Hermione
I loved him.
I loved him and I never told him. The worst thing is that the last time I saw him, we were fighting. I mean, really fighting. It was awful. I told him I hated him. He died thinking I hated him...
Oh my God.
Ron is dead. I...I say it, but my mind can't comprehend it. I always thought that I would accept death, being a logical person. When Cedric died, Cho was so devestated, and I couldn't help but think, "Just get on with your life! He wouldn't want you to be like this! Sure, you're sad, but don't ruin your life as well!"
Now I know exactly how she felt. And I feel horrible that I even thought such things.
Because the pain is just awful. It's like this dull, horrible ache inside of you, and somehow, though I'm not quite sure how, you just know that it's never going to go away.
Why did I fight with him so much? Why didn't I just admit that I loved him, admit that sometimes I only fought with him because I felt that it would be too obvious if I was nice to him...?
I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life.
He jumped in front of Harry. He saved Harry's life. And he had been mad at him, too. He didn't care that he was mad at his best friend, he gave his own life for his anyway.
He would have done that for me.
And I'm not sure I would have done it for him.
Death is always something you take for granted until someone you love dies. I thought that I would never take death for granted, since He-Who-Must-Not-Be...no, not You-Know-Who, not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He's Voldemort. He killed someone I loved so much that I can't even describe it, and I'm going to call him by his name-I'm not AFRAID of him. I hate him. I hate him so much.
What was I saying?
Nothing I'm saying feels important anymore.
Nothing is important anymore.
Life was so perfect, so sweet when he was there.
But I took that for granted.
Just like I took death for granted.
And now he's gone.
I never told him how I felt.
I never will.