There's a saying in Psychology: Each person will return to their own previous state of mind, where it's the good or bad stimulus may happen in between. But sooner or later they'll depend on the person.

If only I had read that sentence before we broke up.

On hearing of your marriage, my friends had asked if they could sabotaged your big day, Ginny had a variety of ideas - imaginative, colourful and messy.

Despite being somehow tempted to ruin your day, I settled instead for crying pitifully, alone in bed, lamenting what should have been if we had stayed together.

In our years together, we too had planned our wedding, you wanted me to wear the most expensive dress that no one had ever tried to wear, not even the Queen herself, but I argued and said no. I can still remember your jokes of wanting the theme to be green and red, I argued and said no because it'll look like a Christmas wedding in the Spring.

It had been years since our breakup and I often still think of you. Yet, when it came to the many times you were certain and ready to move on to the next step in our relationship, I never was. I was always buried in my studies. I realised my mistakes now. But I have no way to change our relationship. If only I went to your games and cheered you on without a single glance back if my house ever stared at me in shock or for being a traitor. I needed my own time, my own space and I knew you were over it.

But now, less than seven months after we broke up, you've married someone else.

How could this be?

Did I mean nothing to you in the end – or even in the beginning?

Was I just a stepping stone for you?

Does she smell sweeter?

Is she an amazing cook?

Is she just much better in bed than I am?

Did you joke around about marrying me and realised that we could never be together because of our blood statuses?

But I can't ask you these questions, for I fear I'd be damaged by the shadow that lingers inside.

"Why her and not me?"

Despite writing a letter that I will never send, I wanted you to know that I still have every little thing you gave me on our journey together: empty perfume bottles, muggle train tickets, sweets wrappers and diaries filled with musings and angst-ridden ramblings during, about and after our love.

Amongst these treasures, I've the burden of the memories of the things you said: how you felt beneath me, how you smelled and tasted, places we went together – memories that are dear to me I can conjure them in mind, close in a breath.

I can't imagine that you've managed to reclaim or reshape these with someone else, or that you've managed to erase me from your past, although I have no doubt you were trying to.

But before that happens, I want you to remember that you made my heart skipped a beat when I saw you, relished from just being with you even doing nothing at all and who happily sat with most of your unusual habits without complaint as I know now, looking at the Daily Prophet, you smiling in happiness.

For me, this is the most difficult part – I hope that I can lose those feelings I've felt for you or the idea of how I thought I was to you.

Enough of this wallowing. I have brushed myself off and applied for a teaching spot in Hogwarts, left my flat where your body has never been.

Yesterday I even removed your pictures off of my walls, if only I could burn them, if it were that simple. One day, I hope that someone could burn our memories, so I can move on to someone I will cherish my ability to love and to someone who can see our time together that isn't just a stepping stone.

Congratulations Malfoy, I hope you have found the love of your life who makes you feel the deep peace and joy in who you are, both together and apart.

I loved you too much.

Sincerely,

H.G