My mirror, so divine

My mirror, could you be mine

I awoke shaking the next day to find Ron hugging me, and tears on my face. I always shivered after dreams about him, feeling slightly uncomfortable at enjoying them so much. Tears were an accidental addition sometimes.

"Ssh" he whispered. "It was just a dream"

An owl pecking at the window caught his attention.

"Hedwig!" he cried, "Must be news about how they're doing with the Horcruxes… err… errand."

I didn't notice his slip of tongue; I was interested in why Hedwig had a very worried look in her eyes. He lifted the latch on his weather-beaten window and she flopped inside. Letting out a fitful hoot, she collapsed. Cursing silently, I made an accommodation for Hedwig inside Pigwidgeon's cage. I pushed her inside and helped her drink water. Satisfied that she was to be alright I turned, just as I heard a loud thump. Ron had slumped onto his bed with his eyes closed and his lips parted, softly moaning. Alarmed, I picked up Harry's letter from where it had fluttered to the ground.

R, I'm really sorry.

I frowned I couldn't deduce much from the letter, it sounded like Harry had done something with Hermione and it hurt Ron. Or, Harry had done something to Hermione, but that was utterly impossible, wasn't it?

Ron looked at me with appraising eyes "She's dead, Ginny, by bloody Voldemort"

For my perverted feelings, inside I whooped with joy, but staring at Ron's suddenly dimmed eyes I couldn't help but feel my heart sink a few inches. I walked out of his room, I couldn't watch him grieve over the bitch that toyed with him, making him love her.

The rest of the week passed in a daze. Everyone assumed I was consumed with grief as I was always quiet when someone died. I didn't care about Hermione Granger, the girl, who in life and death could change my brother. He had changed. He was silent and he stayed holed up in his bedroom, only with Harry, coming down to eat but eating barely anything.

The funeral came and I watched with eyes that held neither remorse nor any sorrow. Ron gave a speech and only the last sentence appealed to me. Ron was horrible at speeches. "And, to complete my speech I give the sole reason, that today we all have gathered to mourn the death of Hermione Granger." Ron stated.

My brother never let his voice waver, despite the moisture in his eyes, despite the obstruction of pent-up tears in his throat. Just as I never dropped a tear. I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried, mourn the death of Hermione Granger. I had come to think of Hermione in full name terms. She was everything to Ron that I wanted to be, the celestial being to light his life, the unbound goddess to roam around with, the heavenly female, the one, in Ron's warped opinion, everyone should look up to. And now she was gone, and as I watched my brother step off the podium, and head for my direction, I couldn't help but perversely wonder if that permitted him to be free of her grasp.

Ron reached me and wrapped his arms around me, seeking comfort, as well as trying to part with his own. Ever tried self-comfort? It doesn't work, at least not properly. It enters you and suffocates you, trying to split you into two, so mind and imagination cannot be together. I had my own share of self-comfort, when Ron went away to Hogwarts and I was alone at the burrow. My imaginary friend, Daphne, had never disappeared completely even after I had grown up. Sometimes I could hear her giggling, and I had to wonder if I was entering the bout of insanity. Not that I wasn't already insane, loving my brother more than naturally proved that.

Muffled sobs broke through my thoughts. Oh, great, Ron was wetting my hair with his tears. I stroked his back and he lifted his face to stare down at mine.

"Why can't you ever cry?" "Is it heaven?" "Not crying?"

Did he expect me to answer that? I looked down at my shoes, abruptly absorbed in how they fit and the levels of comfort they gave me. The walls in our house are so thin and he's never heard me cry at night? I cry because of the crazy thing I am, for loving my brother. Even if he could hear, he couldn't do anything about it, he couldn't and he wouldn't ever know what troubled me. Ron's gaze continued to linger on me, he was waiting for my answer.

"I guess, that I deal with death in a shocked way, because I truly can't believe it……" There. That should suffice, no need to mention that the reason I didn't partake in the mourning was because I didn't give a dot about Hermione. I like my dots.

"That makes it sound so easy." In spite of everything he gave me a small smile. I stared at it, desperately, afraid to see the rest of his face, hoping the smile was a small step to the reconciliation of Hermione's death, a signal to the path of recovery. Hope could be in vain, wasn't I a victim in that? My little round with Tom Riddle with nobody noticing. I had hoped and it had been in vain.

I knew plenty of people who didn't get through a friend's death, but then again those people didn't have an obstinate for a sister or The Boy Who Lived for a friend.

Hopefully I looked up to see if Ron's eyes mirrored his lips. What I saw made me gasp. His naturally sparkling eyes were a deep muted blue, the spark in them perhaps forever gone. Before, his eyes and facial expressions usually betrayed his emotions especially if he about to let loose an outrageous lie. Now, his eyes were carefully guarded, the stubborn resolve in his jaw unhinged, his cheeks not lifting with his smile, his face, a masquerade. Where'd Ron go? This wasn't Ron. Not my Ron at least. Pain twisted my heart as fake Ron pushed my hair off my face smiling protectively at me.

At last, a sob came followed by a pair of disbelieving eyes. My, disbelieving eyes.

"You're not Ron" my voice was soft but even fake Ron could hear the animosity in it.

Fake Ron's smile twisted into one, marred with enmity, then he turned and walked away to the graveside, a conjured bouquet in his hands. I began to cry, even in death Hermione's existence was powerful.

My dear brother could you ever be mine?