A/N: Sorry for the long delay! This is a very short chapter, but the next
one I promise will be long, but it will take just as long as this one did
(possibly) because I need to catch up on some schoolwork, and I have lots
of projects to complete. I apologize again! Some of this chapter is a
little bit demented, but I've just figured out how to weave a lot of this
demented stuff into the plot. :)
Thank you for all the reviews!!
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Friday morning arrived all too soon for Hermione. So much was happening, and it was barely the first few weeks of school. She woke up early in the morning, and took her time to dress for the funeral. Her face was expressionless, and the Headmaster was to give her a portkey to her mother's funeral. She pulled her hair into elegant, loose bun. Harry was beginning to piece together that something major was going on with Hermione, and Ron was just as daft as ever, and suspected nothing peculiar. As she pulled on her black shoes, Draco walked into the room. She rose and put on her robes over her funeral clothes. They walked in silence to the portrait hole, and they pushed it open lightly. Draco grabbed her hand, and she looked at him quickly, then around the area.
"No one will be prancing around near our living quarters during breakfast, Hermione," he whispered.
She smiled slightly, and hand in hand, they walked toward the Great Hall. When they arrived at the door, he squeezed her hand lightly in comfort, and they went their separate ways. Hermione took a deep breath and entered the common room. She began walking toward her usual seat between Harry and Ron, and when she sat down both turned to her immediately. She sighed. 'Merlin, they ask me what's wrong on the day of my mother's funeral.'
"Morning, Mione," Harry half-smiled at her. "Ron and I-"
"-want to know why I've been so distant lately?" she finished.
They nodded simultaneously, and she sighed again. "My mother died on Monday morning," she whispered, "They-" she swallowed hard, a sob was rising in her throat, "they think it was suicide."
Harry and Ron's faces fell-and they each put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"Her funeral is today," she whispered.
"I'm sorry Mione," they each managed to choke out.
She nodded, and looked up into Harry's eyes. It was then that she realized just how much he could relate to her situation. He lost both his parents and Sirius. How could she not have told them any of this before? Ron, of course, she knew could not relate. But Harry would understand; Harry always understood her. Harry knew what it felt like to lose someone they loved. She smiled sadly at Harry, and he smiled back.
"Will you go with me to her funeral?" she asked quietly.
They nodded, and sat in silence.
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Hermione walked with her best friends slowly toward the cemetery. Her mother's casket was a pearly white, lined with gold, and covered in beautiful crimson roses. She knew her father had not paid for the beautiful coffin and flowers neither had her aunts or uncles. It was much too expensive. A few of her aunts and uncles stood around the casket, and looked toward her with grieving eyes. She could feel the lump rising to her throat, but held it back. Hermione looked at her friends, and they smiled sadly at her. She swallowed hard and walked slowly toward the group. She was immediately enveloped in hugs and words of sympathy and sorrow. The sky was filling rapidly with thick ebony clouds. Hermione did not listen to the man now speaking in front of her; she feared if she listened, she might breakdown. The rain began pouring down, and the raindrops hit her hard in the face. Hermione did not feel them hit her face; to her, it felt as if each of the icy drops was hitting her heart, and no one in the world could know the pain she was experiencing for the first in a long time. The crowd once surrounding the casket disappeared slowly, and Hermione picked up one of the roses carefully. Two hands touched her shoulders lightly, and she turned to her two best friends. A man began to lower her mother's beautiful casket into the ground, and Hermione immediately stopped him.
"Excuse me, Sir," she whispered, "May I-- can I see her just one last time?"
Harry and Ron each felt a pang of sorrow on Hermione's behalf. Harry knew exactly how she was feeling.
The man's face was grave, and the look in his eyes gave away that he knew exactly how she was feeling. He nodded, and lightly picked up the roses and onto a nearby chair. Her two friends nodded at her and left her, waiting for her at the cemetery's entance. The man opened the casket gently.
Hermione's expression changed from solemn and sad. Her now pale skin and her naturally beautiful face now held an expression of confounded and extreme anger. Her creamy brown hair was soaked across her shoulders. A single tear fell from Hermione's cheek and onto the rose in her hand. She looked at the rose, and her grip on it had tightened. The thorns pierced her skin. As blood trickled down her hand, she allowed the rose to fall to the ground lightly.
The casket was empty.
Thank you for all the reviews!!
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Friday morning arrived all too soon for Hermione. So much was happening, and it was barely the first few weeks of school. She woke up early in the morning, and took her time to dress for the funeral. Her face was expressionless, and the Headmaster was to give her a portkey to her mother's funeral. She pulled her hair into elegant, loose bun. Harry was beginning to piece together that something major was going on with Hermione, and Ron was just as daft as ever, and suspected nothing peculiar. As she pulled on her black shoes, Draco walked into the room. She rose and put on her robes over her funeral clothes. They walked in silence to the portrait hole, and they pushed it open lightly. Draco grabbed her hand, and she looked at him quickly, then around the area.
"No one will be prancing around near our living quarters during breakfast, Hermione," he whispered.
She smiled slightly, and hand in hand, they walked toward the Great Hall. When they arrived at the door, he squeezed her hand lightly in comfort, and they went their separate ways. Hermione took a deep breath and entered the common room. She began walking toward her usual seat between Harry and Ron, and when she sat down both turned to her immediately. She sighed. 'Merlin, they ask me what's wrong on the day of my mother's funeral.'
"Morning, Mione," Harry half-smiled at her. "Ron and I-"
"-want to know why I've been so distant lately?" she finished.
They nodded simultaneously, and she sighed again. "My mother died on Monday morning," she whispered, "They-" she swallowed hard, a sob was rising in her throat, "they think it was suicide."
Harry and Ron's faces fell-and they each put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"Her funeral is today," she whispered.
"I'm sorry Mione," they each managed to choke out.
She nodded, and looked up into Harry's eyes. It was then that she realized just how much he could relate to her situation. He lost both his parents and Sirius. How could she not have told them any of this before? Ron, of course, she knew could not relate. But Harry would understand; Harry always understood her. Harry knew what it felt like to lose someone they loved. She smiled sadly at Harry, and he smiled back.
"Will you go with me to her funeral?" she asked quietly.
They nodded, and sat in silence.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione walked with her best friends slowly toward the cemetery. Her mother's casket was a pearly white, lined with gold, and covered in beautiful crimson roses. She knew her father had not paid for the beautiful coffin and flowers neither had her aunts or uncles. It was much too expensive. A few of her aunts and uncles stood around the casket, and looked toward her with grieving eyes. She could feel the lump rising to her throat, but held it back. Hermione looked at her friends, and they smiled sadly at her. She swallowed hard and walked slowly toward the group. She was immediately enveloped in hugs and words of sympathy and sorrow. The sky was filling rapidly with thick ebony clouds. Hermione did not listen to the man now speaking in front of her; she feared if she listened, she might breakdown. The rain began pouring down, and the raindrops hit her hard in the face. Hermione did not feel them hit her face; to her, it felt as if each of the icy drops was hitting her heart, and no one in the world could know the pain she was experiencing for the first in a long time. The crowd once surrounding the casket disappeared slowly, and Hermione picked up one of the roses carefully. Two hands touched her shoulders lightly, and she turned to her two best friends. A man began to lower her mother's beautiful casket into the ground, and Hermione immediately stopped him.
"Excuse me, Sir," she whispered, "May I-- can I see her just one last time?"
Harry and Ron each felt a pang of sorrow on Hermione's behalf. Harry knew exactly how she was feeling.
The man's face was grave, and the look in his eyes gave away that he knew exactly how she was feeling. He nodded, and lightly picked up the roses and onto a nearby chair. Her two friends nodded at her and left her, waiting for her at the cemetery's entance. The man opened the casket gently.
Hermione's expression changed from solemn and sad. Her now pale skin and her naturally beautiful face now held an expression of confounded and extreme anger. Her creamy brown hair was soaked across her shoulders. A single tear fell from Hermione's cheek and onto the rose in her hand. She looked at the rose, and her grip on it had tightened. The thorns pierced her skin. As blood trickled down her hand, she allowed the rose to fall to the ground lightly.
The casket was empty.