Disclaimer: I own not a one of these characters. Unfortunately. Okay, you know I don't own them, so I'll shut it and you may proceed with my story. Please do not use this story without my permission.

It was only the day after Boxing Day, sixth year for Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, three best friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, the school was sleepy with the warmth and comfort of Christmastime as fairies fluttered through the halls and fires crackled merrily in their fireplaces in the common rooms. It was like heaven on earth, and all (even Draco Malfoy) felt contented and warm on this night, despite the war against darkness being fought all around them.

Which means, quite obviously, someone rather paranoid (possibly Professor Trelawny) might've predicted that the love and peace would come to a screeching halt.

Did they expect it? Of course not!

Would you?

Hermione Granger's brow furrowed in concentration as she gazed at the moving, muttering chess pieces on the board before her. Clicking her tongue and biting her bottom lip, she said softly, "Rook to H-4." Her rook sprang, back flipped, and somersaulted to his new position.

Hermione smiled. "Your turn, Harry."

Harry, grinned at his bushy haired opponent. "Queen to D-2. Checkmate." At these words, his pieces immediately stopped muttering and cheered, their usually sour faces lifted in smiles.

Solemnly, Ron grabbed Harry and Hermione's wrists and forced them into a handshake. "Good game, Harry," he said in a high falsetto. Then his voice lowered drastically. "Good game, Hermione."

Laughing, Hermione and Harry scooped the chess pieces Ron had given them for Christmas into their boxes. Hermione's pieces were acrobatically entertaining for a bunch of men and one woman dressed from head to toe in vibrantly colored armor. Ron seemed to have taken a painstaking amount of time to find the pieces that would make Harry and Hermione laugh the most. Harry's were witty rather than athletic, always ready to bring a grimace to the opponents' faces and a smile to each other's.

"You were left in the dust, Hermione," Harry declared. He grinned mischievously. "I told you I was better."

Hermione sniffed daintily. "And I told you that there's more to life than chess." She lifted a heavy book and a roll of parchment from the love seat next to her and sat down at her favorite study table with it. Ron slid onto the bench next to her.

"Like potions essays that aren't due for a month?"

"Yeah, that's more important than chess?" Harry waggled his eyebrows annoyingly.

Hermione sent each boy a look of utter disgust and said airily, "Yes, there is."

Ron shrugged. "Right boring to me." Yawning for pure effect, he grinned. "So boring that I'm going to bed." He stood and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner that read 10:25. "'Night, guys."

"Wait up," said Harry, climbing to his feet. "I'm going to go with you. 'Night, Hermione." He waved but she didn't look up.

"Good night, you two," she only murmured, as she had found a promising paragraph describing the laws on potion making in the UK and was writing hurriedly, not pausing to look up. They thundered up the stairs without another word to her.

Hermione looked at the plain black ink she was writing with and selected an emerald color instead. As his gift to her Harry had presented her with a box of different colored inks and quills, all of them very luxurious.

She stayed up for another hour writing and researching. She never thought twice about the poor goodnight she'd uttered to her best friends, because never did she imagine that she would not get the chance to say, "Good morning."

It was dark and very, very cold. This was the first thing Hermione's disoriented mind registered when she was shaken awake that night. Then she heard the voices.

"Hermione. Oh, please wake up, Hermione. Hermione, please!" Crying voice. shaking. Quivering. Shouts outside of the dormitory.

Hermione's eyes sprang open and were locked in the grieving gaze of Parvati's. Lavender was sitting on her own bed, her bathrobe drawn around her, her beautiful blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. She was weeping.

"What? What is it?" Hermione climbed out of bed and pulled her ivory robe on and slipped into her slippers.

"Something's happened. It's, oh, I'm so sorry." Lavender sucked in a sob. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was white as a sheet. At first, Hermione stared. Something's happened.

"They tried to live, Hermione. They tried, I'm sure." Parvati acted as though she were trying to offer comfort. Comfort for what, Hermione couldn't know. Hermione was still confused, but Lavender took her by the hand and lead her out and down the staircase. A mob of Gryffindors stood in the common room, all muttering crazily. Hermione caught snips of conversation. Girls wept, boys yakked, and as she passed, both stood silently. The more she saw, the more she heard, the more she knew what had happened, deep down. But her heart refused to think such a thing. No, surely not. A whisper caught her attention. She had heard her name.

"Yes, Hermione's going to be so sad..."

"They were so young..."

"So horrible..."

"Miss Granger, come with me." At last, Lavender had lead her over to Professor McGonagall. McGongall lead her to the boys' dorm and opened the door. To her surprise, the room was empty and intensely silent.

"They have just been found. Miss Granger, I am truly, truly sorry. We think it was Voldemort."

"No. You're lying-" Hermione's voice was shaking and she couldn't continue. If she had been in her right mind, she would have never called Professor McGonagall a liar. Oh, Ron will never let me live this down. The thought came automatically, even though she knew, deep down in the darkest corners of her soul that contained her worst fears, that it had happened. There in the beds that had belonged to Harry and Ron, were two bodies. Frightened, Hermione approached Ron's bed, only to find him completely still and ashen faced.

He was dead.

She could tell by looking. Stunned, Hermione turned to look at Harry. His body was still as... well... death. He, too, was gone.

"No," she said again. "NOOOO!" Then she threw herself on Ron, and clung to him. His body was still the teeniest bit warm, but it was much too cold to be really still alive. She pushed herself off of him and knelt beside the boys on the floor, taking their icy hands. No. No. This wasn't real. Her boys, her friends, dead. Gone. Lifeless. Forever. "Ron, no! Harry! No!" Hermione dared to touch Harry as well. He was so cold it was as though he'd been frozen. Hermione retched suddenly, but held her stomach in check. Harry had obviously died long before Ron. Unable to breathe, she gagged for a moment, the stood quite suddenly. Her body and mind were hardly together, the pain she felt was unreal. She began to run, as though, by magic, she could run away from reality. Where she could go, she didn't know, but this had to be a dream. She could feel her heart breaking. WHACK! She ran into the dresser. Whirling, she sprinted away from the boys. Away from their bodies. No. No. No. No. NO! This wasn't happening. This wasn't real.

Hermione's pleading eyes turned on McGonagall, willing the older woman to take her away from it all. McGongall was crying. Hermione stared. Then she ran down the stairs, her insides full of lead, and out of the common room, shrieking, "GINNY!"

Was it a nightmare? No, of course not. When Hermione learned the truth... let's just say it didn't go over well. Every breath hurt because it was sharing space with the corralled grief in her body. Ginny, who, like Hermione, had taken the news very hard, explained it all to her. The murders, the tortures. It was too much to absorb.

"Dumbledore announced it at breakfast," the redhead reported listlessly. "Said that they were tortured then killed, the Cruciatus and Avade Kedavra. The other boys were under Crucio, but they are gone. Abducted. Missing in action."

Hermione, who had been hiding from the world in her dormitory during breakfast, stared at Ginny. "You're lying. Nobody could kill them! No! "

The younger girl reached across the lunch table, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hermione, am I needing to teach you, for once? You have to accept this. It's never going to get better. Denial will help nothing." She squeezed her brother's best friend's hand comfortingly. "We'll get through it. The whole school will, I know."

"How do you do it, Gin? How can you stand it? How can you keep going?" Hermione whispered, her face intense.

"I can't," Ginny said, drawing a shaky breath. "I can't." Then she sobbed like Hermione had never heard anyone sob before. It sounded as though her heart was melting away. But the saddest thing to Hermione had to be the fact that it was.

The funeral was hard. Harder than anything Hermione had ever done, or ever seen, felt, or heard. Her speech to the mourners was tragic, and nearly the whole of Hogwarts wept as she spoke through a magical microphone, surrounded by lilies, roses, and forget-me-nots. The professors all cried, and even Snape turned away to pull himself together as she spoke.

"Harry and Ron were not who any of you think they were. None of you knew them. Only I did. I knew them better than their own mothers, had Harry's been alive to know them at all. I wept when they felt they should not. I hugged them when I was proud of them. I laughed at their jokes. They laughed at mine. They cheated off my homework, only because I had too soft of a spot in my heart concerning them. They were the kindest people I'd ever known. The most forgiving." She smiled. "The most annoying. The most stubborn. They knew me, unlike anyone other than my closest family members had ever bothered to know me before.

"I stand up here giving what sounds as though it should've been a wedding speech, where the maid of honor traces back to the days when she and the bride and/or groom were small childen, but I speak not in joy. I speak so you know what and who we've lost, though none of you will ever be capable of seeing. You deserve to know what wonderful people we have lost. It all began in first year. When I was eleven years old, Ron Weasley was walking to class with a gang of boys, including Harry Potter, when he mimicked me and declared me to be a nightmare. And that it was "no wonder I hadn't got any friends." Hermione smiled sadly. "I sobbed in the bathroom for hours, until the troll came in. Professors, I never tried to take it on alone. It found me because of what Ron said to me. But I couldn't let them get in trouble, after they'd saved my life, so I lied. I am sorry. But I would never take it back.

"I have one last thing to say to you all. Harry and Ron weren't the righteous hero and the humble sidekick that you thought they were. They were both just a couple of teenagers. But they were wonderful teenagers. They both would've willingly give their lives for mine or each others. I would have done the same in a heartbeat. We had an unusual bond. I am not trying to beg you for your sympathy here, I just want you to get to know them through me, as you never will be able to wave and call, "Hey, Potter!" in the corridors or say, "Ron, what's new?" when the three of us walk into a class. And you will never again have a good reason to ask me what I'd heard so often. "Oh, hey, Hermione. Where's Harry? What's Ron doing?" Hermione's voice broke. "I must leave you with this thought: why them? Who did they ever hurt, kill, or inflict pain upon? WHY THEM?" She demanded. Then her voice lowered to a broken whisper. "If only I knew. It is beyond my power to save the world, but oh, how it hurts to see the wicked lash out at the innocent and the beloved." Leaving it at that, she stepped weakly from the microphone.

The funny thing was, as the boys were buried in the Hogsmeade cemetery, as Luna Lovegood solemnly sang "Amazing Grace" through tears of her own, as the coffins were lowered into the ground, never to be seen again, she didn't cry.

She shed not one tear.

How could she cry? Crying only made it real.

She had never felt so lost in her life. For the first couple weeks, every waking second she was grieving. Inside. She never spoke to anyone anymore. She couldn't console Lavender about her loss of Seamus and she could only watch as Parvati brooded about Dean and Neville, both to whom she'd become close. She looked on helplessly as Ginny wept in the common room and stared blankly when younger students asked her for help on their homework. She was nothing now. Hermione Granger was gone. All that remained was an empty, fragile shell, heartless and soulless. Every day she woke up, hoping it was still a nightmare, praying that she would see them at breakfast.

It was Ginny who started the letter boxes.

Ginny had had the idea to place stainless steel boxes outside in the cemetery. On Hogsmeade days, older students would be responsible for dropping the notes off in the boxes. Ginny and Hermione collected them each night, and the villagers were allowed to put letters to the boys inside too. The girls would read them sadly and then store them away, sending the best and kindest up on balloons, as though they would reach the heavens. Nobody minded the fact that the girls read each and every one. Nobody even knew. Hermione spent the most time writing to them. More often than not she would conjure a balloon filled with helium to drag the notes away. She knew about air pressure. She knew the balloons would never make it, but it made her feel better, just to do such a thing. It felt as though she still had a connection of some sort with them. The one that broke her heart the most was to Harry, from Ginny. Hermione hadn't even realized Ginny had added this one until the day she was to collect the letters.

Dear Harry, it read.

Wow. I sit here blankly. How do you start a letter to a dead person? Oh, I wish I didn't have to call you and Ron, my brother, dead. I doubt you'll ever read this, until your phantom or spirit comes to earth. It just feels better to write. To get away.

Hermione is grieving harder than anyone I know. Hermione paused, uncomfortable. This was Ginny's letter to Harry, not to Hermione. Her curiousity outweighed her conscious and she read on. She misses you in such a beautiful, horrible way. What wouldn't I give to have you back, Harry? I know of nothing. It hurts to think of you. I loved you so much. I loved you in a special way. It was not just a crush, Harry James Potter, I loved you for who you were. It was not hero worship. When I dreamt at night, I used to see us, getting married. But I know that shall never happen now. You are gone forever. I miss you so, so much that words fail to describe it.

And Harry, I feel very guilty. I never tried to know you; I was always too shy. You were Ron's friend, not mine, and I saw that as a reason to be shy. It would have been so hard to admit to you the way I felt, only you already knew. At least, you thought you did. I wish I could've seen that this would happen. I would've given my life to prevent it. But, ha, what's my life worth compared to yours, especially in the eyes of the Death Eater who murdered you. Tears had blurred Ginny's ink and Hermione struggled to read now.

Murdered. That is such an ugly word. Having your life ended against your will. Just done. Harry, what was it like to die? Did it hurt? What is heaven like? Can you see me from up there? Do you miss Earth? Or are you still here and I just can't see your spirit? Harry, are you reading this over my shoulder as I write? I will never know. I must go now, Harry, but never forget about the love I felt (and continue to feel) for you. I never showed it. The best I can do is tell you now.

I love you,
Ginny

Hermione could hardly breathe. This was a beautiful letter, and one day... one day... after they'd gotten past it... after, if it was possible, they'd found someone else (Ha, she thought, nobody will ever be what Ron was to me. Ever.) she would show it to Ginny. To remember the love. Smiling sadly, Hermione pocketed the letter.

She never thought that telling Moaning Myrtle about it all would make anything easier. She hadn't ever heard Myrtle offer a word of comfort, not even when Hermione was twelve years old, locked in a bathroom stall waiting for her friends to find her. When her face was covered in hair.

However, before she ever told Myrtle, she was sitting in History of Magic, at a desk alone. There was a vacant seat on either side of her. None of the other classmates had had the nerve to come sit there, it was like there was some sort of spell, forever claiming those seats to belong to Harry and Ron.

Hermione found her mind wandering for the thousandth time that day. She wasn't taking any quality notes anymore, they were all pretty bad.

She snapped back to attention. Gorbett the Great founded the Goblin's Foundation. She reloaded her ink well, blowing out her breath. Gorbett was murdered-

"No!" She exclaimed suddenly. Proffesor Binns looked up at her. "Yes, Miss Grant?"

She stared down heatedly at her parchment, and shook her head.

-by Harold the Huffy in-

"NO!" She threw down her quill, anger welling in her. She then proceeded to run from the room, her herat pounding. She kept running, past a