Think of Me Fondly

Think of Me Fondly

Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me,

Once in a while,

Please promise me you'll try.

When you find that once again you long

To take your heart back and be free,

If you ever find a moment,

Spare a thought for me.

-"Think of Me" from The Phantom of the Opera

I like to watch her sleep. To sit quietly in the middle of the night and watch her sleep. I don't touch her, no, that would disturb her, I just watch. So perfect, so flawless, so pure. She's utterly beautiful, right down to the messy, wiry curls she keeps eternally pulled back into a ponytail.

Gently, tenderly, I reach out to brush those curls off her face. But I stop. No. Let her sleep. Tomorrow will be hard enough for her. Hard enough for me...

It's hard to believe we even got together in the first place. And lasting three years is an amazing feat. We're so very different.

Our beginning was simply bizarre, a late night in the Gryffindor Common Room doing homework (well, Hermione doing homework, I was distracting her with innocent chatter), my noticing little insignificant things about her, things I shoved to the back of my mind, her leaning forward and kissing me suddenly, then grabbing her books and running up to her dorm, leaving me sitting there, one hand on my lips, stunned. It took my cornering her two days later to get anywhere with it. But it did begin. And it stuck.

Our relationship, now that I think about it, was doomed to failure from the start. It was started thoughtlessly and perpetuated by our own refusal to let go. I clung to her all through the bad times when the world was falling apart and crashing down around our ears, I clung to her for her strength, for her intelligence, for her stupid lack of fear. I clung to her because I loved her and nothing else mattered. And she clung to me, too, but for reasons that are, I'm sure, all her own.

And, somehow, someway, we managed to survive. To survive the war, the fights, the stupid disagreements over things that didn't matter. We survived everything.

But now, three years into a relationship that grew to the point where neither of us could control it, three wonderful, magical years, it's time to say goodbye. My lovely Hermione has been pulling away recently, not much, but just enough to let me know that she can't love me the way I need her to. I need a love that is willing to be sporadic, one who doesn't care that I can't always pay the bills; one who is willing to take walks in the rain even though we should be doing something important. But Hermione needs security and sensibility; she needs someone with a steady job and a down to earth nature. She needs a Percy; a Virginia simply isn't enough. So I think it's time we let go. Or, rather, that I let her go.

So, I get up out of the warm bed that I've slept in every night for almost a year, grab my robe off the chair, and set about quietly gathering the things I already packed. Dressing quickly in previously chosen clothing, I write a letter to her and leave it on the dresser. Brushing a tear off my cheek, I creep as silently as possible out of the bedroom and the tiny flat, leaving her to be free.

* * *

Five years later, I've changed. I wear my hair long now, a gently curling red mass that falls to my hips. I've stopped playing the games of society and do whatever the hell I want with my life. I haven't seen any of my old friends, or her, since I left our flat. But, periodically, I can't resist poking my head in to see what's going on.

Then, during one of my check-ins on my old friends, I discover something I never thought about. Hermione is getting married. To my brother!

Being Virginia Weasley, I found myself unable to stay away from the wedding. So, I show up late and stand in the back near the door, poised to flee as soon as it's over.

She looks so happy, standing up there on Ron's arm. I know, deep down, that what I did was the best thing for all of us and that the one she really needed was Ron all the time. That doesn't stop this whole perfect wedding from hurting like hell, though.

It's over. I need to leave before anyone notices me. A wild, insane part of me wants to go up and talk to her, to say...something, but I push that impulse down and turn to go.

Brushing a stray tear off my cheek, I leave the wedding and my beautiful Hermione behind me, walking off into the gently falling rain.