The Last Goodbye

This is a place, which is not a place
in a time, which is not a time
halfway between the worlds of the Gods
and of mortals.

The elderly wizard spoke slowly, his voice shaking slightly under the scrutiny of the hundreds of wizards, witches, muggles, ministry officials, sqibs, teachers, students and house elves congregated in front of the willow coffin that lie upon the stone alter.

Ron Weasley sat in the front row of the congregation, staring blankly ahead, his eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow and uneven. His eyes appeared red and blood shot as he squinted slightly in the blinding sunlight. Purple bags had recently become a permanent fixture on his now ruggedly handsome face. His lips looked dry and cracked as they shook slightly due to the heavy emotion that he felt as he sat next to his best friend, who wore a similar expression of loss and remorse.

Ron glanced to his left where Mr Granger was sat gripping his wife's hand in a mixture of anger, sadness and total devastation. His wife looked on the edge of a complete emotional and mental breakdown. She shook uncontrollably, clinging to her husband's hand as if it were life. Ron returned his gaze to the wooden box lying on the alter in front, protecting his first, last and only love. Hermione Granger.

As Ron observed his best friend's body, rage surged through his body. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be sitting with the congregation for his girlfriend's funeral … he should be standing in front of them as he slipped a white gold band onto his wife's ring finger.

As the sun sets
so our friend has left us
the water of our tears like the salt water of the sea, and
like the water of our mothers' womb, blesses this Circle.

The words washed over Ron like a cool breeze. It was such a perfect day; it was unbelievable that something so contradictory was taking place. It was May 17th, a hot spring day; lives were beginning around them wherever he looked. Baby lambs were playing in the field next to where the ceremony was taking place, baby ducks were learning to swim under their mother's watchful gaze on the lake behind him, Ginny was supporting her heavily pregnant form to Harry's right and even Dobby and Winky were struggling to quieten their newborn child a few rows back. It wasn't fair, reckoned Ron. He and Hermione hadn't even had the chance to discuss a family. His fist tightened in his pocket as realisation flooded through his veins. Today would have been the day. It would have been perfect. There was no way she could have said no. Today, May 17th was the day Ron had planned to propose to Hermione on. It would have been the first step on the path to their own family, their future.

As life is a day
so our friend has passed into the night
the fire of our life, the memories and courage, the
strength given to us by our friend blesses this Circle.

Ron fought back tears as his memories raced backwards to the day he and Hermione had admitted their true feelings to one another; they had been attending a funeral themselves, Dumbledore's. In two months time, it would have been their three-year anniversary. It was the time of year Ron had planned on setting the date of their wedding for. Ron kicked himself now for not being quicker. He should have proposed the night they knew for sure Voldemort was dead. Why had he waited? Panicked? Wasted their final moments together acting nervous and shy around her? He should have known her father would be all too happy to grant him permission. He could clearly see they were deeply in love and Ron had proved that love by saving her life on countless occasions, putting himself at risk at the same time on a few.

Had he really considered that she'd even think about saying no? It seemed so stupid now to even consider that possibility …

Hermione had loved Ron more than she had loved reading any book, more than the amount she had revised before the O.W.L.s, more than she cared about knowing facts or obeying rules … maybe even more than she worried about the effect Voldemort's rein of terror was having on both Muggle and Magical worlds. They used to go into battle everyday, at Harry's side, simultaneously fighting Death Eaters and their tiredness from talking for hours every previous night; they used to get frustrated when kissing or making love; they were forever wishing they could be closer, to be one. Hermione had recently started dreaming about having Ron's children. The thought filled her with a mixture of feelings. Happiness, pride of being a mother to Ron's children, dreads at the thought of the long nights but also, fear. She secretly feared that by having children she wouldn't love Ron as much as her child, or vice versa. Her mother had once told her that she would never love any man as much as she would love her own child; but that would mean loving Ron less, because, Hermione figured, she could never feel any more love for another human being as she felt for Ron Weasley.

If only Ron had known these thoughts and feelings.

As all that falls shall rise again
so our friend will be reborn
the air we breathe, this treasure of our life, the
compassionate caring we give each other blesses this Circle.

Ron felt around in his pockets as he listened to the Priestess' soothing words. His fingers wrapped around a long, slim, hard piece of wood. Removing it from his pocket, Ron glanced down to examine the object. Hermione's wand. Ron's breathe caught in his throat at the sight. He ran his long index finger down the length of the wood, sending a shiver of sadness through his body. He could still make out Hermione's fingerprints around the base of the wand. Small rounded prints, delicate and light imprints. The last remains of the living Hermione. Her touch. Ron remembered the way she had touched him with those very same fingers. The way she had ran her fingers down his arms as they kissed and across his chest when they made love late at night. Every time they made contact he would feel the same familiar sensation of tickling running up and down his spine. The sensation hadn't changed at all since the first time they had held hands on the Hogwarts Express back to London or the first time they had kissed at the Burrow the day after Dumbledore's funeral.

He would never experience that sensation ever again in his life. The now familiar feeling of disappointment once again washed over him.

As the Earth forms us
so our friend shall return to the earth
Our Mother feeds us, and clothes us.
She gives us everything and in the end she takes our bodies back.
And earth blesses this Circle.

The words were so beautiful; Ron couldn't help feel pleased at his choice of funeral rites for Hermione. He had researched the traditional rites for lost loves and stolen souls so well as his last way of making Hermione proud of him and showing her how dedicated he really was to her and that he would do anything for her. He hoped his work would pay off and wherever Hermione was departing him to go to, she would be safe and remember him. But however much the rites tried to convince Ron that Hermione hadn't really left him, Ron couldn't help feeling alone. He was 20 and considered himself a widower. All his school friends were happily coupled up or even married. It wasn't fair, he thought, once again, they hadn't experienced a fraction of the struggle and sadness he and Hermione had had to endure before settling down to plan their happy future together. They had earned it. And still, somewhere in the universe they had chosen they weren't worthy of their happiness. One of the Death Eaters who had got away, returned. They had been angry. They had lost everything. They, like many others, had convinced themselves that Voldemort was a friend. Was worthy of being classed a relative. They, like many others, were ignorant. Knowing that Ron and Hermione had been at Harry's side when he committed the murder, Oram had turned up to the house Hermione and Ron had bought together two years back, late at night on May 10th. One week ago. And had cursed everything in sight. Including poor defenceless, Crookshanks, before finally coming across a sleeping Hermione in the master bedroom, awaiting Ron's return from the Order's Headquarters. She had died in her sleep. She had shut her eyes that evening without even inkling that she may not see her boyfriend, her cat, her home, ever again. Of all the ways to go, Ron had been relieved that that's how his love had departed the earth. Her mind at ease, feeling happy and in love and snuggled up in bed, warm and feeling protected.

As Ron looked up at the alter, he couldn't trace any change in Hermione's appearance from the many times when he had watched her sleep for hours on end late at night. Her eyes slightly open, her arms resting on her chest, her mouth representing a distant smile, as if due to a dream on reply in her mind. The only distinctive alteration was how still she was, unlike those many nights Ron had kept watch; the way her chest had raised and fell in a set motion every night and the way her eyes normally fluttered as images raced in front of her mind's eye.

The priestess' sermon carried on as Ron thought about Hermione, their last conversations ("You will be home early won't you? I hate going to sleep without saying Goodnight to you!" "You are sweet, Mione ... I promise"), their last kiss, questions he had never got around to asking her (How many children do you want, when you're older, Mione? How did you find out you were a witch? Will you marry me?), their last date, their first date and many other memories and thoughts that owed to the cascading tears running down his face.

Before Ron's mind could return to the present situation, the hundreds of mourners were standing up and singing an old mystical hymn in Latin. One of Hermione's favourites. Ron remained in his seat, listening to the enchanted rhymes and meanings behind the words as he watched Hermione's body laid still under the gaze of her many friends, family and associates. The singing died away so that only the musician's instruments were left making sound. This was Ron's cue. As he stood, the guests lowed onto their knees, watching Ron has he approached Hermione's coffin.

Ron's knees felt like jelly as he walked tentatively up to the marble altar. He stretched out his arm and laid his own freckly hand upon Hermione's small pale hand. Her skin felt surreally cold beneath his own warmth. A deathly shiver ran down Ron's spine. She was well and truly gone from him. He stroked her hand wrapping his fingers around her own as tears splashed down his front causing Ron to choke on his tears, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of his first love's frail, empty body.

Ron reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a tiny emerald green box, opened it to check on the white gold ring sitting snug between the two halves of velvet cushion, supporting a precious princess cut diamond. It was small but it was perfect for Hermione. She had never been fond of anything too big or flashy. It had been hand picked by Ron and was a perfect metaphor of the love he felt for her. It was perfect. And it would have been the perfect engagement ring for Hermione.

Ron raised the box to his mouth and kissed the ring, removed it from the box and slid it onto Hermione's delicate ring finger. Ron squeezed Hermione's hand in his own and kissed the top of it with his wet yet cracked lips, freely letting tears run onto her hand and down her sleeve.

Ron let go of Hermione's hand abruptly, allowing it to drop back onto her chest but now proudly supporting an engagement ring. Ron staggered back from the altar into Harry's embrace. Ron was now howling with remorse. His mind swimming with thoughts of Hermione and his emotions flowing through his veins, bumping and clashing into one another, causing them to mix and become muddled. Eyes swimming with tears, Ron looked up at Hermione's body for the last time before it became obscured from sight thanks to the tall scarlet flames that were surrounding her coffin.

Unable to stop himself, Ron fell to his knees, in shock and depression at the sight.

Before Ron totally collapsed due to total invasion of misery, he managed to choke out the first two words he had been able to say in over a week.

"Goodbye Hermione."

A/N: Wow, I never thought I could write something so sad (even if I do say so myself). I hope you enjoyed it. This was just a small one-shot story so there will be no more chapters or sequels. I'm sorry. To be honest, I hope this doesn't happen in the books but I was listening to My Immortal by Evanesance the other night and couldn't help but start wanting to write this certain fan fic. Once again, hope you liked it and I'm sorry if you happened to cry at it.