The summer days are gone too soon.
You shoot the moon,
And miss completely.
Ron knew that was exactly what he had done. In those years, he had been young and stupid — nineteen for heaven’s sake! He was older now, four years older, and he knew what he had thrown away.
It was unlikely, he thought, that she even remembered his name now, through these four years. He was sure that he had wounded her, but the girl he remembered was strong and ambitious — surely she did not cry herself to sleep at night over such an invalid as he. For surely, nothing such as young love would have stopped the beautiful soul that he had known.
For hers was a beautiful soul. He had shot an arrow through her heart the day that he left, but he did not know it. He had captured her heart, and the summer days in which their love had blossomed had past too quickly for anyone’s good.
And now you're left to face the gloom
Of the empty room that once smelled sweetly.
Now all he had left was the memory of her. Luna had saved his life, true, but Hermione was the one who loved him, the one who brought him joy and happiness, the one who would have gladly given her own life for him, if only he would love her.
He hadn’t loved her, and it brought him to the edge of tears to know that. He had gone with Luna instead, but Luna was not Hermione. Hermione was perfect in every way, and he had let that go. He still remembered her sweet smell; he remembered her soft, wavy tresses; and he remembered every soft kiss they had shared in the moonlight.
All that was gone. All he had left was the memory of her, which lingered about him day and night. Remorse was not enough to express what he felt in his thoughts of her, but gloom came close. Gloom, which had no end. He needed to talk to her and see her again. He wanted to go back to the way it was. He had never loved Luna, but that was what Hermione thought. He still remembered the look on her face when he had rejected her: She was with him always. That was the look that drove him back to her. The look that motivated his every movement toward Hermione.
Of all the flowers you plucked if only
You knew the reason
Why you had to each be lonely.
When he had left with Luna, she was one of many hearts he had broken, one of many girls who did not want to see him go. He was ashamed of it, and did not want to think about such awful things. Hermione, alone, crying herself to sleep. He wished that she still wanted him, but it was unlikely. He no longer knew why he had left her in the first place: They were so happy together, young and in love. Why did he leave her and make her lonely? Now he was alone, and he wished for her every second of the day.
Was it just the season?
It was just the season. They had been together for a year, solid and strong. Love had abounded, but something had told him that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t change that had broken them, for if he had been less stupid, they would have withstood, and they would have been married now, perhaps with children, but his stupidity had prevented this from happening. He had gotten tired of her momentarily, and had left in that moment.
Now the fall is here again.
You can't begin to give in.
It's all over.
It had begun in the fall. Nothing special had sparked it, but both knew that it was their moment — they loved each other and that was all that mattered. Now the fall had come back again, and he missed her, five years after he had ended their relationship. It was one to span the ages.
He couldn’t just go back to her. He had wounded her deeply, and she was probably with somebody else now. He couldn’t think of her without tears threatening to find their way out of his eyes and onto the desk in front of him. He couldn’t begin to tell her how much she meant to him. It was all over. There was nothing left to say.
When the snows come rolling through,
You're rolling too, with some new lover.
It had been that way with the two of them. They had been together for a year, and then in one moment it all changed. Hermione still loved him, but he had been with somebody else. It was his fault that this had happened, and nobody could tell him otherwise. He placed the blame on himself alone.
But Luna had done this to them! She had created this unwanted force! What of Hermione, whose happiness had been bargained for temporary pleasure? What of her? No, it was not Luna’s fault . . . it was Ron’s, and Ron’s alone.
Will you think of times you've told me
That you knew the reason
Why we had to each be lonely?
It was just the season.
He knew that it had dumbfounded and perplexed her when he had told her why he was leaving. “Luna saved me,” he had remarked, in an offhand fashion, of all things! He thought every second of her expression when he had told her. They each had to be lonely because of his stupidity. She would be lonely for him, and he for her.
It had just been a whim, his own fancy that had spared Luna, too. Perhaps he enjoyed her company occasionally, but that was nothing to Hermione. Together, they had stared into each other’s eyes and could have for years and years, never getting tired of one another’s presence, growing old together, if only he had valued her.
Of all the flowers you plucked if only
You knew the reason
Why you had to each be lonely.
Was it just the season?
He regretted with every fiber of his being letting her go, casting her to one side as he would a flower plucked in spring. The day he had left, she had been one of many flowers, but now that winter had come, she was the one and only flower that would live through the winter, that would weather the storm with him. She was strong enough to stay.
And how he loved her! How he regretted letting her go!
Wait for me, Hermione, I’m coming back for you. Don’t forget me yet.
Was it just the season?
Don’t leave . . . I still love you.
Just the season.