*Trigger Warning - Funeral, Mentions of Death*
The next few days passed without event. Hermione slipped back into her routine, minus her immense work loads. Her life felt brighter; the dark corners of the library were more often empty, and everything was punctuated by laughs and smiles from her friends. It was happier, to put it simply, but it felt like something stronger, more resilient than just contentment. It finally felt as though Hermione had breathing space again. Her sleep had come back to her and she hadn't had a nightmare yet, so there had been no further meetings in the Tower, although she now desired them more strongly than before.
But when she got up on Saturday morning, that boulder was lodged firmly between her lungs again. All the room she now had for deep, soulful breaths had been taken up by a swelling of solemness, because today it was her father's funeral.
So much had happened now since her father's death that Hermione had almost forgotten the bitterness, but it came back as soon as her mind turned on that morning.
Hermione lay in her bed, looking up at the canopy of her four-poster and hoping, praying, that she could make it to the end of the day. Just one more day, she told herself, and you never have to think about him again. It felt incredibly selfish. She wasn't allowed to dislike him for making her feel like this; Patrick Granger was gone, and all she had left were her memories of him. But now they were stained photographs, tainted so the stories behind them lost the glow. Thinking about her father for more than a moment felt like having a sour-tasting liquid thrown over her, soaking into her and spoiling everything. But it didn't matter. Just one more day and he would finally rest - and with that, so could she.
Hermione looked through her wardrobe at all her weekend wear. She had to find something black, but most of her clothes were grey or muted blue, sometimes tawny or navy. Eventually she settled on her only dress and performed a complex charm on it to turn it black for the day. It didn't exactly work, and a patch on the shoulder remained cream, so Hermione tied her dark grey scarf around her neck and allowed the edges to flow over her shoulders.
Frowning at her face, Hermione grudgingly admitted to herself she ought to wear make-up. It was a formal occasion, and her eyes were circled with shadows this morning. The only even vaguely make-up-like things she owned, however, were an array of lip balms.
"Ginny?" she whispered into the room. There was a snort and a murmur, then a contented sigh.
"Ginny!" she said, a little louder, and there was a groan and some barely disguised swearing.
"What time is it?" came a hoarse voice.
"No idea. I need help, Gin." Hermione said quietly.
"Can't it wait? I'm bloody tired..."
"It's my dad's funeral, and I need help with my make-up."
"...Give me a minute."
After some shuffling around and more swearing as Ginny head-butted the bedpost, Hermione was seated in front of the mirror in the dorm with a bleary-eyed Ginny scowling at her own reflection.
"I'll tell you who else needs some covering. Geez, I look tired. Now, stay very still and don't open your eyes unless I tell you," Ginny instructed as she got to work. For once Hermione was grateful for her roommate's extensive make-up collection, which normally spread itself over multiple surfaces and caused the majority of arguments in the dormitory. Hermione felt herself relaxing into the feeling of brushes, spoolies and sponges padding at her face, and tried to avoid looking at herself until Ginny had finished.
"Okay. See what you think, I have no idea what you wanted." Ginny said a little apprehensively. Hermione opened her eyes - which felt quite heavy - and looked at her reflection. Her first point of focus were her freckles and moles - or, more rather, that they had disappeared, and were replaced with smooth bright skin. Her eyelids were darkened with brown eyeshadow and enhanced with tiny flicks of eyeliner, framed with curled and darkened eyelashes. Hermione's lips were a muted pink, and suddenly she appeared to have cheekbones. Overall, she looked like an enhanced greyscale version of her normal self, and it suited her current mood perfectly.
"Thank you." she said. The words felt too heavy coming from her waxy lips, but she couldn't make them seem any more genuine.
"No problem. I know it seems awful right now. When we had Fred's funeral I... I... To be honest, I stood near the back the whole time because I felt so hollow I thought I was going to throw up. But... it stopped hurting for a few hours afterwards. I felt like maybe... Maybe we'd been able to say goodbye, and it was over now. He was properly gone, and that was okay."
Ginny fell silent, and Hermione saw her in the mirror. Her friend's eyes were drowning in tears, but she was blinking them back furiously.
"It's not my time to be sad," she said sternly, more to herself than to Hermione. "It's your turn to be sad, and I can't pretend that this one affects me. I have no right to be thinking over my problems when you're going to your own dad's funeral, so I'll shut up. I'm going back to bed."
Hermione watched as Ginny put away her tools and drew the curtains around her bed once more. As she slipped out of the dormitory and down the stairs, Hermione could hear little sobs coming from behind the thick fabric.
***
After sitting alone in Professor Clark's office for nearly two hours, Hermione was joined by the headmistress, Draco and Luna. Hermione had needed space, and Clark had willingly given up her office for her to sit and think about nothing until the other two were awake and ready to leave.
"Hey," Draco said softly. Hermione turned around in her chair, and saw him for the first time. Draco was wearing a dark suit, and his hair was carefully combed. He looked tired and slightly ruffled, but in that moment it seemed like the most beautiful sight to the careworn girl in the chair. Behind him, Luna was wearing a long grey gown with a black cape and the silver necklace her mother had given her.
"Morning," Hermione mumbled, looking Draco in the eye. He gave a little intake of breath, and she saw his cheeks heat up a little. She furrowed her eyebrows a little, wondering why.
"Y-You look nice," Draco smiled, a little shyly. "I wish the circumstances were better, but you look really, really good. I haven't seen you in a dress since the Yule Ball."
"Well, I'd rather it didn't have to be for this occasion, but thank you." Hermione tried to get all the gratitude she felt for his support into that one sentence, but it didn't feel like it had gone further than her lips.
"So, then," Clark said, her usual briskness gone from her voice, "A Portkey has been arranged that will leave you just behind a hill. It would be closer, but we can't risk any Muggles seeing you arrive. There's a little walk into the village, then by Church Road is Stapleford Church. The funeral officially starts in half an hour, so you should have more than enough time to get there and prepare yourselves."
"Thank you, Professor," Luna said gently.
"Not at all. I have to remind you that no magic can be performed in front of Muggles, even though you are all of age now, and that in an emergency you should use the Muggle way of contacting officials. I hope you can still... get some sense of... relief, I suppose. It will never be pleasant. If you need anything once you return, I am always here in my office. Good luck."
Professor Clark stood back against the wall and watched as Hermione, Draco and Luna gathered around a rusted tin can. Hermione put one hand on the side and felt Draco squeeze the other. She looked at him and smiled weakly as the jerking feeling appeared and they were whisked away.
***
"Today we are gathered to mark the passing and celebrate the life of Patrick Paul Granger," rang the clear voice of the vicar. "He was a good man; a loyal husband to Katherine, a just father to Hermione and a friend to all. Not one of us in this small village ever passed him without a smile or hello."
Hermione was sat in the church, head bowed and hands clasped. Either side of her were Draco and Luna; Luna was looking straight ahead unseeingly, Draco was blinking too fast to be normal. All around her were neighbours she hadn't spoken to in years, and family members she always declined speaking to. Her aunt was telling her twin cousins to stop shuffling, and her grandmother was silently weeping into a handkerchief. There were so many people in that one building to say goodbye to one person, but Hermione still felt very alone.
"We have messages to Patrick from those who were unable to join us today, but wanted the chance to formally acknowledge his passing."
Could the vicar stop using such ridiculous phrases? Hermione thought dismally. These were letters from grieving people who wanted to say goodbye for the final time. This wasn't a time to sound eloquent.
"The Stapleford Primary School has written in condolences to the Grangers, and thanking them for their continued support of the theatre productions even after Hermione had stopped attendance. Rose Gardens, for his continued donations to their vegetable patch and the joy he brought with him whenever he visited. Kelly and Andrew Granger-Johns, from New Zealand..."
Hermione found her concentration ebbing. Her father was more than the donator to a garden centre. He was more than the camera man at the school plays. Patrick Granger was her father, and he was more than a body in a coffin.
She felt herself shake a little, her body rocking as sobs began in her throat. A hand found hers, and Draco rubbed circles across the back of her hand with his thumb. She looked up at him and saw tears in his eyes too.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, "I didn't know him, I shouldn't be this upset. It's your place to be sad, not mine."
"Thank you," Hermione just said. She didn't know what else to say. She was so overwhelmingly grateful to him for his help over the months. He had every right to be sad. Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, crying softly as the vicar rambled on.
After a few more minutes it was time for personal statements. Hermione saw her grandmother stand up and walk shakily to the front of the church.
"My son... was a wonderful man. I will miss him. I don't really have much else to say, but... God, if you can hear me, I know it was your decision to take him early and you have done it as part of your divine plan. Patrick believed in you, as I do, and I know he will be treated well in heaven, because I know there is no chance he has gone anywhere else. I... will miss you so much, my little Patrick." Hermione watched as her grandmother's face crumbled and she broke down into tears. She waved off the vicar as he tried to help her to her seat, and wiped her eyes furiously against the tears.
Then it was her mother's turn.
"Patrick was a lovely person, right from the moment I met him. I'm not going to relay the story, because that was a moment we shared between the two of us, and he's not here anymore. The first time I realised I loved him was when he took me to see a film that I'd overheard him complaining about the day before. He knew I wanted to see it, and so he took me to watch it even though he despised it. And I think that's the best summation of Patrick; he was always so selfless. I remember his face when I said yes to his proposal, and I remember his face when I told him we were having a little daughter, and I remember his face when I told him I couldn't have another child after her. I remember every time I was sad and he helped me, and I'm trying not to be sad that he's gone now because there'll be no-one there to make me a pot of ginger tea and hold my hand while I talk. I'm going to miss him a great deal. So I I just want to say one last thing to him. Thank you for letting me share my life with you. I feel blessed that I could spend time with you, even if I would have loved longer. I love you, my dear."
Hermione could feel tears trickling down her cheeks as she saw her mother's white, drawn face. Kath wasn't crying, but as she spoke her hands were twisting the ring on her finger. It was a symbol of love, of unity, and now the reason it was there was gone.
"Now we have a statement from Patrick's daughter, Hermione Jean Granger," the vicar said, gesturing for her to stand up.
Hermione felt her stomach swoop. She hadn't prepared anything to say, and now she was certain she would have a panic attack. Her head started to feel light and the room seemed to swim in front of her, until she felt Draco squeeze her hand again.
"I'm here, it only takes a minute," he whispered, smiling as much as he could. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded before walking the few metres to the front of the church. It felt like an achievement just reaching the altar.
"Well," she said, pausing and clearing her throat as tears cracked her voice, "I don't know what to say. I... I loved my dad. He was m-my best friend, really, when I was younger. I didn't have many friends in my primary school, and when I moved to my secondary school I needed someone there for me when I wrote home. Dad never missed a concert, or a reading, or a play. Dad would always look at my homework for me, but he never tried to help me because he knew I wanted to do it myself. Dad always let my buy as many b-books as I wanted when I went shopping because he knew it was worth the money to see me so happy. He was willing to give up so much work whenever I got ill and had to stay at home.
"My dad was w-wonderful, and I don't mean he c-climbed mountains, or ran triathlons or donated money to children with cancer, even though those are great things to do. I mean he was wonderful because he had an ordinary life with an ordinary family, and yet he seemed extraordinary to everyone who met him. Dad really was something, wasn't he? And... now he's gone. So I'm s-sorry I broke your printer, and I'm sorry for having tantrums in the supermarket, and I'm s-sorry for being cheeky. I'm sorry I didn't always listen, and I'm sorry I couldn't always b-be the best daughter, and I'm sorry I was your only one. I'll just say thank-you for everything you did for me, and I'm glad I can say goodbye. You deserve it. I-I love you."
There was a little round of applause, just from Hermione's grandmother, as she went to sit down. Hermione felt her legs trembling as she collapsed back into her seat, and Draco immediately hugged her against his chest.
"Well done. Well, well, done," he whispered as he kissed the top of her head over and over until she had stopped shaking so hard.
The vicar wrapped up the ceremony, and then informed the guests that the funeral was all but over. The only thing left to do was to bury the coffin, and the Grangers had requested that it was limited to family only, to give them some final time with him.
Everyone listened to a final Bible reading, and then it was over. People stood up to talk to Kath or Hermione's grandmother, or to leave now it was all finished. Hermione was still crying a little, and was trying very hard not to rub her eyes and smear Ginny's makeup over her face. Draco was still hugging her, and Luna was now holding her hand and talking to her quietly.
"I think you made a very good speech. You didn't talk for too long, and you didn't ramble on like the old man did." The vicar, who was passing as she said this, glared at her for a moment before walking on by. "You said some good things too. Sometimes we need to remember that good people aren't always people who do lots of big things. They only have to be nice and fair and gentle, like your father was. I think you did very well, Hermione."
***
Outside, just behind the steeple, was a graveyard with a large ditch in it. Hermione was stood between her mother and her grandmother as the coffin was laid gently in the ground. She was alone now. Draco and Luna had said a brief goodbye and gone to wait by the Portkey for her to finish the ceremony.
Hermione looked up and saw a few rooks nesting in a tree. It was too early in the year for fledglings, but there were already some chicks calling boisterously for food. She watched as the parents flew back and forth with pieces of roadkill for their babies, seeing them gulp down the entrails and cry out for more.
There was a small thudding noise as the first few clods of earth were thrown into the grave. Hermione heard her mother sniff and saw a thin white streak appear on her cheek. Her grandmother was openly crying, and just before the gold lettering disappeared from view she dropped her handkerchief onto the coffin lid.
Her cousins were still pulling at her aunt's hand, asking when they were leaving and how much longer it would last, and her aunt was still telling them to shush.
Hermione wasn't crying anymore. Emptiness had filled her again, but it felt better this time. There wasn't the same desperation that had been there when her father had died. It was more of a feeling of closure; it was all over now. Patrick Granger was literally dead and buried, and she couldn't feel anything more than the reverberations in the ground as more soil was thrown over his lifeless body. It didn't feel bad that this was happening, because he wasn't there anymore. All that lay in the grave was his remains. There was nothing alive in there, nothing that could have offered her comfort.
Finally, the grave was filled. The soil was patted down lightly and new grass seed sprinkled over the fresh turf. Something new growing from something old. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The vicar said one more prayer, and then the small group dispersed. Nobody said anything, they all just walked away; even her mother barely nodded as she left for the carpark. Everyone, that is, except her grandmother.
"How's Hogwarts, dear?" she asked quietly, a small smile on her tired face.
"I-I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, dumbstruck.
"How is Hogwarts? I miss hearing about it." Her grandma was looking at her with hope and a degree of amusement.
"How do you..?"
"Your great-aunt was a witch - my sister. The power skipped every few generations, and even my sister was the first in our family in nearly fifty years. I was so proud when they contacted Patrick and he told me you were magical in the greatest confidence, not knowing I knew more than he ever would."
Hermione was dumbstruck. She never knew she had magical relatives. In fact, she was certain she was of solely Muggle descent. But of course, she still was. Magic hadn't appeared in her bloodline for a very long time, and the most recent witch in her family wasn't actually directly related to her. Hermione had relatives that knew about magic.
"Then, I'm still a Muggle?" she asked, wanting clarification.
"Yes, but you are still magical, Hermione. I was so proud that there was still hope for the Grangers. Your father never knew, but we have always had a little bit of magic in our history. It's just that nobody told, so nobody knew. I'm only sorry it took so long for you to find out, and that I had to tell you in such unfortunate circumstances."
Hermione stood there, looking at the headstone. It had her father's life in dates and figures carved on it, but nothing more than that.
"Look at it a little closer. Try touching it with your wand, if you have it with you." Her grandmother's tears had dried, and now she was smiling with fresh light in her eyes.
Hermione silently slid her wand from her sleeve and leaned against the headstone as though she was stroking it with her hand. As the tip made contact with the engravings, a little ripple bloomed from the point it touched and spread over the stone, changing the face of it entirely.
Instead of her father's name and life, it now showed a family tree. Hermione's name was at the bottom, leading up to her parents and branching into her cousins and her aunts, her grandparents, her great-grandparents and her long-gone ancestors. There was a little gold tint to her name and her great-aunt Bethany's, and a blue glow to her parent's names and her grandmother's.
"Gold says they were witches or wizards, blue says they knew about magic."
Hermione saw her family in a whole new light. She wasn't alone. She wasn't a rare mutation in her bloodline. She was Hermione Granger. She was a witch, and a Muggle, and proud of both.