Chapter Text
It is raining of course. When isn’t it raining in England, she supposes. But rain today, of all days, was somehow less easy to bear. It is one more thing beating down upon her shoulders. Theo is dead, and it is raining. She will never get to touch his face again, and it is raining. She will never hear him laugh, and it is raining. She will never kiss his lips again, and it is raining. It is raining, and it is over.
The rain beats against the window pane of their London flat, as she sits on the edge of their bed staring out the window. Her black dress dangles from a black hanger on the door of their closet. Black heeled shoes sit in a neat pair on the floor below the dress.
She doesn’t know how she is going to stand from her perch at the edge of the bed and walk over to the dress, step into the dress, and place the shoes on her feet. How will she stand, in her black outfit and shoes, in front of the bathroom mirror and draw black kohl around her eyes and brush black mascara onto her eyelashes? Black makeup that will inevitably become black streaks down her cheeks from tears or rain or both.
The door to their bedroom opens, and someone enters. A gentle hand is trailing down her hair. Someone is speaking to her, but she is lost, looking outside the window—into the rain. The gentle hands are leading her to her dress and her shoes and helping her into them. They are gently urging her to sit on the closed toilet so they can apply black makeup to red rimmed eyes. The hands are guiding her from the room, pressing into the small of her back—leading her from their bedroom and into the entryway. The same hands slide her vine wood wand into her dress pocket.
Her black cloak is placed over her black dress and a black umbrella is opened overhead as they descend the front steps. Rain beats mercilessly on the dome of black waxed cotton. A hand grasps hers and they are whirling out of existence. Good, she thinks. I am no one, I am nowhere. But the feeling is fleeting and she is back in her body.
The drops of rain cling to the sharp blades of too-green grass that expand without end across the Nott estate. Grey blocks of stone in varying stages of decay dot the Nott family plot. Long red hair tickles her face as the same gentle hands embrace her tightly.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny says.
“Sorry?” Hermione thinks, but does not ask.
Ahead, a small collection of people stand around freshly tilled earth—beside a hole so deep that it will swallow her up. A person is talking, their lips are moving, but all she can hear is the dull roar of the waves of an ocean that does not truly exist. She is being invited to speak, but she shakes her head just once. The talking continues, and then the people disband, moving away from the great, deep hole, but not before each one drops a white rose into the abyss. One wave of a wand and the earth crowds into the hole. Another wave and grass sprouts across the mound of earth.
And now she is standing alone, with him. He is here, but he is not. Rivulets of rain thread down the face of the shiny black granite. In deep, elegant gouges words are written on its face: Theodore Eliphalet Nott, Heir to the House of Nott, 1980–2005. Hermione glances to the right at the bare expanse of grass—the place where one day she will rest. Where she might lay beside him—but not this day. She sinks to her knees and lets her tears mingle with the drops of rain sinking into the earth of his grave.
After a long time she stands. She turns back towards the manor—where they never lived—but where they would honour his life today with pieces of cheese served on fine porcelain plates. Someone would stuff finger foods into their mouth just before they told her how very sorry they were for her loss. She would nod as she stared at their greasy fingertips and wonder how it had come to this.
Standing in the arch of the Nott family plot is a man holding an umbrella—waiting. His white blond hair is unmistakable, even from this distance. She can’t see his eyes but she imagines that they are narrowed and his brow is furrowed with hate and blame in equal measure.