I had so many pleas for an epilogue on this one, that I finally thought of a way to end it! (I had no idea before!) Reviews will be answered at the end. Now onto the epilogue, for I'll keep ye waiting no longer! Enjoy! - FireOpal.

It was raining. Soft drizzle flittered through the damp, cold, grey air, and settled, dew-like on the bright grass, rain-slicked gravestones and on the hair of one man, who knelt before a separate gravestone. The sky was a dull and unchanging slate, the sun barely lighting the scene. The only sound was that of the tiny sounds of rain drops hitting stone, and silence. No birds sang, no body spoke, nothing moved. No, one thing moved – the shoulders of the man, kneeling in the damp grass before the marble stone. His shoulders moved gently up and down as he breathed, and sobbed silently.

The man was dressed in a long, flowing black cloak that brushed past his toes when he stood upright, and it had a low hood that could be pulled over his face, now swept back so you could see his face. His hair was covered in tiny crystalline drops of rain; it slicked his face, mingled with tears. Raven hair, silver tears. Emerald eyes gazed at the inscription engraved into the cold, unfeeling stone, reminding him of that day: the fierce fighting, the beautiful weather, the death, and the contradictions. Death and beauty – torture and love. The words seemed to resound off of his heart, echoing around his mind, cutting him in two. '...she was the youngest to die...'

Suddenly, his eyes seemed to look up, glaring at the sky, pleading silently, asking the world why – why she had been taken, why he had been spared, why it had to be him, why so many had to have died. But he spoke no words, and quickly turned back to the stone marker, brushing his ebony hair out of his eyes, showing a glimpse of the famous lightning bolt scar – the reason for all his pain. He also brushed his glasses further up his nose, and wiped his eyes.

Soon, his auror-trained senses told him someone was near by, but he remained outwardly relaxed. Most of the Death Eaters had been captured and given the Dementor's Kiss, Bellatrix too. That ruled out attack nearly, and here, this place was warded and guarded, so that friends and family of the people now resting here could come here in peace.

When he felt a gentle, comforting, and still slightly frail hand on his shoulder, he still didn't turn. He knew exactly who it was, but didn't turn. He needed to do this. The person seemed to understand as well, and stood silently behind him, lending support through the comforting hand. Then the person spoke, as the rain continued to fall around them.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry." The reply was clear, sharp, and thick.

"I should've stopped them. Voldemort had died, for pity's sake! I should've been there, helped her, saved her..."

"Harry, you can't save everyone. You killed Voldemort, and so thousands of people can live in peace, and not be afraid of torture or pain. She knew the risks as well as you do." Harry bowed his head, trying to stop the tears. "You cannot bring her back, Harry. She's gone."

The words seemed to join those of the inscription, and echoed around his mind - ...she's gone... you cannot bring her back... she's gone.'

They were right though, he could not bring her back, and hopefully she was somewhere better, and he would see her again.

"I will see you again," he said softly, stroking the cold, wet stone. Then a crooked, attempt at a grin lit his face, exercising muscles long thought gone by his friends. "But not just yet."

He stood swiftly, years of Quidditch and Auror training showing in this one, flexible, swift movement. The black material swirled around his legs as he moved, disrupting the tiny, glasslike dewdrops and wrapping warmly around his body. Finally, he turned to the person behind him, and smiled that old smile again, the only difference being in the pools of his eyes – pain, despair, weariness.

The person seemed to read this, and stroked his face gently with her finger, then pulling him into an embrace.

"We all miss her, but I think her death hit you hardest." She says, moving his hair out of the emerald eyes, to hold his gaze. When he gave no reply, she pulled out of the embrace, and pulled the cloak she wore closer around her body. Harry placed his arm loosely across her shoulders, and they walked out of the deserted cemetery, never looking back. Never to return. Never to read the inscription again.

Ginevra Weasley

Beloved daughter, friend, and companion.

She did what was right, though she was the youngest to die.

She will never be forgotten.

So, guys – here's your epilogue, as asked! I hope you all realised the 'mysterious stranger' was Hermione – shame on you if you didn't! Now, please review!

Review Responses:

SPecter() - Thank you for the review, and I hope you liked it, even though I can't really continue this one much! At least in my opinion. If anyone wants to offer to write some more with the same ideas, contact me and I'll give you a hand on how I see this!
albanach() - Again, thank you for the review, you're comments mean a lot to me. As you can see, I did as asked, though I must say, that when I thought of this, I didn't think I could kill her off. Hope you enjoyed the epilogue!
Usha88 - I'm not sure I would particularly describe this as sweet, but there you go! Thank you for the comments, and as you can see, it's a nearly happy ending. Shame about poor Ginny though. (dodges Ginny fans throwing apples and tomatoes at her).

Now you've read this, go read my other stuff! Please? And review? Please? With a Chocolate Frog?