Author's Note: Before you start throwing pumpkins at me, I want to explain why I've been gone for such a long time... I was ill, and my brain was not really functioning properly, so I couldn't write anything. I am recovering now, though, and I plan on continuing my stories. But before I write the new chapters of "Nineteen Years" and my newer, (apparently more popular) story, "Delusional First Years: Mission HHr", I decided to kick the resurection off with a one shot. Please forgive its crappiness, as I'm still a little ill, and I've recently gone overly poetic with everything I do, including writing this story. It's out of character for Hermione, I know, but please bear with me. Again, I am very sorry for not updating... (dodges pumpkins).

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be stuck inside all day writing fan fiction, now would I?

The Only Reason I Wrote in my Diary

The flames within the fireplace of Harry Potter's living room burned brightly. They danced around each other, completing perfect twists and spins all the while. Hermione's brown eyes moved slowly from the fireplace to Harry, who was sitting on the floor in front of her, facing the fireplace. She glanced over at Ron, who was half asleep and examining the red wallpaper as though it would wake him up fully. She sighed and looked down at the new page of opened diary. Her parents had given her the diary the day before she went off to her first year at Hogwarts, and only the last few pages had not been written on. Hermione rested her head back onto the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

The silence was devistatingly uncomfortable. All of them certainly wanted to say something, but none of them, not even Harry, were brave enough to speak. Hermione could feel Ron's eyes on her, even though her own eyes were closed. He tended to do this a lot, and it was getting quite awkward now. But she knew that she had no choice. She and Ron were going to get married one day, and Harry would get married to Ginny. It's how things were going to be, and whether or not they liked it, life didn't care. Life was cruel. Nobody had much of a choice anymore; you had to pay the Ministry of Magic more than usual every month due to repairs from the war. Jobs were now very difficult to get, Hogwarts was being rebuilt, and thousands of people were still considered "Missing" (but almost everyone knew their brutal end).

Hermione's thoughts drifted back to Harry. She had always thought that she and him would end up being a lovely couple, but apparently, Ron and Ginny had other plans. She wished that she could explain everything to Harry, and maybe, just maybe, he'd understand and admit that he had always loved her as well. Although of course, these things only happened in fairytales, and the life that she was living was anything but. She had thought that since Voldemort was killed, she would pour her heart out to the one person she had always cared about and never would stop caring about, Ron would fall out of love with her, Ginny would to realize that she only felt lust for Harry and she'd go back to Dean Thomas, and Hermione would have a perfect life with the most amazing man on the planet. Unfortunately, none of this was going to happen. Harry was going through a...depressed...stage of his life where he wished he had been able to kill off Voldemort before millions of innocent people were murdered.

He only talked to Ginny nowadays, who had felt so important that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, would confide in her with almost anything. But that's all he'd be to her: The Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione sat up and opened her eyes, only to find them meet with Harry's. He shyly looked away and cleared his throat. She didn't look away from him, though; his features looked very attractive in the reflection of the flames in the fireplace. Hermione's heart performed some somersaults, and she finally returned her eyes back to her diary. Her inspiration for writing something had suddenly increased, and she grabbed her quill from the nightstand beside her. But before she wrote anything, she hesitated. Would she actually share this with Harry? Hermione shook her head; of course she wouldn't share this with him -- along with all of her other secrets, this one was going to be kept away from the vivid green eyes of Harry Potter. Without hesitating this time, Hermione placed her quill point on the page.

Dear Harry,

I'd like to explain everything to you. My actions, my thoughts, my fears...everything. You, of all people, would understand. You always have. And now, in this time where we've lost the spirit of who we once were, I'm on a quest to find ourselves again, when you could realize the reasons why I've gone through this years as I did.

The only reason I yelled at Ron was because I couldn't yell at you.

The only reason I was jealous of Lavender was because she managed to capture someone's heart.

The only reason I cried in that bathroom in our first year was because you agreed with Ron.

The only reason I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor was because I knew you wouldn't dare to go with me.

The only reason I called out for Ron was because I'd die for you.

The only reason I avoided you when we were in that tent was because I knew that all hell was breaking lose, and I was scared.

The only reason I ignored all your mean comments at me was because I know what you're going through.

The only reason I denied your suspicions on Malfoy in our sixth year was because I didn't want you to get hurt.

She looked up from her diary and cautiously glanced around the room, checking if anyone had been looking over her should or had been suspicious of what she had been writing. Harry was still staring into the fireplace, while Ron was fast asleep. His snores echoed throughout the room. Hermione sighed and looked back at her letter.

Love,

Hermione

Hermione quickly closed her diary and stood up. Harry's eyes shot up at her alarmingly, as if he was expecting her to begin screaming at him. She inhaled deeply and walked past him without a word.

The only reason she hadn't said anything was because she didn't need to.

Author's Note: Please review. I want critique especially -- while it's nice to hear if you like my stories, it doesn't really help me improve my writing ability. So pretty please press that review button! Thank you for reading, and have a rockin' day :)