-AN All rights reserved to JK Rowling.
House: Gryffindor
Theme: Setting Something On Fire
Word Count: 743
Beta: BlameThePlunnies
Dear Ronald,
I should be furious with you. I should curse the day you were born and resent the four years of my life that I gave to you. I should send you an anonymous letter full of bubotuber pus or a delayed release jinx to make your arse break out in hives that will make what happened to Marietta Edgecombe look like adorable freckles.
But I can't do any of those things.
I loved you. A part of me will always love you, but I can't do this anymore.
Did you honestly think I haven't known what you've been up to when you are suddenly called away for "emergency" Cannon practices? Or when you've stumbled home drunk off your arse smelling like another woman? You have fooled no one.
You probably didn't realize that everyone knows what you've been up to. They've kept their silence until this point for my sake. Our friends and your family look at me with nothing but pity in their eyes.
Do you know what Angelina said when she heard what you'd done? She told me that you were an Icarus who flew too close to the sun. You let your fame corrupt your thoughts and judgment until you became unrecognizable. You are not the Ron Weasley I fell in love with.
I've returned the ring you gave me to Harry. I've known all along that the ring you gave me came from his vaults. I didn't want or need something so huge and showy. I would have preferred something simple that you picked out to please me. Instead you weighed down my hand with an enormous piece of jewelry intended to draw the envy of the wizarding world.
It was always you that felt the need to show off and exploit your fame. You wanted the world to be jealous of you. I just wanted you, but that was never enough.
I know you think of me as your trophy. Your reward for winning the war that you can show off to bolster your public image. I deserve so much more than that, even if I let myself forget for a while.
I loved you, but I can't anymore. The passion I once felt for you is gone. There is no longer fire in my heart when I think of you, just cold apathy. I deserve more than that. I deserve to burn.
By the time you find this letter, I'll be long gone from your life. I'm not running away from us. There is no "us" anymore and there hasn't been for a long time. I'm taking back my life.
By the way, I'm sure you are very curious about the small fire I've left on the kitchen table. Don't worry, it's only my memories of you. I'm sure nothing that you truly care about will burn.
Just in case you've forgotten, the spell to put it out is Aguamenti. Remember, pronunciation is key.
Yours no longer,
Hermione
With a swish and flick of her wrist, Hermione floated the letter into the air above the box she had assembled. She added the bottle of perfume Ron had given to her for Christmas in fifth year. The scent was unusual but she had been touched that Ron tried to give her something so personal.
She laid the stack of letters that Ron had sent her over the years into the box next. Hermione recalled that the first letters at the beginning of their relationship had been frequent and sweet. Lately, she was lucky to receive one impersonal letter when Ron was gone for a fortnight or more.
Last, Hermione drew a pressed rose out of her old copy of Hogwarts, A History. Ron had presented Hermione with the rose on their first date. It was the only time he gave her flowers without a crowd of photographers present to document their relationship. She tossed the preserved rose into the box without care.
With a deep, calming breath Hermione cast, "Incendio Tria." A bluebell flame shot from her wand and ignited the box of her memories.
With one last glance backwards, Hermione walked out of the house she had once shared with Ron Weasley with a smile on her face. Aguamenti would do nothing to put out the bluebell flame, but of course Ronald would not remember that.