Chapter 9.
AN...Song is "The Rose." By Bette Middler.
It had been two weeks since they had learned of Hermione's death, and now, nearing the end of July, Harry and Ron stood in the kitchen of the Burrow, waiting for Ginny. They were in uncomfortable black trousers and shirts. It wasn't the clothes that were uncomfortable...just the whole day. The fact that they should be wearing black clothes at all. A few minutes later, Ginny came downstairs in a black dress and joined everyone else in the kitchen, and they went outside. It was a warm day, sunny, but not too hot, with a slight breeze...just as Hermione liked it, Harry thought. Mr Weasley had asked the Minister for special permission to set up a portkey, and they stood round it now, an old chipped mug. As they all placed a finger on it, Ron noticed that there was a rose on it, worn away by time. Just at that, he felt the now-familiar tug from his navel, as the portkey took them to their destination.
They were in a small garden enclosed by apple trees. Harry looked at the Weasleys...this didn't seem right...all of them dressed in black, their vibrant hair even more pronounced against their clothes. Mrs Weasley put her arms around Harry and Ron and gave them a quick hug before rounding up the rest of them. As they walked out, they realised that the small garden was just a corner of the big gardens at the church. The church itself was...it was beautiful. Even Harry, who didn't really care much for the beauty of things before these past few weeks, marvelled at it, with the little cherubs carved into the red stone at it's peaks, and a circular stained-glass window above the door, and the bushes and flowers which lined the path to the steps at the entrance. It was a perfect day, all the flowers were in bloom, and...the setting just looked so beautiful. Harry didn't like that, it was like the Earth was so happy. He couldn't understand how anyone could be happy anymore.
They walked in and sat through the service, crying many times. There weren't many people there, Mr and Mrs Granger had only wanted it to be small, just family, but, of course, the Weasleys...and Harry were an exception. After the service, they all stood round the open grave while the priest read out a small prayer. Harry hated this part...everyone staring at her white coffin...her body just inches below the surface of the wood...he felt it was degrading to her...although she...although she was...he couldn't even think the word.
Music started playing in the background as the priest finished.
Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.
Mrs Granger slowly walked up to the grave and placed a white rose on the coffin. 'Her favourite...' Harry thought. She stepped back into the crowd, crying into Mr Granger's shoulder. Tears were rolling down Ron's cheeks. He couldn't help it. He used to hate crying, it was a 'girl's thing', but now he had stopped caring, he had cried so much in the last few weeks. What made it worse is that they didn't know why. Why. Why she would do this to herself. What would be so bad she couldn't tell him about it, or Harry, or her parents...anyone. Would it have helped? If he had been more persistent in asking her after....after the first time...would she have told him? Would he have helped, would that have made it better?…Would it have stopped her?
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.
The song continued, as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and men shoveled mud ontop of it. Ron wanted to scream at them to stop it, it was horrible, chucking mud onto the beautiful white coffin...onto his beautiful Hermione. He disolved in tears again, and felt his mothers arms wrap around him. "Goodbye." He whispered. "I love you, Hermione." He looked down at the last patch of white on her coffin before it was covered with mud. "I love you."
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.
AN...Song is "The Rose." By Bette Middler.
It had been two weeks since they had learned of Hermione's death, and now, nearing the end of July, Harry and Ron stood in the kitchen of the Burrow, waiting for Ginny. They were in uncomfortable black trousers and shirts. It wasn't the clothes that were uncomfortable...just the whole day. The fact that they should be wearing black clothes at all. A few minutes later, Ginny came downstairs in a black dress and joined everyone else in the kitchen, and they went outside. It was a warm day, sunny, but not too hot, with a slight breeze...just as Hermione liked it, Harry thought. Mr Weasley had asked the Minister for special permission to set up a portkey, and they stood round it now, an old chipped mug. As they all placed a finger on it, Ron noticed that there was a rose on it, worn away by time. Just at that, he felt the now-familiar tug from his navel, as the portkey took them to their destination.
They were in a small garden enclosed by apple trees. Harry looked at the Weasleys...this didn't seem right...all of them dressed in black, their vibrant hair even more pronounced against their clothes. Mrs Weasley put her arms around Harry and Ron and gave them a quick hug before rounding up the rest of them. As they walked out, they realised that the small garden was just a corner of the big gardens at the church. The church itself was...it was beautiful. Even Harry, who didn't really care much for the beauty of things before these past few weeks, marvelled at it, with the little cherubs carved into the red stone at it's peaks, and a circular stained-glass window above the door, and the bushes and flowers which lined the path to the steps at the entrance. It was a perfect day, all the flowers were in bloom, and...the setting just looked so beautiful. Harry didn't like that, it was like the Earth was so happy. He couldn't understand how anyone could be happy anymore.
They walked in and sat through the service, crying many times. There weren't many people there, Mr and Mrs Granger had only wanted it to be small, just family, but, of course, the Weasleys...and Harry were an exception. After the service, they all stood round the open grave while the priest read out a small prayer. Harry hated this part...everyone staring at her white coffin...her body just inches below the surface of the wood...he felt it was degrading to her...although she...although she was...he couldn't even think the word.
Music started playing in the background as the priest finished.
Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.
Mrs Granger slowly walked up to the grave and placed a white rose on the coffin. 'Her favourite...' Harry thought. She stepped back into the crowd, crying into Mr Granger's shoulder. Tears were rolling down Ron's cheeks. He couldn't help it. He used to hate crying, it was a 'girl's thing', but now he had stopped caring, he had cried so much in the last few weeks. What made it worse is that they didn't know why. Why. Why she would do this to herself. What would be so bad she couldn't tell him about it, or Harry, or her parents...anyone. Would it have helped? If he had been more persistent in asking her after....after the first time...would she have told him? Would he have helped, would that have made it better?…Would it have stopped her?
It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.
The song continued, as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, and men shoveled mud ontop of it. Ron wanted to scream at them to stop it, it was horrible, chucking mud onto the beautiful white coffin...onto his beautiful Hermione. He disolved in tears again, and felt his mothers arms wrap around him. "Goodbye." He whispered. "I love you, Hermione." He looked down at the last patch of white on her coffin before it was covered with mud. "I love you."
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.