Memories
She had held his hand and reassured him. 'Its ok, Ron.' She had said, with that sad smile.
'No, its not OK.' He had sobbed. 'It's not ok, because you're going and Harry's already gone and I'll be alone. And I won't be able to see your face everyday and you wont be able to bother me about working and...'
"You silly sod, you wont be alone. Harry and I, we will always be with you. If you only know how to look."
"But I love you!"
She had smiled then, with glassy eyes and cracked lips, and squeezed his hand weakly. "I've loved you for as long as I remember. But I want you to keep going. Move on. Find someone else to love, after I'm gone."
Is this what it felt like? To find what you've been searching for your whole life, only to realise that it's slipping through your fingers, so fast...
He had shaken his head, and had angrily brushed away the tears that trailed down his cheeks.
"I can't"
"You must."
"I don't want to forget. I don't want you to leave me. I won't know what to do."
She had gripped his hand tighter. "Look inside yourself. You'll find me. You'll find both of us. And you'll know what to do.
"Just believe."
She is sleeping now, but she doesn't look much better than when she was awake. Her skin is still cracked and scaly, still that sick yellow colour. Her lips are still chafed and pale. Her beautiful bushy curls are still gone. She still breaths like there isn't much air.
And there probably isn't, he ponders. Not enough air, not enough life. Not for his beautiful Mione.
He's glad he can't see her eyes. He used to love to stare at them, but now he can't bear to see so much... acceptance.
The beeping of the machines continues on in the background. They had to take her to a muggle hospital – it wasn't a wizard illness, they'd said.
So they took her to the muggle hospital, where they hooked her up to muggle machines, and fed her muggle potions...
Poisons...
But after all that it isn't much use.
Because she's still going to die.
The beeping continues on in the background, the seconds tick by.
He wonders what it would have been like. Would they have gotten married? Would they have had kids? Twins, maybe, He thinks with a smile, and one would be obsessed with books, the other with quidditch.
And maybe they could have been grandparents, and given birth to so much more new life.
He only sees death now.
He knows, no matter what she says, that he won't find anyone else to love. No one is as beautiful, as perfect, as annoying as his Mione.
He reaches out to touch her cheek, struck by how the room is oddly peaceful.
That, he realises, is because it's so silent.
Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the beeping monitoring her heart rate slow, and stop.
He hadn't noticed the raspy breaths come further and further apart, until they didn't come at all.
'Mione?' he whispers.
But she doesn't stir.
She's dead, he realises, Dead.
The doctors bustle in, but he doesn't notice. All he sees is Hermione's face.
The last of the Golden Trio lays a kiss on her creaseless forehead and walks out of the hospital, shoulders squared.
He still manages to reach the park and take out his bottle of Odgen's finest, even if he's crying and shaking so much he can hardly breathe.
There's only a third left in the bottle, but he still makes a toast.
He toasts to the memories, because memories are all he has left.