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Hermione Granger had woken up to the knowledge that she was supposed to attend the wake of one of her friends.
Her mother had made her put on her favorite (only) dress. The black one that she had insisted to her parents was necessary because she had read so in some Vogue magazine she had found in the waiting room of their practice (and just because it was Coco Channel who had stated so), and that she used only in special occasions.
Like this one, apparently.
Her lip trembled and a veritable river of tears crossed her cheeks.
Her parents couldn’t come to Hogwarts, but the Headmaster had sent Professor Snape for her, who saluted her with a very awkward “I am very sorry, Miss Granger” that could very well have been intended to express his commiseration at her loss or sympathy for having to introduce her to a new form of wizarding transport, before apparating with her to Hogsmeade, where he made sure she didn’t fall flat on her face (or puked over his robes), and escorted her towards the castle, and then towards the empty Great Hall, where he explained briefly what was going to happen and she was instructed to wait.
At that moment the Potion’s Master seemed to want to tell her something but his face arranged itself in the same old frown she knew so well, and he turned around and walked away in a ruffle of robes.
It was a relief to be left alone to cry if some random thought reminded her of her friend.
(Also, she was sure that Professor Snape was not entirely sure on how to manage feelings, so it was for the better in both their cases)
She had been seated in one of the chairs that surrounded the spot were Harry’s coffin was supposed to be put when the muggles released the body for nearly half an hour, watching absently the flowers that were arranged and rearranged by house-elves, and that were menacing to form their own ecosystem by force of their sheer quantities, when the coffin arrived.
It was a white and ornate thing, with golden handles and polished wood, levitated by Professor Dumbledore, who looked older and tired, and followed by Professor McGonagall, who was crying on Professor Snape’s shoulder, who, for his part, looked equal parts uncomfortable and constipated.
They seemed not to notice her when they put the casket on a sturdy table, but Snape had his dark eyes on her when the levitation charm was lifted and made a sharp nod with his head that invited her to come close when the headmaster was about to open the coffin.
She had given two steps towards them in an instinctive response but stopped cold when it became obvious what was going to happen.
She didn’t want to see him. Not like that.
But the lid was already open and she could see her friend’s favorite shoes, the ones he had bought his first time in Diagon Alley. And his pale hands. And his purple nails.
Her vision blurred with tears and her hands rushed towards her face in an attempt to stop them or to stop herself from watching. ‘Nothing else’ she begged to whatever higher power was out there ‘please, I don’t want to see him’ she already knew that the vision of Harry’s hands was going to haunt her for years.
She tumbled blindly towards her chair and sat down with her hands still pressed against her eyes. It was just when she heard the soft thump of the lid being closed that she looked up and found herself being watched by the adults.
“I am sorry Miss Granger” Professor Dumbledore’s voice sounded raspy but still strong “is always hard to lose someone before their time, and harder yet to lose them in ways that we cannot understand, but know that we must be respectful of his decisions, even if we don’t agree with them, and remember him as he was, not as how he left”
Hermione wanted to take Dumbledore by the shoulders and shake him, and maybe scream ‘I don’t care, I want him here’ given that she was twelve and her best friend had become no more than a memory. Instead, she clenched her jaw, masked her scream as a sob and nodded.
The rest of the evening was a blur of faces and voices, people who she had never seen before but who cried as if they had known Harry all their lives, her classmates, who looked confused and sad, the Weasleys, that had hugged her in turns and cried in each other’s arms.
Even Malfoy, who had looked shaken and pale, had come to her and Ron and sat silently with them with tears in his pale eyes, at least until a man that looked very much like him (and was most likely his father) had ordered him to move, looked at Hermione and Ron with a sneer, and almost dragged Draco out of the Great Hall.
It was a long, long evening, that ended with her alone and tired, eyes and mouth dry after a day of crying, still watching the coffin and the flowers, still seated in the same chair she had occupied for the longest part of the affair.
She didn’t feel ready to talk to Dumbledore or McGonagall, given that one small spiteful part of her was convinced that they (as Headmaster and Head of House) could have done more for her friend, so it was Snape that she went to after standing from her place, cleaning again her cheeks and pressing her dress with her hands in the best impression of control she could gather at the moment.
And it was Snape, surprisingly, who nodded without her needing to say anything, and who silently took her back home.
She was tired and was more than ready to retire to bed when they arrived to her house, and there were a few tense moments in which both professor and student paused, each lost in their own minds, until Snape decided it was enough dawdling and cleared his throat.
“I will come back for you tomorrow, Miss Granger”
“Thank you, sir”
He watched her with a closed off expression, dark eyes scanning her soul, and not for the first time Hermione asked herself if her teacher could read her mind.
It was a very concerning thought.
“Don’t worry, Granger” said Snape, his voice firm and loud in the quiet summer night “everyone reaps what they sow”
He didn’t even wait for her parents to fully open their door before apparating in the spot, and she was left still tired, still wanting to sleep and wake up only when the pain had subsided, yet, somehow, that was the most comforting thing she had heard that day.