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The day after the battle.
The day after the battle was riddled with grief, even the skies seemed to weep, judging by the rain hitting against the window. Harry had been in bed all day. Hermione wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t be okay just because the war was over. Tons of friends and family had died. She was trying to help to the best of her abilities. Cleaning and such. But she never expected to find this. Hermione read through the letter, shock evident on her face.
Dear Fred,
I don’t think I’ll ever send this letter.
But it pains me to know you’ll never like me back.
The truth is I’ve been in love with you since my fifth year.
Whenever I see you, my heart beats like crazy like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest, and run to you and confess its feelings. Which I wanted to do, but I shouldn’t I know I shouldn’t. You’re straight. You’re inlove with Angelina I can see it, it’s so obvious.
I’ll never have you. But if you’re happy then that’s fine. Totally fine. I’ll probably never get together with anyone. Because they’re not you.
I want the elaborate pranks! The jokes, everything!
I hate Angelina for having you.
-Harry.
Hermione Keeps reading even as tears fall from her eye sockets onto the letter. It was never sent, never read, and now Fred will never know the truth. Harry seemed so broken on that bed.