Author's Note: Just to give you all an idea of what I am writing, I would like to share with you a quote from my school yearbook that was written by my own Ron and Harry and it should give you an idea of just how difficult it is for me to write Hermione's suicide and subsequent funeral. This is what they wrote: 'For Matt and I, she also fulfills her role as Hermione, forever correcting us on our grammar (in English AND Latin!) and telling us it really is "leviOsa" not "levioSA."' Sorry, I'm not around anymore boys to correct your grammar and am not good enough to be your Hermione anymore. If you would like to read more on my life as Hermione, please do go to my blog, "LaBellaBorgia Speaks" and find the article "Red Roses and Black Ribbons".

DaenerysTargary3n

"We're sorry for your loss. She was a great witch."

"My thoughts are with you in your time of need."

"She'll never be forgotten."

Harry shook the proffered hands of all the parties who sought him out to intimate their sympathy for the loss of his best friend and housemate but he never once took in their faces or cared who they were. He was too numb for petty social interactions on this day. On this day, he was no one's hero or public personality, he was simply Harry Potter, private citizen. For, that was how she had always seen him and known him.

"Thank you for your kind words. We'll see you after the funeral." Neville told each person who walked away from the Boy Who Lived.

He and Luna had stayed with Harry for the past week since the poor man watched his best friend go to her death. Harry had not known up from down and although he never invited them or asked them for their help, as his closest friends now, they had no doubt that they had to look after him. It was hard planning this grandiose funeral for the girl who gave her life for the wizarding world with a catatonic Harry to tend to, yet Luna often told him before they took their rest in the guest bedroom (for Harry slept in Hermione's room) that he was processing and soon he would find himself able to exist in this world without Hermione.

"Harry," Luna sang, "come now, we must sit down. Kingsley is waiting for us and it'll help get rid of some of those Wrackspurts."

Usually, Harry would turn to the witch that was always at his side in expectation of a snide remark but of course, Hermione would never make a joke at Luna's expense again. With a grim smile at his female guardian, Harry took his seat in the front row of the Great Hall with Luna and Neville and waited for the proceedings to begin.

Hogwarts' Great Hall, usually festooned with the house colours of Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw , today was decorated in red and black. The red signified Hermione's Gryffindor nature, the blood she spilled in the fight against Voldemort and the red fire of the love she bore for her friends and family that consumed her heart. The black represented the abyss of onyx that she was unable to escape in the aftermath of the war, the darkness she left behind in her wake now she was no more and the statue that was being formed in Ashford Black Marble at the Ministry's expense to be installed beside the memorial to Lily and James Potter that remained at the their former residence. Both monuments would last through time, unwithering and unrelenting, with wards to guard them from vandalism and demolition. Harry would have those he loved and lost to Voldemort's avarice and lust for power immortalised for all to see and for any who would seek to amass power to be a caution.

Harry glanced behind him at the pews organised in the vast chamber. There was not a space left and he had overheard the Headmistress telling the Minister that they had to conjure more seating and an audio-visual relay spell to the grounds where hundreds had gathered to pay their respects to the Muggle-born witch. Now, at the moment just before the proceedings were about to commence, more than three thousand bodies were in the castle and its grounds to honour the memory of Hermione Jean Granger.

"Sonorus!" The striking and commanding voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt bellowed, his spell echoing through the silent air of the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards," Kingsley sighed as he went on, "and children, we are convened here today for a sad purpose, indeed, the saddest purpose. We have lost. After a year of peace since Voldemort's demise, we have lost one more soul to his evil: the soul of Hermione Jean Granger. Miss Granger was an astute, brave and highly gifted witch, but as a person - a young woman - she was kind, selfless to a fault and generous with her gifts. She dedicated her life to the war and to its hero, Harry Potter, who sits here before us thanks to the wit and intelligence of the witch we mourn together on this day. I cannot say much more as to her nature and her sacrifice, for I knew her poorly and truly, only by reputation. Even when we worked together for the Order, I rarely conversed with her. She preferred to have her head buried in a book."

There was a smattering of laughter at his attempt at mirth, but the tittering of his audience did not persist.

"So, others - including the Headmistress, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter - will tell you what they remember about Hermione and I will relegate myself to the role of Master of Ceremonies," Kingsley stuttered for a moment before continuing, "but I will perform my task with the diligence she would have expected and certainly deserved. So, my first job is done: to welcome you all as Minister for Magic and to honour her for her participation in the fight against Lord Voldemort. My second is to bestow upon her posthumously, the Honorary Supreme Mugwump and Order of Merlin 1st Class, for I am sure that had she been able to recover from her wounds, Hermione Granger would have achieved more than I can possibly hope to award her now."

At Kingsley's announcement and exhibition of the Supreme Mugwump's medallion and the parchment decreeing the fallen witch a member of the Order of Merlin, all occupants of the Great Hall clapped and rose to their feet. Harry applauded his friend but was stunned into inertia once he heard the faint noise that was audible through the substantial walls of the castle. It was a rhythmic, percussive and slightly intimidating constancy. When Harry and many others peered through the misty windows to determine its origin, there was not a dry eye in the hall as they saw the throng of thousands of bodies all clad in black robes applauding and bowing as the corpse of Hermione glided past them on a bed of red and black light.

"She looks beautiful." Harry murmured, uttering the first words of the day.

Neville agreed, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder, "She looks as though she were sleeping. She looks at peace."

As everyone redirected their attention away from the crowd outside and their venerations of the dead woman's cadaver, but determined to remain standing until the witch hovered past them, Kingsley resumed his speech.

"Please," Kingsley began authoritatively, "she will be here shortly. My final task before I leave you to Hermione's closest friends, beginning with the Headmistress of Hogwarts, is to inform you that after the funeral, several employees from Flourish & Blotts will be selling copies of Miss Granger's memoirs, which were almost entirely penned by her in the year before her death. They are two galleons each and Mr. Potter, as her will executor and sole beneficiary, has permitted me to divert all profits from Hermione's memoirs to a scholarship fund to be established in her name for wizards and witches who wish to attend Muggle universities and/or work under the supervision of Dr. Mecklewit to research magical treatments for mental health illnesses. Enough formalities and practicalities for now...for she is here."

There was a uniform turn and swish of silken robes as everyone turned to face the rear of the Great Hall, where Hermione's body was floating, continuing its progress to the dais where she would rest throughout the day's activities. Harry and Winky together had dressed her simply but prettily in a white lace gown, the train of which fell behind her as it would for a bride. Her hair was combed back but with some strands of unruly curls allowed to frame her angelic face and pristine Lilies of the Valley were pinned in her hair as a crown. She was a vision in white, surrounded by red and black, and all who saw her found her beautiful and if the flashes of the Daily Prophet cameras were anything to go by, it would be a lasting, divine image of her circulated to the world.

Once Hermione reached her destination - an ornate altar of white stone - those present took their seats as Minerva moved to stand beside her favourite student's corpse.

With a kiss to the girl's brow, Minerva began unsteadily, "The people who died fighting so that we might live, love and learn in a world without threat or hate or death are innumerous and have been in our hearts and minds since their passing. While I have no desire to diminish their deaths or sacrifices, it has to be said that losing this precious girl lying beside me here is the greatest loss of all: greater than losing Dumbledore, the Lupins and all the others. Hermione Granger truly was the most brilliant witch I've ever met and I knew Lily Potter!"

Again the room twittered in an uncomfortable giggle but Harry chuckled and took solace in her comparison of Hermione with his mother.

"We lost youngsters but to lose the heroine of the war, the greatest force behind Harry Potter, is a tragedy it will take me a long time to forget or forgive. Miss Granger was not a sociable child, nor was she popular, but once she fell in with two young boys in her first year here, she found her way and the love that saw her - and so many others - through the war. Hermione's brave dedication to learning, her friends and justice is what I hope to see in many young Gryffindors who will enter this school in the years to come. She was the true spirit of Godric Gryffindor and as her former Head of House and teacher, she gave me the greatest gift. For, I can say not only that I knew Miss Granger but also that I was her professor. There is nothing in my life that will compare to being the teacher of such a bright, beautiful and brave young witch. All that remains is just for me to apologise for not being able to see you take my place at Hogwarts one day, but with the gifts you gave him, including his own life, I am glad Mister Potter lives for you both."

McGonagall concluded her moving eulogy with a look of pride in Harry's direction and with tears in his eyes, he met her gaze with a sincere nod, silently thanking her for her words about Hermione and vicariously, him. Once his new boss took her seat in the front pew on the other side of the aisle, the second speaker rose and headed to the dais. When Harry watched him near his precious Hermione's body, it took all the restraint he possessed not to tug the man away from his witch. He thanked all higher powers that the redhead did not dare to kiss her brow, or any other body part for that matter, as Minerva had done. If his lips had touched even a pore on her skin, Harry would have stunned him where he stood.

"As you will know," Ronald began confidently, "I knew Hermione better than most, better than all I would say...except Harry, that is. Before she became our friend after a grim incident involving a troll in a bathroom, our lives were dull, mediocre at best. God alone knows why Hermione tagged along with us two, but thank heaven she did because I speak honestly when I say that had Hermione, at eleven years old, not seen just how much trouble Harry and I would have ended up in and how much of a mess of things we would have made without her, then a great many of you sitting here today, me and Harry included, would be six feet under."

The Boy Who Lived heard what his former best friend was saying, but could not move past the ire he felt at his audacity in claiming to have known Hermione when he just walked away and left her. He had no right after that to claim her as anything to him. He was a nobody to her, to both of them. When they were ensconced in Godric's Hollow, both of them clinging to what remained of their sanity, where the hell was Ronald Weasley? He never made himself known and so the suffering pair never spoke his name or mentioned him at all. The first time either of them had seen the other third of the Golden Trio had been at the Victory Ball.

"She was an angel that guided us through the hell that Voldemort created for us and I feel so ashamed now for all the times I teased her, made fun of her...hurt her because of who she was. It was stupid of me and now I can never ask her to forgive me. So," he huffed, turning to the corpse so he was inches from her face and the tears from his eyes streamed down onto her alabaster cheeks, "I'll tell you now, 'Mione, how I feel and I'll ask you to forgive me."

"Easy, Harry!" Neville chided, gripping Harry's wand arm tightly, made nervous by his friend's checked attempt to assault Weasley.

"How dare he! He abandoned her, abandoned us so many times! She's too good to feel his tears now." Harry hissed, his words full of venom as though he were speaking Parseltongue.

Harry heeded his friend's warning and sat back in his seat, determined not to shame Hermione's memory by causing a riot at her funeral.

"Please forgive me for leaving you, for being such a dunderhead I couldn't see you needed me after the battle, for ignoring you, for insulting you, for letting you down constantly. I'm so sorry, 'Mione." Ron sobbed against his former love's face.

A slender, petite figure clad in a tasteful black mourning cloak moved from a few rows back and strode up to where Ronald was bawling his eyes out over Hermione. The woman gripped his shoulders in a vice-like grip and pulled the young man away and back down to where he was sitting.

"Here, Miss Weasley," Minerva said kindly, "take my seat next to your brother."

Ginny Weasley was unrecognisable to her ex-boyfriend. Harry hadn't even recognised her as she took to the stage momentarily. She was still beautiful, still strong but her eyes and her hair were both a few shades darker than they used to be back when she walked on air and was simply a schoolgirl with a crush on the Boy Who Lived.

She turned, as though she sensed his jaded eyes working her over, and dealt him a quick smile before mouthing, "It's your turn."

Neville and Luna both were nudging him from both sides, unwilling to sit in the obscene, awkward silence that Ron's abrupt removal from the stage had incited.

Once Harry rose and dragged himself up to the dais, he removed a tissue from his pocket, placed surreptitiously by Luna (or so she thought!) in case he required it after a cry. With painful delicacy and care, he dried his friend's cheeks and mouth so the tears of her one-time lover were gone from her, as Ron had been.

"That's better, sweetheart." Harry whispered to no one in particular, for he was well aware Hermione wasn't listening.

Unlike the other two speakers, Harry had prepared notes and a speech written on old pieces of parchment he found littered about the house, presumably from Hermione's unsuccessful attempts at her memoirs. So, he began to read.

"Over the past week, you will have all read and heard enough about how Hermione Jean Granger was the greatest witch of our generation, the brains of the Golden Trio and the girl who saved the Boy Who Lived time and time again. However, that was the Hermione you all knew because of the way she conducted herself and allowed others to perceive her. My Hermione, the Hermione who was the best friend a man could wish for, the woman who sacrificed everything she had - her parents, her happiness, her sanity and now, her life - for the boy she fell in love with. Yes, I say now that she and I were in love at the end, she was everything to me. Not a day went by when the two of us lived in my parents' house when I didn't wake and go to sleep thinking about her and what she wanted and needed. You'll read of our tale in her memoirs, which had to be finished by me...for obvious reasons. It is a tale of lost loves and lives. Although we were both orphaned by the war and left with no family, we became each other's family when all others deserted us and our task. She was the rock I leaned on through so much and I truly have no idea who or what I will be without her to guide me. For, to her I was not the Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One, I was just Harry Potter. In all my life, she has been the only one to treat me as a person and she compelled others - subconsciously, that's how clever she was - to see me as Harry Potter, not the boy who killed Tom Riddle."

Harry took a moment, just to pause and gather his spiralling emotions. He knew he would be volatile on this day and in a moment where the mourners would expect him to speak of his love and admiration for his best friend and lover (though they did not know that initially), he did not want to be dragged off the dais as Ron had been. Hermione meant more to him than that. After noticing a comforting and bolstering nod from Luna, Harry smiled at her and finished his eulogy.

"In the past week - the worst week of my life, and that's saying something - research has been underway to comprehend the alteration to my Patronus which occurred just after Hermione died. Bear with me," Harry interjected, feeling the crowd wonder if he had finally lost it completely, "because you all need to understand just how powerful the witch I lost is, how important she was to me and how much I love her. When she left me, she created a whole new kind of magic, for when I sent my Patronus with the message that Hermione was dead, it was not the silver, corporeal Patronus of a stag that it has always been. Instead, it was a frightening, grey and gaunt otter."

Harry cast the spell and the whole room and the myriad of people outside the Great Hall drew in a breath in horror. The same otter that spilled from Harry's wand and bounded off around the room, hounding its occupants.

"That," Harry declared, gesturing at the fading otter, "ladies and gentlemen, is called a Granger Patronus. The name has been approved by the Ministry and has been elaborated on in the section of Hermione's memoirs written by me. We know that a Patronus can change form during grief, but it has been proved that the Granger Patronus is made when a true connection exists between the caster and the departed. So, I can think of no better proof than this to show how great a loss Hermione is to the world but more importantly to my world."

As Harry returned to his seat, brushing the tears from his face, he was deafened by the applause that assaulted his ears. It wasn't until Kingsley ascended the steps to the stage again and concluded the formal part of the day that the Boy Who Lived felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. Hermione had been accorded every respect, every dignity in her death and now as McGonagall and Flitwick prepared to remove her body out to the Great Lake where her mausoleum would be magically erected, Harry knew he could let her body find its eternal rest. She had earned it, after all…

"Harry?" A timid voice said, breaking through his reverie.

He turned and came face-to-face with the witch who had shattered his already broken heart into countless shards, "Ginny. Thank you for coming. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Not be so formal, for a start, Harry. It's me. Ginny. Your Ginny."

Harry scoffed, "You have never been my Ginny. If you ever thought you could be, you gave up the right to long ago. So, please excuse me."

The woman almost burst into tears at his harsh but true words, but she sobbed, "I'm sorry, I know I never should have said what I did after the battle, but I...it was Fred, Harry. My brother was dead and I, I just needed to blame somebody. I have regretted that I blamed you every minute since that day. I should have been there for you...and Hermione. We could have been a family. I know how much you relied on her and I can't imagine how hard it is and will be for you now she's dead, but - if you'll let me - I could be your family now. You can be part of my family, the Weasleys and you don't need to be alone anymore because I love you."

Neville had stood his ground, stalwart as ever behind Harry, while Ginny spoke but when she finished her spiel, he could not hold his silence any longer, "Ginny, step away. Go back to your family. You are not wanted - or needed - here."

Usually, Harry would have chided his friend for speaking on his behalf but his heart and mind were doing somersaults in his body having received Ginny's overtures of love and support. In truth, he was reeling and the bottled-up rage that surged to the brim of his body would no longer be tempered.

"How dare you," Harry growled so quietly and dangerously, "how dare you come up to me at my best friend, my family, my lover's funeral and beg me to come back to you! You are fickle, Ginny. You are unreliable and I would be a fool if I gave my heart to you again. I am no fool; Hermione made sure of that. You are everything she was not: selfish, impulsive, easy."

At Harry's last description of her, Ginny was prepared to defend herself but the cold, unfeeling glare coming from Luna, who used to be such a good friend to her, she remained silent.

"Hermione was everything I needed and wanted. We may not have been in love but our love went so much deeper than anything I have ever felt - or could ever feel - for the likes of you! What I want now for my future is to be good at my job here at Hogwarts, to do a normal job and to not settle for anything less than I would have had with Hermione. You might say, Ginny, that Hermione's last service to me was to give me some self-esteem. I am, in fact, too good for you, so please just find someone else to love and to love you and to be part of your family."

Luna and Neville, in their roles as Harry's veritable bodyguards, moved right up to his sides to flank him. When Ginny saw their battle-like formation, she said not one word more and scurried back to the other redheads in the hall who were oblivious to the final interaction between their family and Harry Potter.

"Guys," Harry groaned, turning to face his companions, "I'm just going to take a walk. Stay here, have some butterbeer and stop worrying about me for a while. I'll be alright. Just need to get away from people is all."

"Right y'are, Harry." Luna replied with a smile before hooking her arm into the crook of her boyfriends elbow and steering him towards the refreshments table.

Harry meandered through the corridors of his old school and workplace, he negotiated the moving staircases, but chuckled to himself when he managed to avoid the third floor corridor. He casually inspected the dormitories and the common room that would soon be part of his house before he realised where he longed to be and strolled there, ignoring the portraits' attempts to start conversation.

When he reached his destination, he smiled as the aroma of old tomes and new parchment assaulted his nostrils. It was the scent of the library, of knowledge...of Hermione. She always carried the smell of ink and books and had an air of learning about her. Being in the library was as close to her as he could get in Hogwarts, for although her body was entombed by the lake, her spirit was felt where the books were shelved.

"Harry Potter. I knew you would be the first to find me here."

The interloper jumped when a wispy, musical but familiar voice came from behind him. When he turned he expected to glimpse the ghostly face of Helena Ravenclaw, but the shade who was floating there was not the daughter of one of the founding members.

"No...it cannot be. How? You-Oh God, I've missed you." Harry sighed, the words catching in his throat as he reached out for the figure before him.

The ghost of Hermione Granger smiled down at her best friend, family and lover before her smile turned sad when his hand passed through her mackled waist.

"I am here. I died but was given a choice and I chose to come back to you. I am reborn, Harry," she stated, sounding more like the Hermione of old who had been absent from both their lives for so long, "for my mortal body served its purpose. It saw you safe into your adulthood and Voldemort dead. Now, I can exist as a ghost - a completely new being! I am still Hermione, with all my memories and feelings, but the pain is gone. I am free, free from my broken body and mind. When I awoke here, I felt like I was home. The library was always where I belonged."

Harry could not control the weeping that began from the moment he beheld her nebulous form. The woman he longed to see again, to talk to again had returned from the dead. He was overcome with joy and relief that the remainder of his life would not be spent alone and without Hermione Jean Granger's company.

"You really are remarkable," he spluttered, "for choosing to be with me instead of moving on. Now, I can forgive you for taking yourself away from me in the first place. You are the reason I am still alive, 'Mione, and I'm so grateful to you…"

There was really no more to be said and Harry, forgetting the intricacies involved in spectre-human contact, leaned up to his lover's face and kissed her. When his warm lips met her icy ones, he felt distinctly as though he were kissing snow, for her lips were salty but ice cold and her teeth were like icicles to him. Harry opened his eyes and saw his partner's eyes were closed tightly and she was kissing him back. Though there was no primal, physical contact between them, Harry was comforted and vaguely aroused by the notion that he was kissing his witch regardless of her state in the world.

"I'm not sure a human has ever kissed a ghost before, Harry," Hermione noted as they pulled apart, "but I felt that, somewhere deep within my soul. Ghosts aren't really supposed to be kissing those who are still living."

"I don't care what ghosts are supposed to do, sweetheart. I just care that I have you back and you will be here, in Hogwarts, with me forever."

Hermione laughed, the fabric of the Marchesa gown she wore at the ball and was fated to wear forever rippling as her body laughed with her mouth, "Trust you to want to spend your life with someone who's dead, Harry. No. I will be here to be your companion, your counsel, your comfort but I can never be the one who takes all your care. That should be your students now. You will be a responsible teacher and Head of Gryffindor, Harry. Be as good a teacher as Remus was. He - and everyone else, for that matter - send their love and their congratulations, by the way."

"What?" Harry asked perplexedly.

"Never mind that. Just know that everyone you have loved and lost loves you still and wishes you well. Be the best teacher you can be, Harry. Don't go wandering about with the map and causing trouble like we used to. Your destiny now is to be a sublime professor and as the one who always made sure you reached your destiny, don't bollocks it up...or I'll know about it! I will be right here to see it as Lady Diligence."

"Lady Diligence?" Harry asked, smirking at her very Hermione-like encouragement to be good at his job, just like she used to say it about his Potions' homework.

"Harry," she moaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation, "it's a good thing I deigned to pick up and read Hogwarts: A History because evidently you never did! Might want to change that, by the way, being a teacher now. Anyway, the ghost of the Hogwarts Library is always known as Lady Diligence. She is always a woman and she acts as a kind of tutor to the students in the library."

"That's the job you were born to do, 'Mione. Now, you can tell some other poor sod off for not paying enough attention to their homework."

Hermione giggled back, "It'll probably be their homework for Professor Potter."

"Indeed."

The pair of them looked at each other longingly but fully content to be in each other's presence once more. It was more than Harry, certainly, could have hoped for. Harry would have been content to spend the rest of the day in the library with the friend whose funeral was still underway in the Great Hall, but it was not to be.

"Harry, go back to my funeral. Otherwise, they will mount a search party and I do not wish to be discovered by the public just yet."

The Boy Who Lived and loved once more smiled at his secret ghost, "Yes, my Lady Diligence," before leaving her in her library and returning to the thrumming party who had no clue that the woman they were remembering was floating about the Hogwarts Library happy as can be.