A young woman sat with her head bowed, brown hair falling across a face wet with tears. Her back shook silently with the sobs she’d been holding in for days, weeks, even months; now they poured forth in a torrent of heartbreak that seemed as if it would never end.

“I miss you,” she murmured, raising tear-stained eyes to gaze around the dark room. A strange whispering seemed to float in the air around her, murmuring wordlessly of loss and despair. “I miss you so much.”

I know. I miss you too.

“I wish you were here,” she continued, wiping her cheeks dry and smiling sadly to herself. “We did it, and there’s been so much to celebrate. It’s not the same without you.”

I wish I could be there. I’m just glad that everyone is safe now, especially you. You should celebrate with them.

The young woman sighed and rearranged herself on the cold stone floor, rubbing her arms to stay warm. “Maybe someday, but not yet. I’m not ready.”

It’s been a year now. I know you’re stubborn, but you can’t wait forever.

Her face hardened slightly, quick to retort with anger. Then she sighed again as the tears began to fall once more. “It’s just so hard,” she finally whispered.

That’s never stopped you before. You’re a Gryffindor, you always face challenges head on. This isn’t any different.

“It’s completely different!” she cried, jumping up and beginning to pace the small dais. “It’s so different I can’t stand it anymore. Every other time you’ve been there, with me. I can’t do this alone.”

Yes, you can. I know you can; I believe in you. You’ll find a way. You were always the one who knew what to do.

She wiped angrily at the tears and continued pacing, growing more and more agitated. “I don’t know what to do this time. I’ve tried to move on. I can’t do it.”

You have to. You don’t have a choice.

“Yes, I do!” she shouted, anger finally overcoming her grief. She stopped to stare at the stone archway in front of her, her heart beating madly in her chest. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve made my choice.” She took a step closer toward the tattered black curtain that fluttered in an invisible breeze.

No, you don’t mean that. I won’t let you throw away your life like this.

The young woman fell to her knees in front of the veil, her hands pounding the stone in front of her. “You can’t stop me!” she sobbed. “Please don’t stop me!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” said a quiet voice behind her. “But I will.”

Hermione whipped around, her eyes suddenly wild. Harry walked slowly up the stairs to join her on the dais. He sat down next to her and gazed sadly at the veil, then pierced Hermione with a fiercely protective look.

“Ron asked me to look over you, and I promised him I would,” he said, his voice quiet in the empty room. “I know you’re hurting. I know, because I am too. I imagine Ron is somewhere behind the veil, watching us mourn with just a hint of a smile, glad to know we miss him so much.” Hermione snorted and Harry smiled before continuing. “He would not, however, want us to mourn him forever, nor would he want to see you like this.”

Hermione sniffed, and Harry put his arm around her shoulder. She broke down once more, crying softly into his shoulder. They sat for a moment in silence, words unnecessary, with the veil still shifting mysteriously in the empty room.

“I miss him so much, Harry,” Hermione finally murmured. “I wish he were still here with us. He should be here. He should have gotten a hero’s welcome with the rest of us, but instead he got a funeral.”

Harry nodded, and Hermione saw that his eyes were very bright. “I know,” he said softly, staring at the veil once more, his face haunted. “He’s the only reason we’re alive. I can’t stand what happened. I miss him too.” The pain of losing his best friend was etched clearly in his face; Harry had lost so many loved ones to the war, she wondered how he had survived the heartbreak of each loss. He sighed and looked back at her with another pointed look. “I don’t think he sacrificed himself just so you could throw it away by walking through the veil, though.”

“I just wanted to say good-bye,” Hermione whispered, her throat tight. “I guess I thought, somehow. . .” she trailed off as she gestured miserably at the veil, then let her hands fall limply to her lap, her head bowed once more by grief.

Harry took her hand and squeezed it tight. “Say good-bye now, then. This is as good a place as any.” She looked at him in surprise and he gave her another sad smile. “If he could hear you anywhere, I think it would be here. Say good-bye. I’ll wait up there.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, much as she had done once at Kings Cross Station after a particularly trying year. Now her difficult year was coming to an end, and he needed to comfort her. She nodded and together they stood. With another quick squeeze of her hand, Harry let go and left the dais, leaving her to face the stark reality of the veil alone.

Hermione swallowed hard, determined to say what she needed to say, though she didn’t believe it would ever lessen the pain in her heart. She even felt a bit ridiculous, speaking to the empty air, not knowing if Ron could even hear her, or if it would make a difference. Taking a deep breath, she began, trying to put to words what she felt at that moment.

“Ron,” she said softly. “I think it’s time for me to move on. I’ll always miss you, but I can’t be with you, not yet. I know that now.” She sighed, remembering that first step she had taken toward the veil in her desperate grief only moments earlier. “I just wanted to say good-bye. And. . .” Hermione took a deep breath to finish. “I love you.” Tears flowed down her face as she turned her back on the archway, unable to continue.

A hand grasped her wrist before she could leave.

Hermione closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. Harry had left her alone on the dais to say her final farewell. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries had found her, but she knew that was wrong. The hand clasping her own was cold and indistinct, but something about it felt so familiar.

“Ron,” she breathed, not daring to turn around and face the chance that she was wrong, hoping so desperately for something that could never be that she was imagining his touch.

“Hi, Hermione,” said a soft voice, and with a cry she turned. A ghostly face stared into her eyes: fiery red hair, long nose, and freckles. It was Ron, pale and transparent, but it was still him, reaching out from beyond the veil to grasp her with his ethereal touch.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the ghostly man in front of her. “How is this even possible?”

Ron grinned, pleased to have surprised her. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, I know something that you don’t know? That must be a first. Call the Daily Prophet.”

“Ron!” she exclaimed. “This is no time for jokes! What are you doing here?”

“I heard you,” he said simply. “And I wanted to say good bye too.”

Fresh tears begin to roll down Hermione’s cheeks, and her heart felt as if it would break all over again. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but feared she would only pass right through, and she didn’t think she could bear the thought of not feeling his arms around her one last time. Yet even as she glanced down at their clasped hands with a frown, she felt a warm shiver pass through his body; when she looked up, he was grinning again, not longer a ghost but a real, solid person standing across from her.

“Oh Ron,” she cried again, unable to stop his name from rolling off her tongue so many times. “I miss you so much. I’m so glad you’re here, even if it is impossible and I’m just dreaming.”

Ron laughed and finally threw his arms around her, embracing her tightly. “You’re not dreaming,” he said, stepping back. “But I can’t stay. I shouldn’t even be here, but when I heard you, I had to come.”

Hermione frowned, as her heart began thumping in panic. “If you’re here now, why can’t you stay? You’re real, I can feel it!”

“I’m still dead, Hermione,” Ron said softly, and she heard a wisdom in his voice that she had never heard before. “Nothing can change that; it’s the way of the world. I’m only here to say good-bye.”

Hermione nodded, trying to be glad for the chance to see him once more. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, until at last Ron took her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. Hermione felt as if she would collapse from all the emotions moving through her body: love, hate, grief, and real physical pain at the thought of being separated from him again, forever. When he finally pulled out of the embrace, Hermione saw tears running down his face and knew that Ron felt the exact same way.

“I love you too,” Ron whispered, kissing her forehead. In spite of the tightness in her chest, Hermione smiled with a bittersweet happiness. He had never said those three words to her, and she would keep the memory of them with her forever.

Ron stepped back, still holding Hermione’s hand. She felt his reluctance to let go, and gave him another small nod in understanding. She would be okay now, and he could return to his place beyond the veil. Ron nodded back, then glanced up into the dark chamber. He inclined his head to Harry, who was standing at the top of the stairs surrounding the dais, looking stunned.

Taking a deep breath, Ron stepped backward through the black curtain, disappearing into a time and place no one could see. He stopped and lingered on the threshold, his fingers still interlocked with hers. He brought her hand up to invisible lips, and Hermione felt his touch for the final time.

“Good-bye, Hermione,” he whispered, and let go. Hermione gasped as her hand fell, then brought it to her face as she closed her eyes, trying to remember every last detail of their heartrending parting.

With a deep sigh, Hermione turned away from the veil. No ghostly hand grasped her arm, and she made her way down the stone steps of the dais without looking back. She had said her farewell, and would move on. She was only glad that she had been able to see Ron again.

Reluctantly she made her way to the top of the room, where Harry stood waiting for her, silent in his own grief. When she reached the end of the stairs, she turned to look down at the archway one last time. “Good-bye, Ron,” she finally answered, and left the death chamber to return to life.

* * * * *

A/N: This story was inspired by the prompt for the February one-shot challenge. Unfortunately, it skirted around the edges a bit too much to be submitted for the challenge. Thank you to Ravensgryff for encouraging me to submit it as its own story anyway, and to myownmuggle for her quick and thorough beta work!