Hermione's memorial service was humble and short, but the grief felt during the ceremony was tangible and hung in the air like rain about to come crashing down. Every single Hogwarts professor attended, even Trelawney, who murmured something about knowing this would happen before Snape gave her a glare that could shut her up for a week.
Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were the only students who came, though dozens of others had sent flowers that were arranged around the basalt gravestone, placed in a grotto near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It simply bore her name, the dates of her life, and the words, "A Great Talent, Extinguished Far Too Soon."
Poor Hagrid was bawling uncontrollably, his giant shoulders quaking. Flitwick was leaning against Professor Sprout, sniffling. Even Dumbledore was turning on the waterworks, despite the fact that he knew.
Harry and Ron were both sobbing shamelessly, Harry's arm wrapped tightly about his friend's shoulder as Ron cried against him. They continued to cling to each other, each needing to know that the other was there in a dark hour. Hermione had known they cared for her, but had no idea her death would affect everyone this way.
Dumbledore himself recited the words that sent a wizard or witch's soul to a peaceful rest, after which everyone stood in perfect silence. Leaves rustled as, one by one, each mourner walked slowly away from the memorial stone, either wiping a tear-streaked face or sobbing openly. She was tempted to follow Harry and Ron as they walked away together, but decided not to intrude on their moment--instead, she chose to listen to words addressed to her.
After a while, only Snape remained, a statue. Once he was convinced of his solitude, he moved to kneel gently before the stone, running his fingers delicately across its smooth black surface. Entranced, Hermione crept closer to him, crouching behind a nearby tree despite the fact he couldn't see her anyway.
"I'm not much of a poet," he whispered, "but I have found that another's words express my feelings accurately." His voice was trembling, something Hermione had never heard before. "I am…" he choked out the words with considerable effort. "I am going to miss you. You are the best student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching."
He reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope with Hermione's name written in a spidery hand, placing it gingerly at the foot of the gravestone.
"And I would that you had been more than that," he gasped, before burying his face in his hands and crying silently. Hermione could only watch, frozen as she beheld her most feared instructor in a state of complete vulnerability. He cried like a man who had not cried in years, and Hermione didn't doubt this was the case. He calmed down quickly, the floodgates closed again, but sat at the foot of the stone for quite sometime, his raw grief and regret etched into his face. For the second time since her charade had begun, Hermione fought an overwhelming desire to reveal herself. If only she could touch him, somehow let him know that she had heard his confession, or that she hadn't left him to suffer all alone. She had no doubt that Snape always suffered in solitude.
Before she could do anything rash, Professor Snape rose, whispered a final goodbye, and walked slowly back towards the school. Hermione knew he was lonely in his grief, and sat in silence herself until she could no longer see him. Then, unable to help herself, she dove for the envelope he had left behind.
The paper was thick, and smelled like old books and herbs. Hermione tried not to smile through her tears as she opened it gently, careful not to damage either the envelope or its contents. She recognized the poem immediately, and allowed herself to become visible again as she crept behind a tree to read it expressed in Snape's impeccable penmanship.
"Elegy for Jane
(My student, thrown by a horse)
"I remember the neck curls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her,
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,
"A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
The shade sang with her;
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.
"Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
Even a father could not find her:
Scraping her cheek against straw,
Stirring the clearest water.
"My sparrow, you are not here,
Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.
The sides of wet stones cannot console me,
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.
"If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
I, with no rights in this matter,
Neither father nor lover."
Hermione read the poem over and over, pondering the statement that, believing her dead, Snape had made. Drained of tears, she folded the letter gently, placing it inside her robes next to her heart. Even then, Hermione knew she would treasure that poem for the rest of her life, though for what reasons she didn't know. As she made her way towards Hogwarts, she disappeared from sight like the spirit everyone thought her to be.
A/N: "Elegy for Jane" is a lovely poem by Theodore Roethke. I've always loved it, so I decided to apply it to an SS/HG story. Please review! I love to get feedback. ;)
Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were the only students who came, though dozens of others had sent flowers that were arranged around the basalt gravestone, placed in a grotto near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It simply bore her name, the dates of her life, and the words, "A Great Talent, Extinguished Far Too Soon."
Poor Hagrid was bawling uncontrollably, his giant shoulders quaking. Flitwick was leaning against Professor Sprout, sniffling. Even Dumbledore was turning on the waterworks, despite the fact that he knew.
Harry and Ron were both sobbing shamelessly, Harry's arm wrapped tightly about his friend's shoulder as Ron cried against him. They continued to cling to each other, each needing to know that the other was there in a dark hour. Hermione had known they cared for her, but had no idea her death would affect everyone this way.
Dumbledore himself recited the words that sent a wizard or witch's soul to a peaceful rest, after which everyone stood in perfect silence. Leaves rustled as, one by one, each mourner walked slowly away from the memorial stone, either wiping a tear-streaked face or sobbing openly. She was tempted to follow Harry and Ron as they walked away together, but decided not to intrude on their moment--instead, she chose to listen to words addressed to her.
After a while, only Snape remained, a statue. Once he was convinced of his solitude, he moved to kneel gently before the stone, running his fingers delicately across its smooth black surface. Entranced, Hermione crept closer to him, crouching behind a nearby tree despite the fact he couldn't see her anyway.
"I'm not much of a poet," he whispered, "but I have found that another's words express my feelings accurately." His voice was trembling, something Hermione had never heard before. "I am…" he choked out the words with considerable effort. "I am going to miss you. You are the best student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching."
He reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope with Hermione's name written in a spidery hand, placing it gingerly at the foot of the gravestone.
"And I would that you had been more than that," he gasped, before burying his face in his hands and crying silently. Hermione could only watch, frozen as she beheld her most feared instructor in a state of complete vulnerability. He cried like a man who had not cried in years, and Hermione didn't doubt this was the case. He calmed down quickly, the floodgates closed again, but sat at the foot of the stone for quite sometime, his raw grief and regret etched into his face. For the second time since her charade had begun, Hermione fought an overwhelming desire to reveal herself. If only she could touch him, somehow let him know that she had heard his confession, or that she hadn't left him to suffer all alone. She had no doubt that Snape always suffered in solitude.
Before she could do anything rash, Professor Snape rose, whispered a final goodbye, and walked slowly back towards the school. Hermione knew he was lonely in his grief, and sat in silence herself until she could no longer see him. Then, unable to help herself, she dove for the envelope he had left behind.
The paper was thick, and smelled like old books and herbs. Hermione tried not to smile through her tears as she opened it gently, careful not to damage either the envelope or its contents. She recognized the poem immediately, and allowed herself to become visible again as she crept behind a tree to read it expressed in Snape's impeccable penmanship.
"Elegy for Jane
(My student, thrown by a horse)
"I remember the neck curls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her,
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,
"A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
The shade sang with her;
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.
"Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
Even a father could not find her:
Scraping her cheek against straw,
Stirring the clearest water.
"My sparrow, you are not here,
Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.
The sides of wet stones cannot console me,
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.
"If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
I, with no rights in this matter,
Neither father nor lover."
Hermione read the poem over and over, pondering the statement that, believing her dead, Snape had made. Drained of tears, she folded the letter gently, placing it inside her robes next to her heart. Even then, Hermione knew she would treasure that poem for the rest of her life, though for what reasons she didn't know. As she made her way towards Hogwarts, she disappeared from sight like the spirit everyone thought her to be.
A/N: "Elegy for Jane" is a lovely poem by Theodore Roethke. I've always loved it, so I decided to apply it to an SS/HG story. Please review! I love to get feedback. ;)