Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belongs to J.K.Rowling and Scholastic Books. And the WB I think. I do not in any way claim to own nor will I make profit from Harry Potter. Also: No part of this story may be reproduced or passed of as your own. I don't see why anyone would like to, but you never know. It's property of LeperMessiah, and it's mine. Get your own fic, punk.
A/N: So yeah, this a Hermione/Ginny fic. Pretty much, Hermione and Ginny had a fight or something and Hermione left her. Ginny is writing a letter to her, saying that when Ron and Harry swung by to pick up some of Hermione's things, they frogot some stuff. Then she gets a bit carried away, and then because of her pride, she doesn't send the letter to Hermione, even though that letter is what would bring them back together. coughs Whoops, maybe you should read it yourself...Oh and the letter, it's not written very smoothly. I did that on purpose because have any of you ever written a letter that flowed smoothly? No, I didn't think so. I personally always write as things come to mind. So yeah. Read and review, or don't. I'll just go back to thinking no one ever reads my stories...
On a side note; isn't this quick edit function nifty?
Hermione,
Ron and Harry came over today, they were quiet. They packed up most of your things and then left. They forgot some though, and that's what's in this package. Just some shirts and your toothbrush. Our commitment rings. I don't care what you do with them, pawn them, throw them away; do what you wish.
It's so lonely here. I mean, I never realized just how big a king-sized bed is when it's just you sleeping in it. I've got it figured out though. I sleep on the couch. I've washed those sheets so many times, but they still smell like you.
That weird contraption, the coffee maker, it woke me up today. I can't stand the stuff, but it reminds me of you and I poured a cup and just sat there in my robe, smelling the fumes until long after the coffee went cold. It reminds me of your eyes.
I wrote to the Daily Prophet offices today. Told them to take your name off my subscription. It hurt me too much to see your name there, in black print. It hurts even more to see only my name though. The black print makes it only more real.
Remember that stray cat that always comes to the back door? I know its orange fur and weird legs always reminded you of Crookshanks. Well, it won't come to me anymore. I left food out for it, but when I went out to look at it this morning, it was untouched. I'm sure that cat found someone else to feed it though.
Your herb garden is dying. I tried to water it every day, like you did, but the neighbor said I'm over watering it. Maybe that's what I did to you. Maybe I over watered you and our love died, just like the basil and lemon balm is.
As I was writing this, I moved my feet and I stubbed my toe on a stack of books. Yeah, I found a stack of your books under the desk. I swear they breed. Most of them are on half-breed rights. I never told you this, but I have always respected your compassion for those who are prejudiced against or can't defend themselves. It's one of the things I love about you. Or is it loved? I never concerned myself with pronouns before, but now...now they seem to make all the difference.
In love. Am loving. Have loved.
I know I have so much pride. It's that very pride that has closed so many doors for me in my life. And now, it's closed the door on the one thing that I felt I could never live without.
I miss you so much. I wonder what you're doing right now. I wonder if you're working on passing that law that would ban anyone from denying the right to education to a half-breed. I know how much that law means to you. I wonder if you feel lonely at night, like I do. If you see something that reminds you of me, and then if you have to go into the nearest bathroom so no one sees the tears in your eyes.
I know I'm sounding so melodramatic. Whenever I saw someone suffering from heartbreak, I always thought they were just vying for attention. But now, the shoe is on the other foot and I know how they feel. Oh boy, do I know how they feel.
I want you back. Would you take me back? Would you allow me to come crawling back to you with tears in my eyes and my soul exposed? Would you let me give you my heart and let you do with it what you will? More importantly, would my pride let you?
Is there really anything more to say? No, I didn't think so.
Ginny.
Ginny picked up the top two corners of the parchment to catch the last bit of dying light from the sun the crept in through the window. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead. She sounded like such a fool in her letter. With a snarl Ginny balled the parchment up and threw it into the fireplace. The flames licked greedily at the letter, the ink melted slowly, blurring the words until the entire letter was just a pile of ashes.