Dear Ron

Dear Ron

April 2003

Dear Ron,

I’ve got a bit of explaining to do, don’t I?

We said a lot of things last night we either did not mean, or only half meant.

But I meant what I said about Harry.

This is all so confusing and I don’t exactly know how to begin. Why now? Why to us? Why couldn’t we have remained friends, like we were back in our first year?

Why is love so wonderful and so awful at the same time?

But the question that needs the most answering, the question I find myself avoiding, is how did I let things get so far? I love you, Ron, I do. You’re a good man.

But I’ll die without him.

An overly dramatic statement? Not really. It describes how I feel perfectly.

I *have* to be with him. Possibly, it is nothing but blind selfishness, but nothing else matters until we’re together.

I know you are curious as to how all this came about. You may not think so, but deep down, you know you are.

I suppose I at least had a vague understanding my feelings for Harry were no longer friendly after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. After I we nearly lost him.

Then understanding became confirmation in the middle of sixth year, just after the attempted murder on you. I was studying late one night when Harry came into the common room. I took one look at him and knew he’d been dreaming. I felt terribly for him. All those closest and dearest to him in such danger. And he blamed himself. Of course he did. He always did.

I went to him and without a sound he held on to me and cried. He’s so tall, nearly as tall as you, and I had to stand on tiptoe to reach around his neck.

Then I pulled away and … how do I explain this? You know when you look at Harry, you can always tell what he’s thinking? No matter how hard he tries to hide it, it’s always visible; there for the world to see. It’s like reading a book … but you’re not one for books.

Anyway, I looked into Harry’s eyes and they were greener than ever … and I saw something in those bottle green eyes that made my heart stop.

I knew. And for a moment, we forgot everything, except the fact that I loved him and he loved me. I put you out of my mind and Harry placed Ginny in the farthest corner of his memory.

He touched his lips to mine and I thought I would melt into a beet red Hermione Granger puddle.

Nothing more came of it; simply an innocent kiss and a bell went off in my head. I saw dismay in Harry’s eyes, a deep, intense longing. I felt the same way. But you and I were already to be married after school. We would be hurting you and Ginny and the rest of your family with our selfishness.

And so, Harry and I drifted apart, trying to stamp out the flames of our affections. I tried to avoid being alone with him, making eye contact … that sort of thing. You get the idea.

It worked, for a while. Harry and I went our separate ways and I found myself thinking about him less and less as the days passed. You and I finally settled on a house and a wedding date. Things seemed to be going well. Voldemort’s power was failing day by day, the war was nearly over, and the pain of loosing those that had died was fading.

Then, a week ago, I received a letter from one Harry Potter. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. All that work, all those years it took me to try and forget … gone the moment I saw Hedwig. I thought of how much I had missed him and for the first time I thought about us. You and I. I wondered if we had made a terrible mistake.

I read the letter and what it all came down to was he wanted to meet me, to see me again. And meet we did. We talked, for the most part. He flew me home on his broom and kissed my cheek. Then he was gone. For a second time. I can’t let him go again. Once was hard enough, twice might result in the death of everything good about me.

And now that I have satisfied your morbid curiosity (which was perhaps more for my good than for yours), all that is left is to say is goodbye. I hate to leave you in such a manner and I wish with all my heart I had the courage to say all this in person.

But I cannot let things get any farther. Maybe I did love you in that way. Once upon a time, I loved a boy named Ron Weasley, but since then, my fondness has drifted elsewhere.

Please don’t hate me. I said a great many things last night I regret and I take them back fervently.

But when you shouted at me, red in the face, fury and confusion in your eyes, demanding to know why I had met Harry without telling you he was here, and you asked scoffingly if we were lovers and I screamed back I loved him; I met him because I loved him … I won’t take that back.

So … goodbye. I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am, but goodbye. I hope to see you again, really I do. If I don’t … have a good life, I guess.

Take care,

Hermione