Disclaimer: The song below and Harry Potter characters/plot lines are not not mine. J.K. Rowling would not write such drivel.

My Immortal: Evanesence

I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

'Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone

These wounds won't seem to heal

This pain is just too real

There's just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have

All of me

You used to captivate me

By your resonating life

Now I'm bound by the life you've left behind

Your face it haunts

My once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away

All the sanity in me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone

But though you're still with me

I've been alone all along

Glasses clinked softly. The candles flickered. The Great Hall was decorated in subdued tones of soft cream and white banners. A memorial dinner. For those lost in the last battle and in the war itself. Cedric. Sirius. Dumbledore. Hagrid. Fred and George. ...Ron.

Hermione sat back in her velvet chair in the corner. Everyone was being so kind; giving her some space and privacy. Ron had fallen only weeks before. They sat at the round tables. McGonnagal aged decades in the last month. Having to see friends and students fall around her had left her fragile but she still sat at the head of the table with an iron spine. The Weasleys sat together; what was left of them. And with them. He sat with them too of course. He was still here. His heart beating thanks to the final sacrifice of his best friend. Ron had given harry the same gift Lily had. With wand in hand, amidst Harry and Hermione's screams at him to stop, Ron had sacrificed himself for his friends, protecting them with his dying gift of love.

Hermione held the steaming mug of tea in front of her face, whisky colored eyes soft and slightly blurred as she watched harry lean over to Ginny to whisper something in her ear. His hair had gotten so much longer, and it brushed Ginny's cheek as she whispered back to him. They both looked over at Hermione and gave her gentle, sad smiles. She smiled back at them, tears in her eyes. Then she looked away and up at the ceiling that was magicked to look like a moonlit night scattered with stars.

They would never know the truth behind her tears.

Yes she and Ron had deepened their relationship during the hunt for the Horcruxes. But what Harry never knew was that their relationship had never gone beyond gentle kisses. Yes they had shared a tent when they had to camp and a bed when they were indoors. But Ron had held her warmly, closely in friendship. He had been the most wonderful friend there ever could be, and ever will be, Hermione mused. He had held her hand, had cupped her face with such soft and loving hands, had brushed his sweet lips to hers so gently, so softly. She longed now to curl her body around his. He had been a brick oven, always warm as his shaggy, flame colored hair. But though her body had been warmed, and though Ron did everything he could to make her feel loved and special, they both new a truth that they had kept secret from Harry. A truth Ron had vowed he would never disclose to anyone; a secret that he would keep safe until the day he died. And being the true friend he was, he hadn't ever told. And now he was gone, and Hermione was the only one left with the burden of the truth.

She had loved Ron. He had loved her. He had held her close. But Hermione's heart had been stolen long ago by the raven haired member of their tryad. And she had been so careful that he would never find it out.

It had happened when they were thirteen, a wonderful summer at the Weasley's. A surprising, cold snap in the middle of summer sparked it. Three days of frost, sweaters and hot cocoa amidst days of swimsuits and sunshine. She hadn't been able to sleep on the coldest night, and had crept downstairs as quietly as possible. She used the metal poker to stir up the remnants of the fire in the hearth until there was a tiny fire in bloom, banishing some of the shadows in the living room. She sat curled up, hands around tucked-up legs, head on her knees; not thinking for once, just breathing and feeling content.

A heavy quilt draped over her lap. She looked up into his green eyes. He smiled gently and sat down next to her, legs stretched out onto the hearth bricks. He sat very close, and pulled the quilt snugly around them both. Her heart had suddenly leapt into her throat. He smelled like cinnamon and soap. When he put both his arms around her and cuddled her close, she felt like her heart was singing with a surreal joy she had never thought she'd feel. She lay her head on his shoulder and tentatively returned the embrace. She felt the cotton of his pajamas, and knew he must be able to feel her shiver. He pulled her closer and rubbed her arms up and down, trying to warm her to stop the shivers. And they just sat there like that, together for several hours. They just sat, holding each other; never speaking a word. Unitl the sun began to rise, and she noticed he had fallen asleep against her. Knowing that Molly was an early riser, Hermione had gently disentangled herself from his embrace. He rolled over and curled up. She tucked the quilt around him. And sat there, looking at him. His black hair masked his face, his right hand curled up near his chin. She could hear him breathing. He was truly asleep. Hermione bent over, her own curls brushing his face, and she kissed him on his temple. Then walked softly back upstairs. In love with Harry Potter.

Now, five years later, the world having undergone a war and so many losses, she watched Ginny plant a soft kiss on Harry's temple, and Hermione smiled sadly. The next day, after she had fallen in love with Harry, he acted as if nothing had happened. He treated her not a whit different, teasing her about her books and her studies, laughing with Ron about her fear of flying. So she had crawled back into the shell of the person she had been before that night. She read books, she studied, she nagged. Harry became interested in Cho. She feigned a romantic interest in Ron. But inside she continually crushed the forlorn hope that Harry would ever be anything but her friend. At least she tried to. But secretly she had craved his small touches, craved the times he had let her feel needed and wanted.

The summer after Cedric's death, she had again met him alone. She had gone for a walk by herself through the meadow behind Ron's house, picking tiny purple flowers, when she heard it. The quiet sobs. She had found him sitting under the big oak tree, ripping up leaves as he cried. She had run to him and put her arms around him. Her tears joined his as he turned into her chest and cried with such pain and misery, she would have died on the spot if she could save him such heartache. He had clutched her so tightly to him, and she had soothed nonsense, rubbing his back, kissing his head. Finally, he had let go, wiping the tears from his face, and then, using his thumbs, wiped the tears from her face. He had bent towards her and had kissed her. It wasn't a romantic kiss. A thank you kiss. She knew that then, but it had been so soft, so sweet. His lips had been wet from their tears. Then he had just gotten up and walked away. Leaving her alone against the oak. She couldn't stop the tears from starting again, but she didn't make a sound, for fear he might hear her as he walked back to the house.

When she could that summer, she held his hands. If that sat together at the dinner table, he would pick up her hand every know and then and give it a gentle squeeze. Sitting on the couch, laughing over some antic of the twins, Ron might take her hand, and she would take Harry's in her other, just sitting together holding hands. As they waited in the crowds of kids for the train to Hogwarts, she had dared to grasp his hand and give it a squeeze. He always squeezed back. She wasn't worried he might guess her feelings. She knew he thought she was being a good friend. Consoling. And she was.

Things had progressed. Everything had been sad but normal; dangerous and frightening. Death and torture followed them like close companions; but Hermione had never let it slip to Harry or Ron, her feelings for Harry. Feelings that she continually tried to kill on a daily basis. An hourly basis. Every minute. Her mask was complete, perfect. It had shattered only once, when she had seen Harry wrap his arms around Ginny and kiss her so thoroughly, so completely. And Ron had seen it.

She had fled the party, running to the top of the Astronomy Tower as fast as she could. She knelt in the corner of the tower. Sobs racked her body. Soft footsteps had announced his presence. She had looked up, her face a mess of tears. Seeing Ron, she had tried to scrub the tears from her face, but he had knelt down next to her and held her hands, and asked her quietly what was wrong. She had said nothing. What could she say? What did it matter? But Ron had seen his friend's face when his sister had come up for air with a huge grin plastered on her face. Hermione, so strong, so resilient, so intellectually cold, broke into a million pieces.

"Do you love him?" he asked in such a quiet voice.

Her response had been to turn into his chest, sigh and hold Ron tight. He knew the answer.

From that night on, for all the world knew, she and Ron had become a couple. Harry had crowed over it. His two best friends together, while he was happy, wonderously happy with Ginny. His words were like sad daggers in Hermione' soul Still Ron had been so perfect. His love for her had been what had kept her strong, in the face of Harry's joy, Dumbledore's death, and the war that followed. Ron's hands late at night, holding her, kissing her. Loving her. Ron had been there when Harry had seemed to turn to stone with his desire to kill Voldemort. When he had shut out Ginny, when he had tried to leave them all behind. Together, Hermione and Ron stood by Harry despite this coldness. A coldness that was finally cracked asunder when Ron had stepped in front of Harry and lost his life. But this time Hermione didn't pick up the pieces for Harry. It wasn't her lips he kissed, but Ginny's.

Hermione sipped her tea and watched Ron's sister as she got everything that Hermione had ever wanted. Silently she slipped out of the chair and slowly walked the stairs to the Astronomy tower. No one would miss her. Now that Ron was gone, she was alone. Alone forever.

The chill of the night sent goosebumps up her arms. She walked to the edge of the tower, and pulled herself onto the wall, sitting there, the cold stones digging into her behind. The stars loomed above her. Cold and silent. They offered no comfort, no heat. Hermione knew that in reality each of them was a sun burning bright and hot, and despite the fact that they seemed squeezed together in bunches across the sky, they were millions of miles away from each other. They burned bright and hot, but each star was alone. Alone in the dark, emptiness of space.

Soft treads approached. When Harry put his arms around her, held her close, looking up at the stars with her, Hermione was not surprised. But even though this was the kind of closeness that she had longed for, she felt like every touch rubbed salt in already weeping wounds. She knew that he would never be hers, never in the way she longed for. They were like the constellations above. So close, and yet so far apart. But she knew, he would never leave her, and even though part of her longed to leave him, to leave the never ending pain and love that welled up with every touch, she knew she could never leave him either. He was her immortal, her forever friend. And she would walk the rest of her life hand in hand with Harry, alone.