In the church, lay a girl. But she wasn't just a girl. She was an amazing girl, who had achieved more than most of the people sitting in the church. The girl was laid down gently, her skin paler than it had been in life, and her eyes closed. Her hands laid limply by her side, her legs slightly apart, her body lifeless.

The church was very small. It was her local church, of course. She was Muggleborn and so she was having a muggle funeral. But there was more wizards than Muggles present, because the girl was more a witch than a muggle, and the majority of people present knew that.

In the front were the girl's best friends. A petit red haired girl was crying on her brother's shoulder. Ginny Weasley's wrists were still red and raw, because of the dead girl. Ginny's face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she sobbed and wept.

Ron Weasley gently patted his sister's back. He was crying also, but he was trying not to. He hiccuped and wiped his eyes, and tried to comfort his sister even though his own pain was nearly too unbearable to care about others.

Beside Ron, was Harry Potter. He wasn't crying. No. He couldn't cry. Because he couldn't feel anything but the unbearable guilt seeping through his body. Guilt that washed over him, numbing his senses, pricking at him until he felt like screaming.

Because Hermione Granger had died for him.

To stop him from doing something stupid, so she died for him.

Harry tried to stop himself, tried to stop himself from remembering, but how could he not? How could he not remember realising what she was doing? But even then, he hadn't thought she would die.

He felt the memory take hold of him.

*

Flashback

He had been bored. They were in the Burrow in the summer of fifth year and he had been bored because Ron was in the bathtub. And when Ron was in the bathtub, he didn't come out any time soon. He had even taken in his favourite rubber ducky, always a sign that he expected to be soaking in the bath for a good long time.

So he decided to visit the girls. Ginny and Hermione had been in their room all day and Harry wanted to know why. I could be spending this time planning, he thought.

All summer Harry had been planning on how to get revenge on Bellatrix. He wanted to avenge Sirius. All his planning deadened his pain, and the thought that one day he could make Bellatrix feel the same pain he was feeling made him oddly satisfied.

Harry was becoming obsessed with the idea. He didn't care about Voldemort anymore. Just revenge. Just his Godfather's death.

So he walked in. The door was locked. Strange. He shouted in but there was no reply so he cast an unlocking charm, and ran in, a feeling of dread upon him.

Inside was Ginny. Muggle Handcuffs decorated her wrists and black tape covered her mouth.

"Ginny!" yelled Harry, immediately ripping off the black tape on her mouth.

"God! That hurts!" she cried.

"Where's Hermione?" He demanded. "Did they take her?"

"Nobody took her, Harry," Ginny said with tears flooding her eyes, "She did this to me. She said she'd explain in a note. I think she left it on the bed."

I'm so sorry. Ginny, I'm really sorry. The key to the handcuffs is under on the table. I hope your wrists aren't too painful.

I know you all don't understand, but, Harry, I found the plans under your bed. Revenge. And I know about the prophecy. And, oh, I guess I should tell you now, Voldemort knows too. I don't know how he knows, but he does. Draco told me. Yes Draco Malfoy. He thinks maybe Professor Snape has gone to the Dark Side. I don't know.

I've become friends with Draco. I guess I should have told you earlier but I was scared. I know how angry you'd get. But I decided I better tell you just in case anything happens to me.

Not that it will.

Draco and I have set this up. He's told me where Bellatrix will be (I'm not stating it here, I'm sorry) at a certain time and so I'm going. Harry, I'll get your revenge and then you can concentrate on killing Voldemort. I don't think you know this but I loved Sirius too. He comforted me when my parents were killed by Voldemort. Yes, you didn't know. It happened in the summer of fourth year. I thought you had enough to be going on with but Sirius knew and he helped me. More than you can ever know.

I know this is all very sudden. I know you don't understand. And when I come back, I'll explain it all to you properly, I promise.

End of flashback

But Hermione didn't come back.

However, Hermione did get Harry's revenge. She had killed Bellatrix before Bellatrix had killed her. Harry could imagine her, smiling her triumphant smile before collapsing. But she hadn't died then.

No. She had been found by Rachel.

Rachel was a chubby blonde, with bad skin and a babyish smile. A Muggle. She had found Hermione's fallen figure in the middle of the street. She had tried to get help for Hermione but Hermione had told her there was no time. "Tell them all that I love them," she had uttered, "And I am so sorry. But I did it. Tell Harry that I did it. Tell Draco I'm sorry. The rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin has to end now. Tell them that. Ad tell Draco thanks you. Tell them all thank you…"

And then she had died. In a stranger's arms.

Harry looked at Rachel now. She was sitting with her parents, big tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. He felt a little sorry for her. But a little jealous too. Because she had been with Hermione, when Harry couldn't be.

The funeral was over now. It was time for the burial.

As they were standing outside, on this cold windy day, he looked at Draco Malfoy. Draco's face was blank, but painful. His skin seemed strained over his cheeks somehow, and his eyes were glittering. His eyes were stuck on Hermione's form and he seemed to be totally lifeless. Harry could never forgive him, he had helped Hermione to die, and yet he didn't feel a raging hate like one would think.

Because he could see the guilt in Draco's eyes. He could see the pain and the suffering. He knew that Draco was feeling what Harry was feeling at that exact moment.

So maybe that was why he had held Ron back earlier that day when Draco had shown himself at the funeral.

Hermione had befriended Draco, and it would seem disrespectful to her somehow if he had let Ron beat her friend to a pulp.

But the pain in Draco's eyes was very deep and Harry wondered for a minute did the blonde headed boy feel more for her than just friendship? Was he in love with her?

Nobody would ever know now, anyway.

The coffin was closed now. Harry's last image of Hermione was her lying peacefully, golden curls surrounding her and, unless Harry was mistaken, a very small smile on her face.

"Kill him, Harry," whispered Malfoy, standing beside him looking down at the box in which Hermione would lie forever, "Kill Voldemort and make it all worth while."

"Yes," Harry told Malfoy and Hermione, who was slowly sinking down into the ground, "Yes I will."

And he did.

He killed Voldemort at the end of seventh year. He trained, trained harder than ever before. He practised Occumelcy with Snape every day (Surprising Snape with his thirst to learn it) and he practised duelling with Dumbledore himself, finally outdoing the old man.

And then he killed Voldemort. With Draco, and Ron standing beside him, and the Order of Phoenix, Ginny, Neville Longbottom and the Weasley twins behind him, Harry killed Voldemort.

And he did it for her.

Hermione Granger.

And he, then, graduated from Hogwarts. He graduated with Ron and with Draco.

And they all moved on with their lives, becoming different things, achieving different things, obtaining new experiences, making families, falling in love, having children, and finally settling down.

But nobody ever forgot Hermione Granger.

Because nobody could ever forget somebody like her.