A Promise I Can Keep

To You, And Nobody Else,

     Things are pretty lonely and boring without you here. Though I'm sure you're feeling the same way where you are. At least...well, I hope you do. Because I don't know what I'd do if you didn't love me. But what's the use of thinking about it? It's been years since I've lived my life without your love, I'm not about to start now.

Sometimes...I sit and think about the things we used to do together. Especially the things on the Quidditch field (and we know I'm not talking about the practice). Take our first kiss for example. Do you know how shocked I was to discover you felt the same way I did? Shocked and...well, elated would be the only word I can think of to describe it. Do you ever think about our first kiss? The thought rarely ever leaves my mind. I don't think I could forget it if I tried. Not that I would ever want to, of course. But you know that, right?

Hey...remember the time we snuck those frogs into the girls' quarters and had to serve detention in the old Transfiguration classroom? What do you think McGonagall would've done if she knew what was really going on next to all those bookshelves? Oh, you know I'm just joking. I think it's cute the way you get embarrassed about things like that. That's why I make it a point to mention it at least once in every single letter I write to you.

Aside from all...*those* things, do you ever think about the other stuff? Things like trips to Zonko's and Diagon Alley. All the secret trips to Hogsmeade via my cloak. Or meeting Hermione in the afternoon for a butterbeer and a rant about Slytherin. I used to laugh when people said it, but those really were "the good 'ole days." No matter how lame it sounds. Don't you think so, too?

Sometimes, though, I start thinking about how it can never be that way again. I mean, everybody has to grow up at some point, right? Well, I guess Fred and George don't, but then again, neither you or I will be spending the rest of our lives surrounded by "Canary Creams." I just feel that getting older really isn't all it's cracked up to be. I long to wake up in the morning and find myself snuggled under the covers in your bed at Hogwarts, or even in The Burrow. Anywhere, really. If I could be with you.

I really do miss you, Ron. I hope that goes without saying. I mean, of course I'm doing well on my own, away from everybody, but it still gets lonely. Especially lonely when I don't have my best friend. I guess...I still blame myself for everything that happened. But deep down, I know it's not my fault.

It isn't, is it? Everybody tells me it's not...but I can't help but think...what if I had been in a different place at a different time? What if I could've been there for you when you needed me the most? Why is it I could keep a stupid promise to Oliver to make it on time to practice, but couldn't keep a promise to my best friend to always be there. I wasn't there. I wasn't there...I can't get over saying that.

God, Ron. On the outside, I tell everybody how happy I am. I send at least two owls a week to Hermione reassuring her she doesn't need to ship me off the St. Mungo's. But inside, it's a completely different story. But you knew that, right? You've always known me better than anybody else. I wouldn't have it any other way, of course. It's not my fault though...right, Ron? Tell me it's not.

I can hear it over and over again from everybody...but I need to hear it from you. From the lips of the one who matters the most. Please tell me it's not my fault...

I better wrap this up, before it turns out like the last incoherent letter I wrote you. I hope to see you soon, Ron. I mean, well, not *too* soon. You know what I mean, right? I know you understand. You understand everything. I know you do. That's one of the reasons why I love you. Because I do love you.

I love you more than I could ever fit on any piece of parchment. I never say it enough, but it's true. I love you more today than yesterday, and more tomorrow than today. And that's a promise I know I can keep. So wait for me, Ron, okay? Please.

-Harry

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Of course that letter, just like the other hundreds I had written, was sealed with a kiss and placed neatly against the headstone, amidst the flowers I had put there yesterday.

I stare into the name of my only Love, carved quickly (as were all the headstones made at that time) and roughly into a cold, stone slab. I'll probably stay here for a while, as I usually do. Until they close the cemetery for the night. The man here, the one who looks like Filch, he knows me. He'll tell me it's time for me to go. And I'll leave. Both of us fully aware that I'll be back again tomorrow.