Dear Journal,

Ugh, this is why love annoys me so much. I'm too depressed to even write a friggin' song. You think it's going fine, you think that maybe he is starting to fall for you, and then he drops you. Hard. Like a rock hitting the water. You leave ripples in the world around you, but disappear under the surface forever. And the landing itself when you hit the water is more like a slap that burns your skin and sears through your heart.

Somedays, even though I know I love him, I cannot stand him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ron read over the words slowly and painstakingly, wondering what the bloody hell he could have done. After all, what had he ever done to anger her?

Well, there was that time when he had asked her for homework help so many times that she finally shut him up with a Silencing Charm and he had followed her around the rest of the day, staring at her intently until she finally slapped him across the head.

And there was also that time when he had come in from Quidditch Practice, covered in mud, and the wind from the window had blown her Potions essay on the floor, and he had trodden on it. She had screamed at him about how she had worked on the essay for three hours and forty-five minutes, and now she was going to have to copy it all over, and he should be the one who had to copy it over for her since he was the one who wrecked it. And then he had screamed back at her that it wasn't his fault that Alicia had made them play in the rain; she was probably just taking after Wood anyways. And they had had a long screaming match until they were both red in the face and Harry came down, already showered after Practice, and told them they'd better shut up before he threw himself out the window.

And who could forget the day when . . .

He stopped himself before he got too far.