As the casket was slowly lowered into the ground, doom-laden clouds, bloated with hatred, roiled in the sky before unleashing their vengeful wares. The rain seethed, as if Alice's death had personally offended it, and shredded through the plume of ghost-grey mist.
Hermione glanced at Frank, whose back was stiff and his eyes on the grave. Neville was standing beside him, holding onto his hand and babbling as usual, while Augusta was on his other side, her head held high and face stoic.
Even though Augusta had cried for days before the funeral, she still looked like a warrior, and Hermione couldn't help but be inspired by Augusta's strength.
After the funeral, people Hermione didn't recognise walked up to Augusta and offered her their condolences. While Augusta was speaking to the guests, she caught Hermione's eye and subtly gestured towards Frank and Neville. Understanding dawned on her, and Hermione nodded before she walked over to keep an eye on Frank and Neville, who were still standing in front of the grave.
Silver nails of rain pinged and sissed off the marble headstone, streaming down the carved words.
Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother
Alice Fawley-Longbottom
Forever in our hearts
"I'm sorry for your loss," Hermione murmured, stepping closer to Frank. He would never know how sorry she really was.
Frank didn't reply; she hadn't expected him to either.
Neville tugged on her dress. Hermione looked down and found the boy standing there, his arms stretched towards her. She glanced at Frank, who didn't pay her any attention, and bent to pick Neville up.
Neville immediately placed his head on her shoulder and yawned loudly.
"It's okay, you can go to sleep. I've got you," Hermione murmured, rubbing Neville's back. Neville yawned and clutched onto her sleeve. His weight soon grew heavy and his head lolled as she stood there beside Frank.
People approached Frank and gave him their condolences before leaving or Apparating away. Hermione didn't move from her spot behind Frank, holding Neville close.
Augusta approached them after the last visitors were gone. Finally, her shoulders slumped and her expression crumpled. She seemed to age within seconds, wrinkles forming around her puffy eyes and her lips turning down in a perpetual frown.
"Frank, dear," Augusta murmured, placing her hand on Frank's elbow, "are you coming?"
Frank didn't move. He stood there, his eyes dead and his face expressionless.
Augusta met Hermione's gaze, worry and concern evident in her eyes. "We should get back to the manor soon. The spells keeping us dry will need to be recast, and frankly, I don't have the strength left in me to do them again."
"Maybe Frank wants some time alone," Hermione suggested. Her eyes slightly widened when Frank's shoulders relaxed just a little.
"I know I'm asking a lot, but could you…" Augusta glanced at Frank and then back at Hermione.
"It's alright, Mrs Longbottom. I'll stay here with him as long as he wants," Hermione replied, agreeing to the unspoken request. Besides, what else was she supposed to do? Say no to the woman after getting her daughter-in-law killed?
She did have a checklist ready to go through, but Frank was her first priority. All other things came second.
"Thank you so much." Augusta reached out for her grandson. "Here, I'll take Neville."
Hermione carefully passed the sleeping boy to Augusta, and he whined, reaching for her in his sleep. Although her heart fluttered at his simple action, she ruffled his hair and let Augusta carry him away towards the Apparition point.
Once they were gone, she turned back to Frank. "Looks like it's just us."
Frank stared at the grave while his robes billowed about his knees, fluttering in the stormy wind. His hair was plastered to his forehead even though the Umbrella spell was shielding him from the icy rain.
"I'm not leaving this place without you," Hermione assured him, "but I'll step away to give you your privacy."
Ignoring her, Frank approached the gravestone and knelt in front of it. It was the first thing he had done by himself; Augusta was usually guiding him throughout the day.
"Okay then, I'll leave you to it." Hermione took a few steps back and turned to the side.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Frank's shoulders trembling. He ducked his head, but the low keening sound that left his mouth broke her heart. Hermione tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, but it was nigh on impossible. Frank's cries grew more and more anguished as he knelt there in the mud, not caring for the state of his black robes. He raked his quivering fingers through the mud beneath him.
As Frank let go of all pretences and sobbed like a child at the foot of his dead wife's grave, Hermione realised something.
No one in her time would have ever reacted to her death in the same way because there was no one who loved her as intensely and passionately as Frank loved Alice. And no one ever would.
Bitter envy suddenly dug its talons into Hermione's heart. She was startled by her reaction and immediately tried to mentally reason with herself, but the emotion had already cemented its place in her chest.