Disclaimer: Neither Ronald Weasley nor Hermione Granger are mine. If they were I'd hit them both for being stupid and dating other people. And then pay for them to have a romantic candle- lit dinner to make up for it.

Letter three- Ron Weasley to Hermione Granger

Dear Hermione,

I am writing this by wand light in my dormitory. The others are asleep. I've pulled the curtains of my four poster shut, just in case. I don't want Harry to ask what I am doing. I couldn't explain.

I just wanted to say- you were right. You're always right. I should have asked you to the Ball first, before Krum did. It's just somehow I thought you'd always be there. I wanted you always to be there, my friend, Hermione. Just that. Not someone else's girlfriend.

I always thought somewhere that there was a special part of you only I saw. Something about the way your eyes flash when their angry, the way your arm feels against mine on the desk. The way you smile. But he sees it to. I could tell from the way he looked at you. He knew that you were special, you were different, you were Hermione and only I was supposed to know that.

You didn't even see me, that's what hurt the most. I'd gone out into the entrance hall to look for you and I saw you coming in with the Durmstrang students and him and you didn't even look at me. It was like I saw a new Hermione. Everything was different not just your hair and your dress but you. You were happy and laughing and I was invisible to you. You weren't my Hermione anymore. Not my friend or Harry's but Krum's- his- girlfriend.

I never felt like that before. I felt like I wanted to- I dunno- hit someone or something. I wanted to do something to make you look back at me, the way you used to. It was the opposite to a Veela- spell. Instead of feeling floaty and happy, I felt sick and churned up and hot. I couldn't stop watching you however hard I tried dancing and chatting to him as if his arm belonged around your waist, and saying "Viktor" in that soft proud voice.

I know what you'd say if you read this. I can see you before my eyes, looking at me with that glance that won't let go. Why Ron? Why can't you bear it that I'm happy with someone else? You always have to know. You always have to get to the bottom of everything. You'd never leave things be. Why? Why? Because I like you.

There. I said it. I like you. I like the way your mouth twitches when you're trying not to smile, I like the way your eyes seem to darken when you're thinking. I like the way you fold your arms when you're cross, the way your nose wrinkles up when you're disgusted. I like the way your hair sticks up everywhere and always falls around your face when you try to pin it back.

I like the way you stick by Harry and me even when we've treated you badly, I like the way you can get so caught up in things you forget everything else. I like the way you help Neville in Potions, and always know how to cheer him up. Best of all I like the way you smile at me when I've got it right, and that feel that you might even be glad I'm your friend.

I took you for granted. And I'm sorry. I wish I'd asked you first. I wish I hadn't said all the things I did.

I wish I had the courage to send this letter.

Ron