, with the sound of thousands of raindrops splashing on puddles. The graveyard was empty, and Hermione continued staring at the tombstone.
Why? Hermione asked herself. Why would she-
Then her eyes widened, her hands began trembling, and she began making her way home.
The Knight Bus was something Harriet had introduced to her after her right after the second year had ended.
Hermione waited at the gate, and before she knew it, the triple-decker AEC Regent III RT had swung by. It suddenly halted front of her, fluidly counteracting inertia in a motion that made the bus seem more like slime than metal, and splashed water all over her front. A quick drying spell, and she boarded the bus.
But her mind was still in a state of shock. Because there was no way, absolutely no way she would do that.
Hermione and Harriet were best friends. It was the both of them against the world. Hermione had chosen to trust Harriet over her classmates, her friends, her teachers, the authority, everyone.
In the two years they had known each other, Harriet had become her world.
The Knight Bus had stopped. Leaving her ticket, she stepped down from the bus, and came back home.
She left the umbrella against the wall, took off her boots, before rushing upstairs towards her room. She ignored her parents who had greeted her, and slammed open the door to her room. After draping the coat on her chair, she hastily pulled it and sat down. She placed the diary on the table.
Her heart was racing, and her adrenaline was pumping throughout her system. Her mind was confused, torn, and broken. Just a week ago, she was gone. She was still devastated, and now that there was hope, what was she supposed to feel? Elation? Anger? All she felt was heartbreaking confusion.
A purple cover, and at the bottom, labelled: Harriet Lily Potter. With a shaking hand, she grabbed a pen and wrote in what had to be one of her saddest penmanships: Who are you?
It was with horror when Hermione watched the ink fade into the clear parchment. And right after, in a cursive scrawl she knew all too well:
I knew you would catch on, Mione.