A short, sad tale, mostly in epistolary format.
I don't know why I'm writing this to you now. Somehow I doubt that the Death Eaters are going to deliver it to you. Maybe to distract myself from the fact that in 15 minutes, they're going to come in here and kill me.
I'm sorry about the fight we got into. I didn't want to die with either of us angry at the other. I hope you're not angry at me. I never did stay angry at you long after awhile. Within a few hours I couldn't even remember what we were fighting about, usually. I can't right now. Did you remember that often? I don't think you did.
You should tell Harry and Ginny I love them. If Ginny's still alive. We got separated before I was captured. I hope she escaped. I hope she's back with you now.
Did you know, I wanted to have a child? It was a silly wish of mine; there was no real reason for it, and of course it wouldn't at all have been a good idea. If we both had lived to see this war end, then I might have told you. Would you have liked to have a child? I suppose I should have some idea whether you would or not, but I don't.
I wish I had known you better. It might shock you that I would say that, you were always convinced I'd figured you out, and for you to understand me was impossible. But in the end, as deeply as I've known you after these ten years, I wanted more. I wanted the intimacy of decades of marriage. I wanted us to grow old together, smiling at each other and arguing with each other every now and then. I wanted grandchildren too.
Don't think I'm not grateful for what we had. In fact, I think I need to finish this letter now, because they'll be back any minute, so let me say I love you. You've been everything to me, and all I'd have demanded I be allowed to keep, had I been allowed to live through this.
The letter apparently had been delivered to the Leaky Cauldron by an owl with dark eyes and a cruel beak. A Death Eater's owl. The current bartender had forwarded it to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had forwarded it to Remus, who had forwarded it to Ron. The Death Eaters had no doubt intended to cause him pain by delivering it, but Ron sat with it for hours, until he could recite it from memory.
Ginny had indeed escaped. She had also found Hermione's body the next morning. It had been-two months ago? Three? Ron didn't care. Life was never ending hell, and it did seem slightly easier if he didn't know how much longer it was going to go on. He preferred to think that the end was nearer.
But it was only while reading the letter that he was able to cry for his wife, who was all he'd have wanted to keep for living through the war. And after that he wrote on the parchment's margins:
I'll join you soon. Don't know how soon, because I can't just die. That would be turning my back on Harry and everyone. But I'll get myself killed usefully, I think. There are plenty of ways to do that.
I know you'll probably blow up at me for that when I reach the afterlife. But please, I just don't want to live without you, not in the world we've lived in. Keeping on until the right opportunity to have it done is going to be hard enough.
A wave of his wand, and the letter burst into flames.