A/N: I would like to credit RaeWhit's In the Gloaming as the inspiration for this piece. That being said, this does not follow the ending or presumed events that would follow from DH, and takes a few other liberties. It is HP/SS but not slashy/graphic. It is rated T (13+) for some language and sexual innuendo. If you are currently reading either "The Journey's Destination" or "The Half-Life Curse," (or both) then you know that means I am currently working on 3 separate pieces. This is not good news for my readers, as it is hard enough to see one plot through to completion, let alone 3 at once. So, be prepared for all three to take a little while to be finished. I promise they will be eventually. There's only 1 story that I started but never intend to finish, and it will never be posted on FF. Anyway, enjoy!

Ready In Time

One would be hard-pressed to find a dry eye, although that was par for the course as far as funerals went. But this funeral was different. This was the mourning of a hero; a legend; a savior, cut down in the prime of his life. Well, before his life had even really begun.

The speeches were finally over. Minister for Magic, former professors, and mostly people who hadn't really even known him had spewed gallantries about Harry Potter and how he had died a noble death freeing the world from Lord Voldemort's clutches. It seemed as though the only people who hadn't spoken were those closest to him. Hermione, Ron, the rest of the Weasley family, Dean, Seamus, and other Hogwarts classmates had all remained silent, dabbing the corners of their eyes as the hours dragged on.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. Hermione made her way up with Ron to the casket, gripping his hand with every ounce of her strength. He gripped back, both supporting and needing support as they gazed upon their best friend – the apex of the Golden Trio – for the very last time. He would be buried in Godric's Hollow with his own parents and with Dumbledore's family. Some had thought he should be buried at Hogwarts, or at the Ministry, but thankfully Professor McGonagall had squelched those ideas before they really took hold.

He could have been sleeping. Harry lay in the Holly casket – to match his wand – on the ivory satin pillows. Dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, sans robes, he looked like he might just be taking a quick nap before exams, or maybe tea. But he was too pale, unnaturally white for someone who was used to looking windblown from flying – cheeks red from the wind whipping his face. Just beneath his fringe, barely visible, was the tell-tale scar. Hermione wondered for a brief second where his glasses were, although she chided herself for such a stupid question – Harry wouldn't need glasses where he was going. It made him look almost foreign, though, to be without the round spectacles that were nearly as famous as the scar upon his brow. Hands crossed over his stomach, he held his wand gently, peacefully. Tears blurred her vision as she thought of all the things she wished she could say to him now, things that would never be said. She dragged in a ragged breath as she thought of all the things she wished the three of them could do together, things that would never be done. Ron squeezed her hand and with her free arm she brought her fingers to her eyes and wiped away the moisture, so she could have one final, clear look at her best friend. She forced a smile to her lips as she kissed her fingers and then pressed them to his hand, his cold, stiff hand. As she turned to leave with Ron, she tried as hard as she could to banish the thought plaguing her mind that Harry wasn't dead – couldn't be dead; he would greet them with a bright smile and hugs as soon as they walked through the door of the Burrow. But she shook her head as if to clear out the cobwebs. One thing was certain – she would never see Harry Potter's emerald green eyes sparkle with laughter again.