A.N./: This is written from Hermione Jean Granger's point of view as it's happening. And I'm stating now that the royalty portion in here is merely a title that I found and was like "let's do that" so the lineage is way wrong so don't get angry that it's not right. Oh by the way Hermione is eleven years old about a month from being twelve.

August,

My parents and I made a surprise visit to France this summer, well a surprise to us anyway. But I was alright with it; France is beautiful in the summer. The reason for the trip however was not as joyous as the surroundings called for. Me and my father had to wear Victorian style solid black clothes for the dreary occasion-which was pure hateful in the heat, while my mother wore nice clothes of respective grey. It was my father's father's funeral; a man I had only met once at a family gathering when I was seven. I remember him as being distant to everyone; except for me. With me he was like any other grandfather, sweet, loving, happy, and enjoyed having me on his knee.

My father doesn't talk about his side of the family much but he did say-on the plane ride to France- that his father was leaving behind a title of royalty, he had after all been the Duke of Burgundy. However my father wasn't going to get the title because he explicitly denied it several years prior to my grandfather's death. Adding suspension, out of the other two siblings that my father had one died at the age of 26 in a car wreck, and the other was disowned at the age of 37 for tarnishing the family name; as such I was the only direct heir to my grandfather's title, which is why we had to attend his funeral in France.

I stepped into a large chapel and was overwhelmed with the dark colors centered around a half opened dark wood casket with my grandfather in it. The entire chapel, seemingly the entire region, was suffocated with a somber, noiseless, mass; omitting the curios whispered remarks as my father walked me down the aisle to the casket to pay my respects.

I couldn't help but feel like a prisoner walking to the gallows; my every step watched closely, my every subconscious fidget, every shift of my eyes, even the rise and fall of my small chest was seemingly memorized, analyzed, and stored for future review, almost like it might be my last; almost. After what seemed like an eternity my father and I reached the casket and I noticed the intricate embroidery of gold throughout the casket lining for the first time.

My eyes slowly work their way to my grandfather's large pale hands to the grand, gold-almost gaudy-necklace embedded with what I knew to be emeralds, rubies, and pearls. My eyes stuck onto my grandfather's silky blue tie and I felt my eyes water, this was the tie he wore when we met and he told me all those wonderful stories that made me laugh, but I smile a small smile as I also notice his tie is still skewed to the right just as it was when we met. When I feel the hot burning sadness drip down my pale cheeks I chuckle and reach out and fix the tie then I kiss both his cheeks and his forehead and wipe my tears away with the back of my hand then I allow my father to lead me to the front pew where we are seated next to my 3 great-uncles, 3 great-aunts, and their children; I can't help but notice they all avert their eyes and the children even bow their heads slightly.

The service starts and the speaker addresses the audience in French, a prayer is said in French and more speakers come up in a blur of tears and French words that hold no meaning to me. All too soon however the talking is over and I follow the coffin that my father helps carry to a pre dug grave and a final prayer is said as the casket is lowered, then the ceremony of the tossing in of the flowers comes and I am given the only blood red rose, I hold it with two hands and whisper into the soft petals:

"Grand-père au revoir" with this message I gently let the blood red flower float down to the smooth dark wood, and as soon as it touches down a volley of white flowers fly into the grave and another pang of loss strikes down into my very soul as I steal a final glance at the coffin before my father guides me away, back to the church.

"Where are we going now Father?" I ask as we step over the threshold of the chapel.

"We're going to go hear your grandfather's will be read, Hermione" He says lowly and doesn't stop walking.

Just as he says this we arrive at an open set of oak looking double doors and I can clearly see a jowly man with white wispy hair, looking more out of shape and sickly than the man we just laid to rest a few moments ago, sitting behind an elegantly carved dark wood desk with a single vanilla folder lying innocently in the middle. Entering the room I see my Grandfather's two brothers and sister already seated on the couch. My father guides me to sit next to a great-uncle who I can tell is the youngest of the three, my father stands behind me.

"Lynol could you please close the door, it's a private reading" the lawyer says, I'm surprised to hear that he's an Englishmen.

The only response is a solitary nod from "Lynol" as he closes the doors behind him.

"Are we all ready?" the lawyer asks licking his lips nervously.

I give a shaky "yes" in chorus with the almost eager nods of the others on the high backed couch.

The lawyer smiles brightly down at me when he hears my English accent, "you must Hermione" he says happily but with a somber stroke in it, "your grandfather must have loved you very much".

"Why do you sa-" I start to ask but am cut off by the great-uncle farthest away from me:

"Enuff ov dis idell chatar gat own wid z will" the man says bitterly.

"Egg-nore im chérie" the man next to me says kindly. It is then that I notice all of them have blue eyes but they all have a different look to them. The first man, his eyes are a hard cold blue, the woman's eyes are kind of vacant and dull, but the man next to me, he has soft gentle eyes.

"Let's begin then" the lawyer says opening the folder and looking down at a lonely sheet of paper with cursive hand written words on it.

The lawyer cleared his throat and then begun to read aloud to his small audience, "Ahem, 'I, William Sebastian Granger herby, in the event of my demise-natural or otherwise-leave my brother, Henri my safety deposit box number 369 and all its contents to do with what you will.'", to this the eldest man on the couch smiled and bowed his head.

The lawyer continued, "'To you Isabella, dear sister, I leave my safety deposit 837 and all its contents to do with whatever you desire.'", to this the woman raised an eyebrow questioningly.

The lawyer continued again, "'To Louis, my youngest brother, I leave his favorite horse Michael and all his benefits and legally ownership to do with whatever he pleases'" to this the man closest to me smiled in relief.

The lawyer, with a quick glance at me, put two safety deposit boxes on the table then continued, "'I also bequeath all my material objects, lands and houses, monies, and any other possessions that I legally own, as well as any claims I'm permitted and my obligations-should she accept them, omitting the two safety deposit boxes and the horse, in addition to my title of 'Duke of Burgundy' to my dear granddaughter Hermione Jean Granger'".