I do not claim ownership to any of J.K. Rowling's characters, and I am not making any sort of profit from this. It's simply for a larf. Please R&R. Thanx. ~ZiMsta

THE GUITAR

When she entered the Gryffindor common room, Genevieve encountered Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, sitting in front of the fire. McGonagall stood suddenly when she saw Genevieve enter. She was clutching a handkerchief in her thin hands, making small sniffling noises.

"Miss Hemlock, I am so dreadfully sorry about your father. Not only was he an exceptionally kind man, but also an incredibly talented musician. And I know he has passed that talent on to you in more ways that one. I presume you are keeping up with your artwork?" McGonagall finally managed a faint smile. Genevieve nodded slightly. "Yes Professor, thank you." She said quietly. Genevieve had been an artist for as long as she could remember, and knew that every ounce of talent she possessed had come from her father, and progressed only with his encouragement and love.

"I'm happy to hear that. Now, in light of the present matter, I give you permission to take a few days holiday from classes, so that you may perhaps begin your grieving process in privacy." McGonagall offered, putting her hand on Genevieve's shoulder. "I thank you for your kindness Professor, along with everyone else's. But I feel that I will be better off continuing with my classes like usual." Genevieve turned down yet another offer of peaceful, personal grieving. McGonagall only showed slight disappointment, but bowed her head just as Dumbledore had only moments before.

"Of course, it's up to you. In that case, I urge you to continue on to your third Lesson of the day, as you have missed the first two. I hope to see you at dinner." McGonagall smiled one last time, then left Genevieve alone in the common room, closing the porthole behind her. Genevieve listened intently to the silence around her, and realized that she was alone for the first time since she had found out about her father. Should she cry fully? Should she curse her mother's name, or should she yell her father's longingly at the top of her voice? She opted for neither, choosing instead to welcome the grave silence.

*****

Genevieve collected her books and hurried to her third period Charms lesson. When she entered the room, everyone fell silent and all eyes were on her. "OhGood afternoon, Miss HemlockPlease take a seat." The tiny Professor Flitwick smiled at her from the stack of books where he stood, more than a hint of sympathy in his squeaky voice. The dozens of pairs of eyes in the room followed Genevieve to her seat, and Professor Flitwick only continued when she had taken it.

"Alright then, Genevieve?" Ron Weasley whispered in Genevieve's direction, making sure not to disrupt Flitwick. "Hullo, Ron." She responded, taking her quills and parchment from her bag. Ron edged his chair a little closer to her, and continued on in a quiet tone. "Listen, I'm sorry to hear about yer dad and all. My mum was a huge fan, playin' his music round the house all the time. I practically grew up on the stuff, not that that's a bad thing" He added hastily. He finally grinned at her with apologetic eyes, and patted her on the shoulder.

"Anyway, I'm really sorry." He finished, scooting back over to his own desk. Though she appreciated the sympathy, she wondered if she could handle much more of it. Her next class, Potions, seemed to be her only release. But even there she was confronted with apologies. Slytherins were even stepping out of their usual selfish, uncaring shells to give their condolences. The only person in the room who did not show one iota of interest in her situation was Professor Snape, who would never miss the opportunity to criticize her.

"Miss Hemlock, did you slip into a sudden fit of seizures while attempting to cut this Ukaroot, or were you temporarily deaf when I specifically stated that you were to slice it into quarter inch squares?" Snape held up Genevieve's mangled piece of Ukaroot, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be more careful next time." Genevieve said quietly, gritting her teeth slightly. She heard him snap his fingers, followed by a small popping noise.

"Indeed. Do try to be more careful with this one." Snape set a fresh Ukaroot in front of her and gave a thin lipped, evil grin. Genevieve stared down at the Ukaroot, then looked up to meet Snape's cold, black eyes. "I will Professor. Thank you for so kindly providing me with another one." She said smartly, flashing him a smile. His eyes suddenly narrowed, and the grin on his lips quickly passed. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he turned quickly and walked to his desk.

"You had better watch it, luv. Snape doesn't take kindly to smart ass's." Ezzie Bloom, Slytherin perfect and personal assistant to Snape, took a seat next to her. "Hey, Ezzie." Genevieve gave a weak smile. Normally, Gryffindors and Slytherins did not get along at all. But Ezzie and Genevieve had been best friends since their first year at Hogwarts.

"How are you holding up?" Ezzie asked in a more serious tone. "Alright, considering." Genevieve sighed as she concentrated on her Ukaroot. Ezzie laughed lightly. "You should have heard the sound your head made when it smacked against the floor. I thought for sure you had cracked it wide open." She continued to snigger. Leave it to Ezzie to make a joke at the worst of times. Genevieve knew she meant well. "Sorry to have missed it." She said, scooping her ingredients into the bubbling cauldron. It let out a sudden puff of smoke, then began hissing.

"Brilliant. You're the first to finish. That should get you on Snape's good side." Ezzie said, wafting the orange smoke away from her face. Genevieve looked towards Snape's desk. He was hunched over, scribbling on a piece of parchment, the tips of his greasy black hair grazing the glossy wood. "Does Snape even have a good side?" She commented, ladling the thick potion into a test tube. Ezzie stood up, patting Genevieve's head mockingly. "You'd be surprised." She said, then walked off. Genevieve somehow seriously doubted that.

*****

Genevieve was thoroughly relieved when her final class was finished and the dinner bell rang. All she wanted to do was eat and go to bed. She thought the sympathy was getting to her before. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate it, but she couldn't go anywhere without someone stopping her to say they were sorry. It had gotten to the point where the phrase was beginning to have little meaning.

Aside from the house ghosts singing her fathers songs, and everyone looking at her during dinner, Genevieve thought everything went beautifully. Her stomach was full and she was genuinely tired as she made her way up to bed with the rest of the Gryffindor's. When she reached her bed, Olivia was perched on her nightstand, head buried in her feathery chest. Genevieve looked at her bed, and found a guitar case lying across it.

"Where did you come from?" He voice wondered, escaping her lips. She unhooked the latches and lifted the lid. Her throat tightened instantly, her eyes throbbing with tears. It was her father's 1956 Gretsch guitar. There was a slip of parchment placed underneath the strings. She picked it up lightly, unfolding it with great care. Tears spilled over her eyelids when she realized that it was a note to her, written in her father's hand.

My little Pumpkin~

I've never been good at saying goodbye. Just remember that I love you, and I always will. I know that you will take good care of this for me. But most importantly, I want you to take care of yourself. I'll always be with you when you need me. I love you.

~Dad

Genevieve hugged the letter to her chest and sobbed. He knew he was going to die, she thought, and he never made any attempt to stop it. She closed the guitar case and quickly slipped onto the bed. She whimpered into her pillow, missing her father so much it was as if her heart were being ripped from her chest. Why did he have to die? Not to mention the still unanswered question as to how he died. If only she had been home to protect him. Then she realized that had she been home, she could have been killed herself. The loss and hopelessness she felt was growing unbearable. She just wanted her father back.