Author's Note: :(

Round 10: Music Through the Decades

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: 2000's: We Belong Together — Mariah Carey

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 992 excluding Author's Note

Dear Hermione

I was up late last night thinking. Staring at the ceiling, staring at the wall, staring at the window— everything but staring at the inside of my eyelids and slipping off into a peaceful slumber.

You'll probably be surprised to hear that I was thinking about you.

Hermione, do you remember when we were kids and you said I had the emotional range of a teaspoon? Well, I'm not sure that's true anymore. I've felt so many different things since we broke up— since I dumped you.

Every time I close my eyes, I see your smile. I can still feel the springy texture of your hair under my fingers; smell the soft scent of library books and ink that so encompses who you are as a person.

Harry didn't speak to me for a week, after the breakup. He said I was being an idiot, that none of this would've happened if I'd just listened to you when you said you needed space, the first time. That you not wanting to move in with me didn't mean you secretly hated me.

But Hermione, you have to understand: my whole life, I've always been the youngest son. The one who got picked on and pushed around. The one who had to grow up watching my older siblings excel at everything they tried to do. Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred, George… they all had something that made them special, that made them stand out.

What did I have? You and Harry. That's it. I never had any special talents or skills that I could point to, but I did have the two best friends anyone could ever ask for.

When you said you needed space to live and grow as your own person, I thought that meant you were done with me. I'd thought you'd finally woken up and realized that I was nothing. That I had nothing to offer you. So of course in some macho effort to save my pride, I decided I needed to end things first.

It never occurred to me that you might actually mean what you said. I thought it was goodbye; I never realized there might be a hello attached to it too. Of course, now it's too late. We haven't talked in ages, and I don't blame you.

Do you remember the day we broke up? I do. Every second of it is burned into my mind with crystal clarity. I was screaming at you to just admit that you hated me and had never loved me, and you were sitting silently on the sofa with tears streaming down your face. You stood up and walked out that door, and we never spoke again.

Do you remember how hard you fought for us? How many times we sat down together, and you reassuring me over and over again that you loved me, that you wanted to be together.

You probably remember me throwing that love back in your face.

I suppose it was inevitable that we broke up. Really, I'd been trying to break us up for ages. All you had to do was stop fighting it.

I saw you in the Prophet the other day. You looked happier than I've seen you in years. You looked more relaxed, too. I never realized how much stress I was adding to your life.

You're not the only one that's changed, though. I've matured a lot over these past few months. I've been seeing a therapist, and I've started managing my time better so I don't get suddenly overwhelmed with work all at once. My life's a lot easier now, now that I'm not making it harder.

If I were a worse man, this is the part where I'd beg you for another chance. I'd tell you how wonderful you are, how smart and beautiful, how I'm not worthy but if you just give me one more minute of your time I promise I'll make up for everything I did to you. I'd tell you how I've changed, how I'll do better this time, I promise.

But that would be a lie. I can't ever make it up to you, and it would be selfish of me to think that I could do better next time. Maybe I could do better. Maybe by some miracle this slight bit of self-awareness I've struggled for would actually change things. Probably not, though. There's poison inside of me, and that hasn't gone away. All the anger and insecurity is still there, just waiting to be let out. I'm managing better, but I still have bad days. On those days, I don't miss you. I envy you. I wish I could leave me too.

The good periods are getting longer, though. I might get a promotion at work soon. I deserve it. I've been working hard lately, and getting good results. Even Ginny's impressed, although she doesn't want to admit it. She's still mad at me for mucking things up with you.

Growing up with my parents, and now, seeing Harry and Ginny— I always had this idea that love should be effortless. That a relationship would be easy if two people just loved each other enough. It's clear now that that's not true. Love is difficult. It's messy, and hard, and you have to fight for it every single day.

I'm sorry I never fought for you, Hermione. In a certain, fucked up way though, I don't regret it. What we had — the way we had it — wasn't worth fighting for. I think Harry still secretly wants us to get back together, but let's be honest: that would be a disaster.

It's kind of funny, in a sense. You said you wanted space to find yourself and grow as a person, but since our breakup, I feel like I've done more growing than anyone. And maybe someday I'll finally grow up.

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry.

Love,
Ron