Though rain had not yet fallen, the funeral took place on a dreary day. The sun had turned its face away, as if it itself were afraid to look upon the mourning wizards and witches. Hundreds of people stood beside the fluffy haired girl, all staring solemnly at the three caskets before them.

Hermione Granger's tears had dried up quite some time ago. Despite being known for her level-headedness, she had still assumed that she would cry. Logically, crying would be the least she could do at her two best friends' funeral. Instead, all she could do was stare at the wooden caskets. Despite the occasional sob and flash of the camera, all was quiet. Everyone had come to mourn for the two heroes, and everyone stood silently, waiting. Watching. Wondering…if maybe, just maybe, the two boys were actually alive, and it would all turn out to be just a horrid dream.

A dream…indeed. Hermione felt as if she was walking through a terrifying dream. She stood there, her black robes replacing her old red and gold ones. Tears refused to come, and all she could do was float upon the heavy air. These caskets before her…these deaths. This wasn't sensible at all…

No one knew what to feel. Voldmort was dead, but the world was still hung in a gasp. Some celebrated, some grew wary as to whether You-Know-Who was truly dead. Perhaps the body found wasn't actually Voldmort's body…after all, who knew what the face of everyone's greatest fear looked like? So many thoughts, so many emotions flew through throughout the wizards and witches. Sadness…confusion…guilt…fear…

"One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

Hermione tried to take a breath, but found herself unable to do so. Fiery hair easily contrasted itself against the cherry wooden casket, but the fiery glint held in the Gryfindor boy's eyes had dulled away. That insensitive git…why did he try so hard to prove himself? His hidden bravery, that adorable look he had when he was confused, was gone. Hermione supposed it had dulled away along with the glint in his eyes.

His pale form just remained laying there, as if he were just asleep. A small, illogical part of the Granger girl's brain wanted to hope that that was all it was. Any minute now, he would turn over and mash a pillow upon his head, sprawl his legs out, and mumble about wanting five more minutes. She wanted him to wake up…she wanted him to be the insensitive wart that he was. But Ronald Weasley never did what Hermione wanted him to do. His body remained limp, and his hands remained rested formally upon his chest.

Through the light mist, Hermione could see Mrs. Weasley's distant form. She had thought that the dear woman would one day have been her mother-in-law…she thought she would be crying alongside the family woman at her wedding. She had never thought she would be watching the fiery woman break down into tears at Ron's funeral. Ron's knack for getting into trouble had almost driven the woman to tears before, but he had always gotten out of it. Ron was best friends with Harry Potter; he had always been in and out of trouble.

"I don't go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds me."

Merely a few feet away from Ron's pale form, a fading scar was still visible upon the boy-who-lived's head. That beastly scar was still the focus of attention. Everyone had thought, perhaps, that the scar would fade away when the boy died. Fate wouldn't even grant him that. Curse fate…Ron's sweet eyes would never open again, Harry's scar would remain with him in death, and the sky didn't even bother to rain.

Hermione Granger abhorred clichés, and the lack of them.

Everything was so simply horrid…she wasn't even the only almost-widow amongst the crowd. Beside her, another young witch stood, breaking into a sob. Hermione gazed at the crying young woman, at a loss at what to do. She didn't know the next course of action, and she didn't know how to continue effectively. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were dead…there was nothing logical about it.

"Ginny…" Hermione whispered, reaching out towards the grieving woman. Instead, the fiery haired witch turned and walked away. Hermione let out a soft sigh. Ginny's glint was gone too.

Everybody had lost a loved one to the war. Ginny had lost her brother, and the boy she loved. The poor girl…she didn't even know about how Harry had been carrying an engagement ring in his pocket…his mother's wedding ring. Perhaps if Harry had lived through the dark lord's destruction, his head wouldn't have been so muddled with silly ideas such as saving the wizarding world.

Ron had been Hermione's insufferable git…and Harry had been Ginny's.

Hermione swallowed, attempting to focus on something else. She didn't want to think about the final battle any longer…she didn't know if she could even remember the entire thing. Instead, she fixed her attention on the crowd around her.

The Weasley's were all there, of course, exempting Percy. They had sacrificed much during the war…too much. Hermione watched wistfully as Ginny was enveloped in her mother's arms, sobbing.

Hermione's mother and father were present at the funeral as well, though Hermione wasn't quite sure why. They didn't look too out of place, despite the fact that they weren't in wizarding robes. They were wearing simple black muggle outfits, but not one person had yet dared to call them mudbloods. Hermione felt thankful. She couldn't deal with that…not now.

Mrs. Weasley's face rained the tears the sky had not the heart to shed. Hermione watched, numbly, as Ginny cried into her mother's robe. For the one time in Hermione Granger's life, she didn't want to do the sensible. She didn't want to pull herself together. She just wanted to feel anything, even if it was pain. She wanted to cry…but the tears refused to come. Her mother stood behind her, lost…watching.

"Ginerva, Ginerva Weasley?!" Hermione felt a wave of anger flush to her cheeks as a familiar voice rang through the air. That beetle wouldn't…yes. Only that bothersome insect would do such a beastly thing.

"Ms. Weasley, what did it feel to lose your best friends and your brother in one night?" Rita Skeeter pushed through the crowd, her annoying voice rising in pitch. Wide-eyed, Ginny turned to face the overbearingly insensitive journalist.

"Excuse me?"

"Rita Skeeter, writing for The Daily Prophet. Would you care to explain the details of your brother's death? Did your ex-boyfriend really kill Voldmort with a Unforgivable?" Hermione glared as the blonde reporter scribbled notes.

"I…I'm afraid I am unable to give any comments." Rita's penciled eyebrows raised, her eyes looking Ginny over with a sickeningly false act of sympathy. Hermione's temper glistened, her threat against the illegal Animagus flashing before her mind.

"Oh my, you poor dear. Their deaths have been hard on all of us, of course. History does tend to repeat itself, dear, doesn't it?" As the journalist spoke, her quick notes spell worked on it's own to the side, with disgustingly formal handwriting. Ginny's eyes flashed with confusion, but were soon laced with anger. Hermione was tempted to grin.

"Whatever you intend to write, Ms. Skeeter, I advise you keep to yourself." Ginny spoke, gritting her teeth. Faintly, Hermione thought she heard Mrs. Weasley's angry tone resonating within the young witch.

"My dear, whatever do you mean?"

"Ever since I've known you, Ms. Skeeter, I've watched you and your attempts to degrade and humiliate my friends. I've put up with you, despite the numerous amount of resentment and disgust I've invested in your general direction. But I assure you, Ms. Skeeter, whatever lies you intend to spin into your stories had better fade away with the wind."

"What lies are you speaking of, Ms. Weasley? I only intend to, after all, place a little icing upon the truth. Sweetening this slothful, boring day would make everyone feel a better."

Hermione had never truly known what Ron had meant when he referred to his mother being angry. After all, the closest thing Hermione had ever seen was the Howler he had received in his second year. The elder Weasley woman looked frighteningly angry right now, true, but Ginny was another story. Within seconds, it seemed, her face matched her fiery hair.

"Icing?! ICING?! WHAT GALL DO YOU HAVE TO MANIPULATE AND SPREAD LIES ABOUT MY FRIENDS WHILE THEIR BODIES AREN'T EVEN YET COLD?! I ASSURE YOU, RITA SKEETER, HELL WILL FREEZE OVER BEFORE I LET YOU SPREAD LIES ABOUT THEM!" The entire crowd of witches and wizards turned to face the screaming girl. It was rather frightening, watching Ginny's eyes bug out like that. Ginny didn't sound like herself at all…perhaps that was the truly frightening part.

Rita Skeeter seemed to shrink away slightly from the enraged teenager for a moment, before recovering herself. She stood upright, a smug smile spreading across her lips. Whispers echoed around them, a sea of mourning witches and wizards watching the display quietly. Many seemed enthralled at the sight of Rita Skeeter being chewed out. Despite their expressions, however, the journalist seemed quite satisfied.

"My dear, I believe I already have all of the facts I need. There were many witnesses willing to give me their theories on what really went on behind the…what?" Rita stopped mid-sentence, a horrified expression growing on her face.

"Where is it…what have you done with it?!" She screeched, flipping hastily through her notebook. Ginny blinked, her face still slightly pink from her previous outburst.

"What have I done with what?"

"My notes, you insolent brat, my notes!"

"What about them?"

"They're gone….why you…" The journalist's screeching abruptly came to a stop as she realized the she was being watched by hundreds of wizards and witches. Instead, Rita chose to glare at the young Weasley, hatred seeping out of her eyes. With her notes missing, it was obvious that the unequivocally detestable woman had given up her act. She tossed her head up, pressing her thin lips together.

"No matter. I've seen enough. Good day to you, Ms. Weasley. Let me assure you, you have not heard the last from me." The woman marched away, leaving a confused Ginny behind.

The elder Weasley woman looked back and forth between her daughter and the pouting journalist, unsure of what to say. She kissed Ginny's forehead, letting out a light sigh as she did so.

"As much as I disapprove with some of the words you said, I wish I had been the one to do that." She laughed softly, playing with her daughter's hair. Ginny gave a slight smile, still gazing out at the journalist pushing through the crowd to leave.

"They…they would have given anything to see Rita stomp away like that, wouldn't they?" Ginny spoke softly, her voice rough from the argument that had occurred merely minutes before. Her mother nodded, gazing at the cherry wooden casket before them all.

"Yes dear…and Ron would have especially enjoyed you taking her notes. However, don't let me catching you doing such a thing again." At her mother's accusation, Ginny's eyebrows furrowed.

"Me? Mum, I…I didn't…I thought you took them."

Hermione Granger smiled lightly, a crumpled piece of paper hidden in the palm of her hand. She didn't bother to look at the crazy theories and lies the disgusting beetle had been planning. It wasn't worth her time. She just tightened her grip, letting the piece of paper crumple smaller and smaller into her hand as the funeral progressed.

After everyone had left, Hermione's lone figure remained. She stood there, gazing at the gravestones that now replaced where the caskets had previously been. Hermione was an intelligent witch, and she knew for a fact that she had been in denial. She knew for a fact that she would have to let go.

Holding out her hand, Hermione took a shaky breath. A tear running down her cheek, the young witch granted Ginny's request. She let Rita Skeeter's lies fade away into the wind.

She was letting go of Harry's bravery…his brilliant sacrifice.

She was letting go of Ron's blind determination…of that adorable, confused look that always made her feel weak in her knees.

She was letting go of herself…

Death, Hermione Granger had finally decided, was a completely illogical thing. It was so complicated, so complex, that it didn't make any sense to the young witch. Perhaps that was the most marvelous thing about it all. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger didn't have to fret about following the rules, or being logical.

Watching the piece of paper fly away with the wind, she found herself doing the most illogical thing of them all. She found herself letting go…

Harry James Potter

31 July 1980 A.D. – 31 October 1998 A.D.

The Boy Who Lived

Ronald Bilius Weasley

1 March 1980 A.D. - 31 October 1998 A.D.

Weasley is Our King

Hermione Jean Granger

19 September 1979 A.D. – 31 October 1998 A.D.

There was Never a Spell she Couldn't Do.

Albus Dumbledore: "After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."