“Of course, my dear. Are you looking for a link to God, a confession, or...?” He looked down at her inquiringly, and Hermione felt almost guilty at just asking for her friend.
“Well, I was actually looking for a friend of mine who sometimes comes here. Ron Weasley?” In truth, Hermione had no idea whether Ron would go to church; she had never gotten the impression that the Weasley’s were particularly religious. But she felt sure that if he lived near there then someone would know him. There weren't too many buildings around, and Ron wasn't the most subtle man in the world. The priest nodded without too much enthusiasm, but still with the customary small smile, and walked down to the entrance with her.
“Yes, he’s near here. Unfortunately I have a mass to lead, but I’m sure our caretaker, Mr. Roberts, will take you. Ah, Mr. Roberts,” he said, gesturing to a man in his late fifties, a little smaller than Hermione, sporting a head of grey hair with flecks of black here and there, who swiftly hobbled over. “This young lady would like to visit Ron Weasley. Would you be able to show her the way?” Mr. Roberts nodded and smiled at Hermione as the priest walked slowly away.
“It’ll be quicker if we go the back way, although your shoes might get a bit muddy,” he commented, taking a look at her overall appearance, which still held a few muddy marks and twigs from her earlier fall.
“That’ll be fine,” Hermione replied, rather self-consciously rubbing at her elbow which seemed to be sporting a rather large grass stain. Mr. Roberts merely smiled and started walking, rather slowly for Hermione’s taste, round to the back of the church.
“I just got a letter for him actually,” he told her after a minute of silence, waving an envelope in his hand, which Hermione quickly recognised as her own. “You wouldn’t believe the types of post that gets delivered here, we really ought to start up our own version of the Royal Mail; it‘d probably be faster!” he said with a small chuckle. “It's lucky I have such a good memory - I never forget a face or a place!" he boasted. "That's one of the reason I'm a caretaker here, I always know where to go, where to take people to, what happened and so on. But I don't see why I should be a postman too! Not that there's much else to do around here. I'm always around if anything much happens, so people just depend on me for everything! I suppose as this is the only noticeable building around here, people just assume that everyone would come here for the mail. Apart from the customary letters to God, we’ve had a few for the locals, the police, Harrods, even the MI5! I suppose postmen these days just can‘t be bothered to go that extra mile!”
Hermione nodded, but she wasn’t really listening. She was too submerged in her own thoughts, craning her neck to see if she could catch sight of a house that could be Ron’s, or any red-headed, freckle faced children running around, or the man himself. But she saw nothing.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he noted, making Hermione come back down to earth rapidly.
“No, I live up further north,” Hermione explained. “I only came here to visit an old friend.” Mr. Roberts nodded as they walked on. They seemed to be reaching the end of the church ground when he slowed to a stop. Hermione wasn’t sure what to do, so she waited half a step behind him, still looking around for Ron’s house, wondering how much further she would have to walk before her toes grew almost completely numb. The clouds seemed to be turning a rather ominous dark grey colour, perhaps foreshadowing something. Most likely more rain, thought Hermione. She looked on as Mr. Roberts bent down to one of the numerous headstones around the church land and put down the envelope.
“Wait - what are you doing?” Hermione snapped back to attention; she realized what exactly the old man was doing. “That letter’s for Ron!” Mr. Roberts stood back up, giving Hermione a far stranger look than any of the people she had passed on her journey. Hermione’s breathing became suddenly more forced and rapid as the understanding sunk in.
“No,” she breathed quietly. “No! That letter was for Ron, you said so yourself! You can’t just leave it there! You have to give it to him; you have to take to me to him!” Mr. Roberts sighed sadly, knowing that the reason she was being so hysterical was because she knew the truth.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.
“No. No, you don’t understand - I’m looking for Ron Weasley! This isn’t him... It can’t be him...” Hermione looked around, as if she were looking for Ron himself, so he could come and contradict the caretaker. "You have such a good memory - what happened to him? Where is he?" Hermione didn't care if she sounded rude, what she was having to take in couldn't be true. It just couldn't.
“I’m sorry. I was there when it happened; his brother identified him.” He looked on as Hermione didn’t say anything, just staring wordlessly down at the headstone. “It was a crash of some sort, though I’m not quite sure how it happened, it wasn’t near a road of any sort, just in the middle of a field...”
“Who? Who was it that identified him? How do you know that they didn’t get it wrong?” Mr. Roberts simply shook his head again sadly.
“The face was pretty disfigured, that’s why they needed to get immediate family. That’s why there’s no way that they could have gotten it wrong, I’m sorry. It was his brother; he had red hair, I think, glasses... I was only there by chance, as it wasn’t too far from here...I‘m so sorry, Miss.”
“No,” Hermione gasped. “It couldn’t be...” A million different scenarios ran through her head, how it could have been someone else, someone else with red hair, the face too mangled to tell. How Percy (as he was the only Weasley with glasses) could have been mistaken, not having seen Ron for so long, or maybe deliberately misidentified him, as a sort of twisted revenge for Ron testifying against him...but each of her ideas were as unlikely as the next.
“There must be a mistake,” she said abruptly. “I’m looking for Ronald Bilius Weasley. He’s not dead. He’s not dead.” The caretaker looked down at her sadly.
“I’m so sorry,” was all he could murmur, before he left her, just staring unblinkingly down at the headstone.
“No, it’s not true. It can’t be true. It’s not Ron; there’s a mistake. He wouldn’t leave me. It’s not true...”
Hermione wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she knelt down, and actually looked, properly looked at what was in front of her.
1st March 1980 - 31st December 2001
A loving friend and brother to us all, and always will be.
At the foot of the grave stood a heap of rather bedraggled flowers, a box of chocolate the same brand as the one Hermione had sent for Ron's birthday and a small pile of envelopes beneath the one Mr. Roberts had placed there only minutes before. She rifled through them, recognising them as the ones she had written all those weeks and months ago, all the way through to January 1st. She supposed that one of the Weasleys must have put it there at the funeral.
Why didn't they tell me? I suppose that's why Ginny didn't owl me back after Christmas. Though I'd have thought she of all people would understand...though maybe that's why...
But underneath her letter from January lay another. This time not in her own handwriting. Though it was written in a scrawl she recognised equally as well. It was addressed to her.
31st December 2001
Dear Hermione,
I don't know what to say. How about; I miss you. Because I do. So much. I always do, whenever we fight. In our sixth year, when I started going out with Lavender, I really missed you. I always wished it was you there instead. In third year, when we fought over Crookshanks and Scabbers - I missed you then. In second year when you were Petrified, I missed you then. I think that might have been the only reason I followed those stupid spiders - I missed you that much. And that's a lot, Hermione - did you see the size of Aragog's bloody legs? But that's nothing compared to how much I miss you now. At least then I could always see you sometimes, always hear you and (had the chance to, even if I didn't!) talk to you.
Now you're a million miles away (well, up north, same difference). And I really miss you. It's been a year! One whole year, Hermione! I think we beat our record.
But the truth is, I'm sorry. Really sorry. It was stupid - all of it. I'm sorry. Though I think you did over react a little bit... I'm sorry. That's not really a very good apology. But I am sorry. For everything.
We've lost enough people already, I don't want to lose you too, Hermione. I love you.
I never told you that before, did I? But it's true. I love you.
I don't want to spend another year until I can say that to you properly. Why not leave our fight with the rest of this year, and make a new start with the coming of the next one? So hopefully we can see the new year in together. 'Cause if you're not in my new year, Hermione, I don't think I really want to be in it either.
I think I'll come over now. I'm going to fly up right now and see you. Hope that's okay. Because, well, come on, we've wasted enough time already. I don't want to waste any more, especially over something as unimportant as - well, I don't want to get into it again. 'Cause you're more important than that. You're more important than anything, Hermione (but Chocolate Frogs come a close second...).
I guess I'll just follow Pig (although that sounds an awful lot like a death wish - he hasn't changed!) to wherever he takes this. So I guess I'll see you soon.
Love,
Ron
Long into the night, after the final services had been held, the choir had sung their last song, the lights had been turned off, Mr. Roberts had driven home and the priest had retired to his house, a small figure could still be seen through the darkness, still knelt at the foot of a grave. She had been there so long you could no longer tell the rain from her tears.