Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or anything of that sort. This is just something I penned down for my own entertainment and I am now sharing this with you.
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Hope
"He was a real brave man, you know."
Bushy brown hair framed a prematurely-lined face, which was at the moment reflecting a deep sense of loss, sorrow and above all, an acute sense of pain. Hermione had by now become a true woman, all of 30 years old and yet a highly successful witch. A Ministry of Magic employee, she worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and was steadily rising through the ranks. In fact, she had already been tipped as a future Minister for Magic, even though she had yet to attain the years of experience that the job required.
But Hermione's life was really split into two. One, her professional life, was where she put all her efforts into, rarely ever stopping to contemplate on life outside her Ministry. But when she finally did Disapparate out of her office, she reverted to her torturous existence, a deathly silence dominating her life just as it had done so for the last 12 years of her life. The events that had taken place beyond the veil had brutally ripped her apart, and thrown away all her happiness into the deep, dark abyss where Ron and Harry once lived.
Hermione looked down at the woman who was reclining in front of her, motionless, and smiled sadly. The woman was looking at Hermione with wide, slightly-mad eyes, no glimmer of recognition flashing through them. Her hair was had a faint tint of orange, otherwise bleached of colour. She was completely silent. She was Ginny Weasley. But she had paid. She had paid dearly for the love she harboured for Harry, the love which had been so evident in Amor Camerá, the 'Locked Room'. Love was what Voldemort could never have hoped to comprehend. This was what ultimately destroyed him.
Hermione sighed and turned around, meaning to get up. The Healer was going to come to chivvy them out of the ward anyways. The residents of the Closed Ward were rarely allowed visitors, so they had been lucky to get to see Ginny at all.
"Let's go."
Hermione had spent half an hour of Christmas just telling Ginny about how Voldemort had been defeated and how Harry had decided to remain on the Other Side. She knew it was no use. But even as she recounted some of her past experiences, she lost her battle against the tears and a solitary tear drop trickled slowly down her cheek as she rose. The rest rose along with her. Luna: now editor of her Dad's magazine, Neville: working at Hogwarts as an understudy to Professor Sprout and Ron: the Ron who had never uttered a word since that fateful night and who was not the Ron who she knew; they all rose as one. From the shadowy corner another figure rose. George, a shell of a person, who's heart had been torn into two by Fred's death. That exuberance, that mischievous twinkle, it had all been replaced by a dull, aching pain, which was visible in his features.
They all proceeded to the door, a group of people stuck in the sands of time, ravaged by its phenomenal power. A group of people who had had all their lives changed forever by the actions of just one wizard.
"Ha-rry."
A weak voice sounded behind them and the group whipped around as one.
"Oh, Ginny," sobbed a teary Hermione as she ran to the frail, once bubbly, figure of Ginny Weasley and flung herself onto her.
No one mentioned it, but they had all felt it. Hope, wonderful and warm, had sprung up like a cracked well, seeping into their despairing hearts. Perhaps a future did lie ahead of them. Perhaps they could forget the boy with the scar.
Perhaps even they would find within themselves the ability to love as Harry Potter did.
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A/N: This was written before DH. And yes, its a one-shot.