She stood in line with the rest of the student population, waiting to give her last respects to the boy who had died. She had never known Cedric Diggory that well, aside from a conversation or two she had with him during the course of the Triwizard tournament. As the line moved past the open casket, Hermione was apprehensive about viewing the body. Like every other student, she had a small pink rose in her hand, which was to be placed at the foot of the casket.
The funeral, which was being held at Hogwarts, had drawn the attention of hundreds of wizards and witches from around England. While the Minister of Magic was still refusing to acknowledge that Voldemort had returned, several other ministry officials had shown up. Cedric's parents were sitting up at the headmasters table in the great hall. Vacant expressions adorned their faces as they stared out at the great hall, not really seeing the faces of anything in attendance. The hall was decorated mostly in black, with some light touches of the Hufflepuff house colors.
She had heard the story over and over again from Harry. How Voldemort had simply said 'kill the spare', and Cedric's life was over. About how when his and Voldemort's two spells met, that Cedric's spirit appeared and asked Harry to bring his body back to his father. Hermione had been there in the stadium, heard the anguished cries of Amos Diggory, when Harry appeared back with Cedric's lifeless body.
As she walked up to the casket, she took a deep breath. She slowly peered in at the body of Cedric Diggory, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of deep sorrow. At that instant, she wished that she had gotten a chance to know him better, to have more then just one or two conversations with him, to know the boy behind the champion; who he really was.
She placed her pink rose on the pile of roses, and took one last look at the body of Cedric Diggory. That lifeless body was a symbol for the innocence of Hogwarts, of the wizarding world. Innocence was gone; the war was beginning. Cedric would be the first of what would turn out to be many funerals before the war would end. The first of many bodies, the last of innocence.