CHAPTER TWO
Madam Pince's hysterics upon finding my lifeless body that morning marked an important moment of my ghosthood. I saw from an aerial viewpoint (not that that's uncommon to me now) professors and students alike rushing towards her.
I saw them swarm to my dead body. Saw professors steer the students away as quick as they could come. I watched as McGonagall tried to keep her tears in long enough to decide on how the matter of my death should be handled. The whole time I was there, no-one noticed. Later I learnt from the Grey Lady the trick to being seen. Though I cannot say I've ever needed to use it.
An hour or so after the initial discovery I watched my now useless carcass being carried from the library by Hagrid. I followed Hagrid out to a small shed I hadn't known existed, and was witness to the way we are preserved until the mourning.
I traveled to my old dorm and watched them pack my things so carelessly. Throwing my life into a big dark box that was to be sent to my parents.
Days later I was taken by Myrtle to my own funeral. As I watched friend after friend, family, teachers and creatures pay their respects to my now useless body something stirred inside me. The numbness I had been feeling after my death left me, and I could think clearly again. It was as Harry closed the lid to my coffin and they lowered me into a tomb that I knew I must find out who had done this to me. Who had taken my life without my consent.
For awhile after my burial I stayed near my tomb, until those I used to call my friends stopped coming to see me. When they no longer felt any pain at losing the 'Brilliant' Hermione Granger.
And everyday that I was out there, Myrtle sent out some poor innocent transparent figure she had found walking through some wall or another to come check on me. Grudgingly most accepted, for fear of what sort of tantrum she might chuck at them.
I've decided Myrtle must be the only person, Alive or not, who cared for me. When she first started to care for me and guide me through my first steps of ghosthood I regretted the way I'd treated her when I was alive a lot. In second grade I was so nasty to her, thinking that as a ghost it wouldn't matter. But it does. We dead still feel. And what hurts most is knowing that no-one really cares that you're gone.
So Harry and Ron visited my grave for the first few months. They've forgotten now. They forget until they need my help. Sometimes when I go through the dormitories at night, I hear them praying for guidance. They pray to me for help. Yet they cannot walk a hundred meters or so to lay a flower upon my forgotten grave. So I ignore them for the most part. Unless they're in danger, I think I'll let them work it out for themselves for a change. Give them some practice for their NEWTS.