Narrative
Who: Hermione and Ron
When: January 10
Where: A Muggle cemetery
Status: On-going
Rating: PG
Summary: It's that time of the year again; Hermione goes to visit her parents' grave.
It had been looming in her mind since January first. It must have been on everyone's mind, but nobody said a word about it. Hermione was no different in this case. She kept busy, cleaning, organizing, reading a book or two, writing some long overdue letters, but if she ever had a moment to sit and really think, the memories would all come back to her. Aside from that and a couple nightmares, things went by quietly, as they seemed to do more and more lately.
A few more days passed, and the pressure seemed to lift, if only just a bit. She suspected that it was only because she had written Fred and George a letter. It made her wonder if staying quiet was really all that great of an idea. Hermione sent the letter and packages off with Pig, she stood in the window and watched the owl fly away. She was eager now, she wanted to do something to make herself feel better. She had never spoken so plainly about the war before, and she had never truly told Fred and George how much she appreciated them.
It was then that Hermione decided to do something that she had put off since the last week of September. Crookshanks jumped up on the windowsill as she closed the window, but for now she didn't pay attention to him; she didn't have the time. She moved quickly through the flat, getting in her desk and pulling out a letter. But then she remembered. She was a witch, she didn't need addresses or directions, she only had to imagine the place in her mind.
Deciding that she didn't have time to put everything back, she left the letter sitting on her desk. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a white sheet of paper on a dark wooden desk, and in Hermione's flat, no less. Papers didn't just sit out like that.
She pulled on her coat and apparated out of the flat and to the alley behind a florist shop. There, she bought flowers, perhaps spending a bit more than she should have on them. From the florist shop, she apparated to the cemetery that her parents were buried at. With the plots practically covered in snow, it was hard for her to make out which was which, and where her parents were buried.
When she found it, she instantly felt guilty. All of the graves surrounding them had lovely evergreen blankets or some sort of decoration. William and Helen Granger's final resting place was bare, almost sad looking. Thankful that no Muggles were around, she took out her wand and cleared the snow away, set the flowers down on their stone and cast a charm on them to make them stay alive longer. She could have just conjured flowers from her wand, but it seemed impersonal, in a way.
And though she felt ridiculous doing so, Hermione lingered at the grave after she finished, trying to think of something to say. It was ridiculous, they wouldn't be able to hear her, but she still felt it was necessary.
"Mum, dad," Her voice was quiet at first, but as she became more comfortable standing there, her voice went back to it's normal volume. "It's been... Well, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm half expecting to hear your voice, mum, so you can scold me for staying away for so long. Hopefully, you would understand why. And you, dad. You'd just stand there behind mum and let her do the scolding. You'd nod every so often when she'd turn to look at you." She smiled, though it was a sad smile.
"I miss you. Even if I haven't been around, I miss you. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you and wish you were still here. Sometimes I feel as if I made a terrible mistake, becoming a witch, that maybe if I had just continued school, Muggle school, you might still be here. I feel like it's my fault that you were murdered." Hermione sniffed and wiped at her cheeks to get rid of her tears. "But then again, if I had not gone to Hogwarts, I might have never met Ron, and I would probably not have met Harry.
"You would not have let me believe that, though, that it was my fault for your deaths and that I should regret every choice that I have made since I received my letter and begged the two of you to let me go. So I don't think I regret anything, or at least not everything. After all, the wizarding world has given me just as much as it has taken. Like I said, I might never have met Ron or Harry, and I would not have been able to help so many lives, and do what was right, and I might not have ever marr-- I forgot to mention that.
"Ronald and I got married. It was nothing big, actually a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing, not at all like me... You must remeber Ron, I imagine I only spoke about him all the time. I think you would have liked him. He is a wonderful person, really, though he does know just how to get me angry. We are opposites and that's what attracts us to one another. I suppose that silly saying is true, after all." She folded her arms and looked up at the sky.
"Merlin, it's bitter cold out here. I think I should go, before I catch a cold, and I certainly can't afford that. I'll come back on a warmer day, though. Merlin, I feel ridiculous for talking to a headstone." She moved to fix the flowers a bit so they looked perfect, then stood back up, staring at their names engraved on the stone. "I love you." she spoke softer now, her eyes welling up with tears all over again.
When: January 10
Where: A Muggle cemetery
Status: On-going
Rating: PG
Summary: It's that time of the year again; Hermione goes to visit her parents' grave.
It had been looming in her mind since January first. It must have been on everyone's mind, but nobody said a word about it. Hermione was no different in this case. She kept busy, cleaning, organizing, reading a book or two, writing some long overdue letters, but if she ever had a moment to sit and really think, the memories would all come back to her. Aside from that and a couple nightmares, things went by quietly, as they seemed to do more and more lately.
A few more days passed, and the pressure seemed to lift, if only just a bit. She suspected that it was only because she had written Fred and George a letter. It made her wonder if staying quiet was really all that great of an idea. Hermione sent the letter and packages off with Pig, she stood in the window and watched the owl fly away. She was eager now, she wanted to do something to make herself feel better. She had never spoken so plainly about the war before, and she had never truly told Fred and George how much she appreciated them.
It was then that Hermione decided to do something that she had put off since the last week of September. Crookshanks jumped up on the windowsill as she closed the window, but for now she didn't pay attention to him; she didn't have the time. She moved quickly through the flat, getting in her desk and pulling out a letter. But then she remembered. She was a witch, she didn't need addresses or directions, she only had to imagine the place in her mind.
Deciding that she didn't have time to put everything back, she left the letter sitting on her desk. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a white sheet of paper on a dark wooden desk, and in Hermione's flat, no less. Papers didn't just sit out like that.
She pulled on her coat and apparated out of the flat and to the alley behind a florist shop. There, she bought flowers, perhaps spending a bit more than she should have on them. From the florist shop, she apparated to the cemetery that her parents were buried at. With the plots practically covered in snow, it was hard for her to make out which was which, and where her parents were buried.
When she found it, she instantly felt guilty. All of the graves surrounding them had lovely evergreen blankets or some sort of decoration. William and Helen Granger's final resting place was bare, almost sad looking. Thankful that no Muggles were around, she took out her wand and cleared the snow away, set the flowers down on their stone and cast a charm on them to make them stay alive longer. She could have just conjured flowers from her wand, but it seemed impersonal, in a way.
And though she felt ridiculous doing so, Hermione lingered at the grave after she finished, trying to think of something to say. It was ridiculous, they wouldn't be able to hear her, but she still felt it was necessary.
"Mum, dad," Her voice was quiet at first, but as she became more comfortable standing there, her voice went back to it's normal volume. "It's been... Well, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I'm half expecting to hear your voice, mum, so you can scold me for staying away for so long. Hopefully, you would understand why. And you, dad. You'd just stand there behind mum and let her do the scolding. You'd nod every so often when she'd turn to look at you." She smiled, though it was a sad smile.
"I miss you. Even if I haven't been around, I miss you. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you and wish you were still here. Sometimes I feel as if I made a terrible mistake, becoming a witch, that maybe if I had just continued school, Muggle school, you might still be here. I feel like it's my fault that you were murdered." Hermione sniffed and wiped at her cheeks to get rid of her tears. "But then again, if I had not gone to Hogwarts, I might have never met Ron, and I would probably not have met Harry.
"You would not have let me believe that, though, that it was my fault for your deaths and that I should regret every choice that I have made since I received my letter and begged the two of you to let me go. So I don't think I regret anything, or at least not everything. After all, the wizarding world has given me just as much as it has taken. Like I said, I might never have met Ron or Harry, and I would not have been able to help so many lives, and do what was right, and I might not have ever marr-- I forgot to mention that.
"Ronald and I got married. It was nothing big, actually a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing, not at all like me... You must remeber Ron, I imagine I only spoke about him all the time. I think you would have liked him. He is a wonderful person, really, though he does know just how to get me angry. We are opposites and that's what attracts us to one another. I suppose that silly saying is true, after all." She folded her arms and looked up at the sky.
"Merlin, it's bitter cold out here. I think I should go, before I catch a cold, and I certainly can't afford that. I'll come back on a warmer day, though. Merlin, I feel ridiculous for talking to a headstone." She moved to fix the flowers a bit so they looked perfect, then stood back up, staring at their names engraved on the stone. "I love you." she spoke softer now, her eyes welling up with tears all over again.