Hermione lay awake in bed, staring at the roof of her bedroom.

Their bedroom.

She rolled over onto her side and stared at the empty spot that Ron had vacated since they had gotten married and moved into this house till about two months ago when he was brought to St. Mungo's after a spell backfired.

Two months ago Hermione has reassured herself that everything would be fine, he would be out in no less then a week.

Two months since she had last seen Ron smile, since she had last heard his voice.

Sadness choked Hermione.

She hadn't seen Ron since he had been moved from the temporary ward to the long term resident's ward.

She hadn't spoken to Ron since the healers told her that Ron had lost his memory.

She hadn't held Ron's hand or looked into those clear blue eyes since the healers had told her there was no hope he would ever recover.

Hermione got up and walked out side to her kitchen counter.

She couldn't go visit Ron, she couldn't bear to have him not recognize who she was. Maybe he wouldn't even acknowledge she was there at all.

But she could write to him, even though he would never read the letters.

So in the dim shade of light Hermione pulled out her quill and wrote.

xxx

The months passed by and Hermione continued her strange act of therapy. She didn't visit anyone, she didn't answer the door when she heard knocking. Hermione barley left her house at all.

All she had was her letters. Soon the letters became an addiction, she would spend hours writing them, working on some for days at a time. Hermione hardly slept at night, most nights she lay awake in bed tossing and turning. But that was no measure worse then the nightmares that followed when she finally managed to fall asleep.

Nightmares of Ron, healthy and whole, holding her hand and softly kissing her on the cheek. It wasn't the dreams that were the bad part, it was when she awoke and realized that her dream world was not real. Ron was not healthy nor whole. He was gone and Hermione knew she herself was dwindling away too. Away to nothingness, one day she would go crazy and she would end up right where Ron was. Her life was empty. And the worse part was is that she knew it always would be.

xxx

The cup made a loud crash as it spiraled to the floor and shattered everywhere. Hermione swore loudly and bent down to clean up the mess. A piece of glass grazed the back of her hands and she gasped in pain. Hermione looked down at her hand, scarlet blood was oozing from the gash and trickling down onto her pants.

Holding up her hand she made her way to the bedroom, she needed to find her wand. Where had she put it? Finally, she spotted it on her bedroom counter and dashed to pick it up.

Hermione sat down on the bed and thought of the spell to heal her cut, but it wouldn't come to her. Her hand was now covered in blood and beginning to stain her shirt.

Frantically Hermione grabbed her spell book on the counter and thumbed through the index till she found the healing spell.

She muttered the inaction under her breath and watched at the skin healed over.

As she was about to put the book away something caught her eye, a stack of paper.

Hermione had tried to not look at her letters for a year now, she refused to go back into that stage of craving. The thing that had snapped her out of her trance was one day she had put on her shirt that had always been to small and had found that is was overly baggy.

Hermione climbed out her chair in which she had fallen asleep in and headed to her room, she dug in her drawer for a shirt and threw one on. Hermione was surprised at how baggy it was, and on closer inspection realized that it was the shirt that was always a little to small for her. Curiously Hermione walked to her scale, she weighed herself and realized that she had lost 17 pounds. Shocked Hermione turned to the mirror, she had avoided looking in one for quite awhile. The sight she saw horrified her. She was pale, her face looked old and weary. Her eyes had a deadened look and her hair was lank and thin. But scarist was how thin she was, her cheek were hollowed and if she lifted up her shirt she could clearly count all of her ribs.

She closed her eyes and opened them again, wishing it all to be a horrorish nightmare. But she was still there, Hermione found it hard to believe she was once the same person she used to be, because she sure didn't look like it.

After that day, Hermione had vowed to herself to never let herself starve again, so that had meant giving up the letters and the demonly possessiveness that it held on to her heart. It meant giving up the only type of sanctuary she had since that day. Because she would not let herself let go again.

Hermione took and deep steady breath, she was ready. She was strong enough to handle it.

Carefully she picked up the stack and sat down on her bed.

With shaking fingers she opened the first letter.

Dear Ronald,

Are you truly gone? The doctors say there is no hope, but I can't just completely give up. Can I?

I wish you were here, really truly here. You always know what do to. I miss your strong arms wrapped in mine.

Love your Mione.

Ron

I loved you. I love you.

Is there a difference?

Or are they the same?

-H

To Ron

I'm to scared to visit you, I can't bear the thought of you not remembering me. Where as I remember everything, every kiss, every word, every moment.

Dear Ron-

I need you, I need the real you. The one I fell in love with. Where is he?

-Mione

R

Life is hard, I eat, I sleep, I breathe, but I don't live. At least not happily, it feels like a dementor has preformed the kiss. The body still here, but my heart isn't.

Yours forever.

The letter fell from Hermione's hands as tears cascaded down her face, she had kidded herself she couldn't handle it. She wasn't strong enough yet.

But I will be. Hermione thought.

Hermione stood up, all this past year she thought she had been helping herself getting better. But she needed to move on, not to completely forget him but she needed to move on. Ron was gone where Hermione could not reach him.

Hermione bent down and grabbed the letters, she tore them into shreds. They meant nothing anymore she was weak then. Hermione was so worried about herself, about what to do without Ron. She hadn't even worried about Ron except that he was not there to comfort her. Ron had needed the comforting, he had needed the help but she had been to busy wallowing in self-pity.

Hermione ran from the house and into her front yard. The sun was a glorious golden colour; it hit her skin for the first time in months.

It had just rained and dew covered the grass, in the distance, you could see the most beautiful rainbow gracefully arced through the sky.

A good sign

Hermione thought.

A new beginning.

And that started with a trip to St. Mungo's.