Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for Sophie, for the Monthly One Shot Exchange.

Thanks to Jas for the idea for this, and Sam and Lizzy for Beta'ing.

Dead To Me

Tears streamed down her face as she painstakingly readied herself to approach the coffin. She didn't want to be here, it shouldn't have been him. They were supposed to be happy, living in a little cottage with redheaded kids running around the place having fun.

She wasn't supposed to be burying him.

Walking slowly, her dress sweeping the floor around her as she moved, she approached the open casket. He lay inside, arms crossed on his chest, scars littering his skin. His hair lay around his face like a red halo, his eyes closed.

Tears fell from her eyes, splashing on his suit jacket as she leant over the coffin.

"It shouldn't have been you, Ronniekins," she told him, reaching out a hand to stroke the hair from his face. "We were going to be so happy. We were so in love."

A thick gold chain hung around his neck, and she gently untucked it from the collar of his robe, allowing the words 'My Sweetheart' to be seen clearly.

"I would have looked after you; you would never have wanted for anything. Why did you have to leave? Why did you have to follow Harry? You should have stayed with me. You were already my hero, Ronnie, you didn't need to go chasing the bad guys!"

She swiped angrily at the tears spilling onto her cheeks. She'd cried so much for him; for the life they should have shared.

She was sad, but she was also angry, so angry with him, for getting himself killed. He'd ruined everything!

Shaking her head, she looked back down at the body nestled into the satin. "I love you, Ronnie. I love you."

"Is that… me?"

The healer glanced at the young man beside him, nodding softly.

"To her, yes. I believe she thinks she's burying you - burying the life you had together. She's entirely convinced that you died fighting in the war."

Ron watched sadly as his ex-girlfriend cried over a cardboard box. Just inside, he could see a tired looking ragdoll with red hair. He shook his head as she carefully stroked the messy hair of the doll away from it's face.

"Can I help her?" he asked the Healer. "If I went in there… would it snap her out of… whatever is wrong with her?"

"If it was that simple, we'd have allowed you to see her months ago," the Healer replied. "As it is, we don't believe Lavender will ever recover, although of course, we always have hope."

The two listened to Lavender mourning Ron, Ron wincing every time she said his name. He felt awful. Was this his fault?

"Did I do this?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. "By leaving her to the mercy of the Carrows at Hogwarts? Is this my fault?"

"No, son. Lavender went through some very hard times, and the deep trauma of those have manifested to leave her in this state. She's focusing on you, because while it hurt her for you to leave, it hurt less than the other things she went through. This is her way of expressing the pain she's feeling without giving into the memories that she's locked away."

Ron nodded in understanding, though he wasn't sure he did understand. He hated to see her like this; Lavender was no longer the vibrant young woman he remembered.

"Can I come back?" he asked, as Lavender turned away from the box, her hospital gown touching the floor as she walked, to curl up on the small bed in the far corner of the room.

"I wouldn't recommend coming too often," the Healer offered quietly. "Seeing someone you love like this…" he trailed off.

Ron nodded. This time, he understood exactly what the Healer meant. Pressing his hand to the glass for a second, a single tear dripping from his eye onto his cheek, Ron turned away, allowing the Healer to lead him back up to the main part of St Mungo's.

The long term mental ward was warded off to the public, for the safety of everyone.

The bright lights of the reception area seemed unnatural, the sun shining through the windows even more so. Ron left the building as fast as he could without running, the picture of Lavender 'burying him' etched firmly in his mind.

He needed a drink.

Sadly, he didn't think even the strongest of liquors would erase the image.

Lavender left the funeral alone, returning to the flat she now lived in alone. Sliding into bed, still wearing her dress, she cuddled her pillow to her and let the tears run freely.

As she slipped into sleep, hoping for a better tomorrow, believing that she could finally start healing from the loss of the man she loved now that she had closure, she didn't know that she'd be reliving the exact same scene upon waking.

And this time, there wouldn't be anyone watching.