A Rose By Any Other Name.

By Kes.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, not even a good internet connection.

Hermione sat in an old chair opposite the main desk in Dumbledore's office, nervously sucking on a rather sharp sherbet lemon. The usual twinkle had gone from the old man's eyes, and his expression was a little more haggard than normal. Hermione grimaced inwardly, as that was never a good sign.

It had been a week since Hermione's outburst in the Great Hall. Sybil Trelawney had been informed of Hermione's situation and had been sickeningly simpering towards her ever since. Hermione still had to sleep in the infirmary, due to her nightmares which were always the same and the feeling of utter powerlessness overtook her during the daytime as well. Much to the annoyance of Hogwarts' Potions master, the dreamless sleep potion he had personally made was having no effect.

Since her unfortunate outburst in the Hall, she had not spoken to said potions master. However, the look of adoration – that was what she had decided it was – when her tirade began was now frozen in her memory. He regularly asked her how she was at mealtimes. True, he did not come to visit her, but then again neither had anyone else, really. They had decided to leave her alone lest they be next on her list.

What was most upsetting to Hermione was the fact that she was not allowed back into her house until the end of her father's hearing. Her own home was a crime scene. The thought alone kept her awake at night; her childhood residence, home to her few and far between happy and genuine memories was now evidence in a murder investigation. Suddenly CSI was not such a good TV show any more.

And that is why she is in Dumbledore's office, sitting in a lumpy but deceptively comfortable chair. She was scared, and nervously bit her bottom lip.

Dumbledore looked at her over the rim of his glasses, a kindly expression on his face when he inhaled deeply and began to speak. "We shall discuss who is to be your legal guardian for the muggle world at a later date, but right now I have something else which needs to be discussed. I've organised the funeral, only a few details left to sort out, the flowers and such that I felt were best left up to you. I checked with the coroner. They said you could have the...body...back. They've got all the...er, evidence...that they need." He smiled slightly at her, and placed his hand on hers that was on the table.

She nodded, looking at the floor, trying to hide her tear-filled eyes and he handed her a tissue.

Damn him. She thought, dabbing her eyes silently.

"I've got a brochure from the flower shop. I had to go and collect it; it would've seemed strange if I asked them to owl it to me!" His attempt at humour was rewarded with a weak smile.

"I'm afraid that I'm still not used to those non-moving pictures, as much as I like muggles…Here-". He handed her the book. "Have a look, see if there's anything that you like."

"Are there any with lilies? Or perhaps freesias? Those were her favourite. In a heart shape - do they do shapes? Never mind, I'll have a look." She looked in the book, flicking the pages rapidly as she did so, sherbet lemon now forgotten.

Dumbledore noticed that she was talking to both him and herself. After a few minutes of the paper rustling, he heard her exclaim:

"That's it! It's perfect! It's just what I want. Oh, there aren't any freesias..." She said, disappointed.

"I'm sure they'll add them on dear, not to worry. I'll ask them. Anyway, we must sort out who is to be told. Who do you want to come? You mentioned earlier this week that your mother was an only child?" Hermione nodded. "Well, did she have any friends that you wish to invite?"

"Yes, she did. Most of them are dentists, like her and, and...er, well. Could you contact them? I really don't want to, well, you know, tell them how she, er, died. She gave me an address book last year. I'm sure I've got it somewhere.

He smiled gently at her and nodded. "Certainly my dear, I understand. Well then, I'll set a date for...Friday? That'll give you three days to prepare yourself. Now I understand that this is a private matter, but I would feel more comfortable with a member of staff going with you to ensure that you are safe. I don't want you to fall ill. Who would you like to come with you?"

"Can I think about it Professor?"

"Of course my child, of course."

Three days later, Hermione, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape were on their way to a muggle funeral.

Although this was not how she saw herself at her mother's funeral – she was a few decades too young for a start – she was glad these three were with her. Professor Dumbledore had helped her sort things out, Professor McGonagall was her Head of House. As for Snape? He had saved her life, and she had begun to feel the need to rely on him.

Her mother was to be cremated. Hermione had to decide that for herself due to the lack of directions by her mother, but she felt that this was the only way her mother could truly rest in peace without all the wounds he had left her with.

Speaking of 'him', her father was nowhere to be seen. He had asked his lawyer to send flowers with a card. The message was never read, as Hermione set fire to them as soon as she set eyes on them, earning herself an appraising look from Severus. She had almost smiled until she realised why she was there.

It was a small service, with a few friends of her mother there, all of whom knew how her mother had died, or as much as they needed to know. They knew he had killed her, but they would never know the background to the story.

Hermione had to say a few words. She wanted to, but was worried she would let her mother down. She had decided to stretch the truth a little. But to her, as long as the words 'loving' and 'husband' never came across one another, it was alright. Now was neither the time nor place to bring hatred. It's not what her mother would have wanted. At the signal, Hermione rose slowly and hesitantly began to speak:

"All of you knew my mother. I know for a fact that all of her work colleagues, she considered good friends. She died tragically at the wrong place in time, for it was not her time to go. However, we must not question the judgement of almighty above, and accept what life has dealt us, and begin to move on. This, I know is what she would have wanted.

We must remember her for her kindness, her skill, and most of all, her bravery. Let that never be forgotten." She looked slowly around the room. "It is said that a parent should never have to see their child die, I say it goes both ways. Although I saw her life end, I will remember, she saw my life begin. And for that, I will be forever thankful.

I love you mum. I wish you didn't have to go and leave me, but if you're happier now, then so be it.

She's left us in mind and body, but not in spirit. She shall always be there, for all of us, whether we want her to be or not. She'll be as stubborn now, as always, telling us to 'wrap up warm' or make sure we sleep enough. She may not say it, but ours memories of her will echo in our minds always, as this is all we have left of her legacy.

I love you mum."

She had managed to make it through her small speech without crying, her eyes welling up slightly as she thought of her mother. Finally all the memories she had tried to repress the past week or so were coming up to the surface at full speed. She sniffed slightly and dabbed her eyes. Walking back to her seat she began to cry.

Without a word, barely a movement, she received a small black handkerchief with the initials SS embroidered into it in fine silver thread.

"Thank you". She whispered.