Disclaimer: this is not mine. duh.
Hallucinations and a funeral.
Ron Weasley sat in a small room in St. Mungo's. He sat on the edge of what had been Harry's bed. It was empty now. He sighed heavily, and stood. Memories rushed at him, threatening to knock him over. He gritted his teeth and walked from the room.
Hermione was in the hall way, trying to be stoic, but was failing miserably. They left the hospital together, sharing a cab to the funeral. They were both dressed in black. The whole wizarding world was dressed in black today. So many people were gone. Families were torn apart, friends left alone, not to mention the death of everyone's hero. The world mourned for the loss of Harry potter.
The closer they came to the grave, the more familiar faces they saw. They saw Lavender Brown, Padma Patil, and Dean Thomas, who wore a white ribbon always to remind him of Seamus' life. Many others from their school days also showed to pay their respects, but Ron found that the absence of so many was more profound than the arrival of these people. His world felt half empty, as if it were a page, and someone had torn it in half. Without the other side, he felt he would never be complete. His brothers Fred, Percy, Bill, and Charlie were laid to rest the week before, in graves not too far from Harry's own. The loss of his family was hitting him hard; he had always drawn his strength from them.
The two surviving members of the golden trio reached the grave, standing and staring at the casket that held the teen who used to be their best friend. Ron found that he couldn't blink. He couldn't go through with this. It was just too hard. He couldn't say goodbye forever to the person he loved most, not now, not here. It wasn't supposed to be this way. They were all supposed to have lives, all supposed to live together forever.
The wind whipped cold around him as the Preacher began to speak. Harry couldn't be dead, it wasn't true. It couldn't be. It was just some sort of cruel joke, he thought desperately. It had to be. No other explanation. But then, Ron's logical side took over. He had seen the death of his friend with his own eyes. Harry was dead. For real.
Ron knelt; unable to bear the weight of the heavy burden this was taxing him. Hermione's hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder. He looked up at her. Her face was tear-streaked. He turned his gaze back to the burial. The preacher finished speaking, and Ron stood.
He grabbed a shovel. He had to do this. He had to find an ending to the pain and misery that had followed the end of the war. He tried to think of it as writing the final sentence in the book of his friend's life, rather than think of it as burying forever his greatest friend. He couldn't help the tears that started to flow.
He would never again hear Harry's voice, run from Filch with him, or see him rumple his hair the way he did. He would never see again the scar that meant so much. The eyes that seemed bright even in the darkest of hour. His mother would never knit Harry another Christmas sweater. Ron placed the final mound of dirt on the grave and stepped away. He felt weak, dizzy. The world lost focus around him.
Harry was sitting in front of him.
"Hello, Ron." He said. Ron blinked. "look… this is hard to say… but I love you. You were always a brother to me, and I love you like one. You were my first friend ever, and ill always thank you. But…"
"But what?" Ron demanded.
"But, you have to let go. I'm gone now. You have to live the rest of your life, you can't waste it thinking about how it could've been." said Harry softly.
"But I can't! How can I live my life knowing you can never live yours?" he asked desperately. Harry shrugged. "If you don't live your life, then I've wasted mine."
Ron sat silently. Eventually, he nodded. He would live his life, he decided, after he healed. The two sat quietly, surrounded by fog. Ron breathed heavily; glad to be back for the final time with Harry. He savored it, knowing it couldn't last. He was right, and Harry soon stood.
"I'm going now. I'll always be looking after you." He promised. Ron nodded sadly. Without warning, he was slammed back to reality. His brother George's face swam above him.
"Little brother?" it asked. Ron sat up.
"Wha--?" he asked incoherently. George's brow was furrowed.
"You passed out. Are you okay?" he asked. Ron looked past his brother's shoulder to Harry's grave. A light seemed to shine on it amongst the gloomy weather.
"Yeah, I think I will be."