26, August 2000

Hermione opened her fingers, slowly, one by one, releasing the soil. It made a soft patter as it fell against the shiny oak of the coffin she'd picked a few days before. She thought of how odd it was that something so lovely should be going into the ground. Forever. What an peculiar concept it was to pick such a beautiful object only to bury it.

She felt detached as she made her way back to Harry and Ron's open arms. She made sure to avoid all eye contact with the other mourners, which was easy to do when very few of them actually knew her.

They were strangers to her, most of them business associates, lawyers and the like. A few she recognized from a business-turned-pleasure trip she'd taken with her parents to the Alps in fifth year. Aside from them, most faces were unfamiliar. How strange it was that these people she hardly knew were here to mourn the very same person who meant everything to her.

She looked down fiddling with the hemline of her knee-length daffodil colored dress. She'd almost chickened out when she took the dress off its hanger that morning. It was uncommon and almost uncivilized to wear such a loud color to such a solemn event. But it was her dad's favorite. For years he'd called her his sunshine for that very reason. She'd miss the sound of his voice teasingly calling her that. It was one of the things she missed most when she was forced to wipe his memory clean. So she decided to honour her father with the dress. He'd always said he wanted a party when he went. He'd say "I led a reserved life; I mean look at me, I'm a dentist. I'd at least like to leave on a bang." But he didn't. It was a gloom event, just like countless other funerals she'd attended in the last five years. The only other attendants who weren't dressed in drab colors were Harry and Ron who were wearing a pink tie and a green tie, respectively. They'd noted her attire and followed suit without question and for that she was grateful.

She noticed belatedly that the legs beneath her little dress were moving. Harry and Ron were guiding her, each with an arm around her waist, to a black car at the end of the path. The crowd dispersed until it was almost as though they had never been gathered around the hole in the ground. Although most remained to socialize, which was the nature of a field where you can travel the world for weeks with a colleague cleaning and repairing teeth only to never see them again.

Hermione allowed herself to be led in silence, avoiding the gaze of anyone who would force her to speak. Instead she looked down, focused on the shredded napkin left over from her renewed break down on the way to the service. She opted to drive herself there, sending the driver of the long black symbol of death away, citing the need for alone time, but really just fearing the finality that riding in a limousine to her father's funeral would bring. So deep in thought was she about the symbolism of those long death carriages that she almost ran head long into two owners of nearly identical pairs of boring black shoes. If Harry hadn't pulled her body to his, she surely would have.

"Ms. Granger, you have my condolences and if there is anything I can do…" he trailed off in the way in which people did in those instances. There was nothing he really could do. This he knew and he knew that Hermione knew. And yet, he offered. Yes, those instances indeed. She did not know this man. But she did know that nothing he could do would make it better.

She looked to the unfamiliar face and realized after a time that it was a member of the clergy, Father Michael. He took her hand, placing a light kiss on the back, sending a deep shudder to her tail bone. She shrunk back. Her mother had never been overly fond of Father Michael. When young Hermione began experiencing unintentional bouts of magic, Jane Granger had gone to him with feeler questions about magic only to be met with hostilities and condemnation for her young child. She also believed him to only want money. Since then, Hermione remained wary of him.

He pretended not to notice her reaction to him but Harry did. He pulled her imperceptibly closer to him, giving her reassurance and love. She offered him a small grateful smile in return.

"Do you know what will happen to the practices?" Mister Other Black Shoes -as Hermione thought of him- asked. "I worked with Jane and Daniel in the past and it would be such a shame to see their three offices close. Are you in dental school? Your parents never said" By then Hermione had tuned him out. Three offices? When exactly had her parents had time to expand to three offices? She felt a gentle tap on her waist and looked up as Harry pointed over Father Michael's shoulder. Another boring black shoes who Hermione did not recognize was approaching, this time with what seemed to be purpose. His stride was heavy and deliberate. He hadn't been at the funeral, at least not that Hermione remembered.

"Ms. Granger?" he asked as Father Michael and Mister Other Black Shoes parted like wheat in the wind to let him through. "James Heitz, your father's executor. My condolences." She bowed her head, acknowledging his platitude. "I wanted you to know," he continued, "There will be a reading of your father's will Monday afternoon at two. Your father has very thorough instructions and insisted. I will be expecting you at my office. And it was your father's wish that only you be present at the reading." He eyed Ron and Harry wearily as though they were going to club him over the head and snatch the reading directly from his overcoat. Ron caught Harry's glance over Hermione's head and rolled his eyes dramatically. Harry snorted before returning his attentions to Hermione, who looked crestfallen at his news.

"I will see you on Monday, Ms. Granger," he said brooking no room for argument as he extended his business card. She took it and he walked quickly away without further conversation.

Ron saw his departure as an opportunity. "We must be going as well," he said nodding to the oddly dressed muggles. He took Hermione's hand in his own, once more guiding her towards to looming black car. She took the hint in spite of her dazed appearance and followed Ron as Harry guided her with a hand on her lower back. She climbed into the back seat of the car, letting out a large breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Mr. Heitz had snapped her out of most of the fog surrounding her emotions as of late, replacing it with a new worry. She was terrified to go to the reading alone.

"Want me to go with you under the cloak?" Harry whispered softly, not wanting to alert the driver to conversations about invisibility and cloaks. "You shouldn't have to go it alone," he said softly as if reading her thoughts. She considered the options but wanted to honour her father's memory. She shook her head softly. Daddy's little sunshine had to grow up eventually and get used to being alone.

A/N: These chapters are shorter than what I have been doing lately but I have been working from my old chapters and apparently younger me thought these incredibly short chapters were a great idea. Don't worry with the new material, I'll do better.