A/N The grandmother of a friend of mine passed away some days ago, and she has taken it rather hard…this short story is in memory of the deceased, even if I never knew her personally…
Forever
The day was sunny, albeit a quiet one. A few white clouds were scattered in the sky, and a slight breeze whispered in the trees, also faintly catching the wispy hair of the old man who stood on the forefront of the congregation. He was clad in an entirely black suit, recently pressed, and without a single seam out of line. His hands were crossed, and his head was bent down towards the ground. The eyes were nearly closed, while he murmured a stream of words quietly. His breath was shallow and rapid, as he concentrated rather intensely on what he spoke.
Behind him stood a crowd of equally grim people, both in dress and mood. Several women wore black veils over their shoulders. Near the front stood a tall, brown-haired, middle-aged woman, who looked on ahead with a stony expression, devoid of expression, with the exception of her eyes - they were glistening in the sunlight, but refusing to let a tear roll down her cheek…
With one hand, she had embraced her daughter - a beautiful young woman of approximately eighteen or nineteen, who bore the same soft facial expression of her mother, and her eyes, they were also a piercing green as her parent's. She was in a much more dissolved state, as she periodically wiped her cheeks, wet from the tears, and her body convulsed silently, in response to the sorrow that she poured forth towards the heavens…
The voice of the priest washed over the gathering, but she could not make sense of it. Only her name registered with her mind, as the priest said it.
"Hermione Granger, beloved wife, mother and grandmother…"
Indeed, Death was indiscriminate. However, that could not prevent the painful wound that opened within her soul, the minute she was informed of her grandmother's demise…only the following week, she had been thinking about spending the rest of the summer with her.
Memories of the good times flooded her mind. Her eyes became netted, uncomprehending, and she lost touch with the surroundings. The priest's voice was a mere distant wash of indistinguishable noise.
She remembered the long nights spent with her grandmother, when she was but a little girl. She told her incredible stories of her life, of her youth and adventures. In those times, she recalled listening raptly, her mouth slightly open with wonder and amazement. Her grandfather often joined them - he embraced her grandma, and smiled ever so slightly beneath his moustache, while looking on amusingly with a piercing green gaze at the innocent child.
In the meanwhile, her grandma continued her fantastic stories of danger, intrigue and love…her own experience at Hogwarts made grandma's accounts much more believable, but she found her duration at the ancient school much less exciting and intense…when she had voiced her frustration, her grandma had only smiled, and shared a knowing glance with her grandfather.
But now it was over. Forever. She would never see her again, and the fact was immensely cruel and saddening…and the main reason for the incessant tears that had poured from her eyes for two days now.
Her mother still embraced her tightly, and the same tight, constrained expression remained on her face. She cast her own eyes towards the crouching form of her grandfather. He was down on one knee, beside the casket of his soul-mate, which had finally been closed for the last time…
Overhead, clouds had gathered at some unobserved interval of time, and were growing darker by the minute. Soon enough, heavy drops started to fall, and a thunder rumbled at the distance…
As if the heavens themselves were crying with sorrow…
The people had started to dissipate, moving in groups of two and three back to the somber, black cars they had arrived with. Umbrellas opened against the intensifying rain, as they tried to prevent becoming soaked…
Her mother tugged her waist to make her come with, but she resisted. "Cyrene, Come on, dear," she implored her silently.
She still refused to move. "In a minute," she gave her quiet reply.
Her mother left her, seemingly understanding her need to grieve alone…the rain drenched her, but she did not care, nor feel it…
"Granpda!" she called through the storm, trying to attract his attention.
He didn't hear her, nor did he respond in any way. "Grandpa!" she tried again, louder than before, and beginning to worry…
Then, as she regarded his figure, did she understand. His head was slumped against the dark polished wood of the casket, and his eyes were closed. One hand was laying across the surface of the cover, and the other was clenched in a fist against the muddy ground, supporting him…
"Grandpa," she said again, but this time, it was solemn, quiet and defeated. The wound inside her opened afresh, and this time, she did not stop her tears.
Remaining there, she stood, while the rain continued to pour down heavily. Her life had changed in an instant. Life, that eternal teacher, had taught another of its harsh lessons. Death was a constant companion, obscure and not very prominent, but still there. When it came, lives were indeed changed.
Forever.
Fin.
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