Just a cute one-shot I dreamed up. I'm a just-approved author here at Portkey, though I've been reading fic here for awhile. Let me know what you think!
A Letter Meant For No One
Scratching a quill across the page, the words flourished from fervent strokes. Dipping into the heart of the matter, covered more definitively in doubt than in ink. There was a reckless grace in the hands that ached to tell a story of devotion and love, of loyalty that never wavered. Yet somehow, buried beneath the aptitude for poetic phrases and languid prose, there was a soul longing to just be free of this burden.
. This place was a refuge, a palace of reverie that never should see the sunshine dancing on water. This place was the author's own private thoughts, a collection of sentiment and lust never meant to be revealed.
But the letter came anyway, the offspring of a copulation between dreaming of true love and too many shots of whiskey.
Dearest--
I could never tell you just what I see reflected in your eyes...my life, perhaps, or the future, but so many of those phrases sound cliched and ridiculous in this case. You are what you are--and when I see you, that is all I see. You. Not just me or my life, but also you and yours, which I so long to intertwine into one existence...us, together, forever, weaving a magic that is our own creation. The goodness that resides in your soul flows off of you in waves, and in the midst of turmoil, you are my flame of redemption from evil. Flickering and dancing in the wind, a lantern to my weary heart, covering me in your warmth, devouring me with your heat. To compare you to a summer's day would be cruel, for never has summer seen such a flower. To talk of your lips as a red, red rose would darken their shade and diminish their beauty. Surround me with poetry and books filled with love, and I'll deem every line not worthy of your name. For what could bear your glory but the stars in the sky, who would be still dull next to your light? Who could sing your praises in melodious measures, without merely sounding absurd next to your voice? My darling, ask me to fight and I'll slaughter armies in your name, ask me to cry and a riverbed won't be big enough. Tell me to dance and I'll live in a waltz, tell me to eat and I'll feast my life til it's gone. Command me to ride and the horses will drop down from fatigue, and I'll find another and ride farther still. Wish for some sunbeams and I'll catch them in a jar; tell me to love you and I'll answer I already do.
I do, darling, I do. Please don't ask me why or how or when...all I could ever answer would be because you're you, and I've loved you always.
Yours devotedly,
Harry
Harry sighed and smiled as he sealed the letter. Perhaps he was no poet, and perhaps nothing more than a fool. Hedwig looked at him curiously when he tied the parchment to her leg, for there was no name upon it. Harry laughed gently. "It's for my true love," he said, his voice slightly mocking. Hedwig hooted.
Harry shrugged. "No, I don't know who it's for. I guess I haven't figured out who that person is yet...seems silly to write a letter for someone who you don't know, huh? It's more...all these feelings I've had buried inside, and I've been dreaming of someone that fills me up this way...sending it out and away seems...cathartic, in a sense. At least it's out of my head. I'll probably never find anyone to love that way. I don't care what you do with the letter... carry it to the jungle , drop it down in a lake, it doesn't really matter, just get it out of my sight, alright?"
Hedwig hooted an affirmative and flew off. Harry flopped down at the kitchen table and took a look at the half-empty bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey. His buzz was wearing off but if he drank anymore tonight he'd surely get sick. He sighed and got up, putting the bottle in his pantry and then wandering into the living room. He'd just decided that he wouldn't be able to relax and his flat needed a good cleaning when Hedwig returned, looking triumphant, but Harry was puzzled. The letter without a recipient was still stuck to her leg.
"Hedwig!" he reprimanded in an unusually sharp tone. Now that he was almost completely sober, Harry felt like an idiot for what he'd done. What sort of a prat wrote a love letter to no one? He felt a painful contraction in his stomach. 'What's more', he thought, 'is that I will probably never have anybody to write a letter like that to. Who'd want me?'
Shaking his head of excess thought, he gave Hedwig a reproachful look. "I don't want to see that thing ever again, okay? I'm just an idiot, I feel bad enough about it, so please get rid of it!"
For some reason, he didn't just want to destroy it. Despite the fact that the sight of the letter made him feel ridiculous, deep down he felt that it was, in fact, a very good love letter.
Hedwig slowly shook her head at Harry, who stared at her in disbelief. Hedwig had never blatantly refused to do something before. After a stunned moment of silence, the owl hooted loudly and ruffled her feathers toward the door. A spilt second later, there was a knock.
Giving Hedwig a wary glance, Harry answered it to find a sleepy-eyed Hermione on his doorstep.
"Hermione!" he started in surprise. It was nearly two'o'clock in the morning, and his best mate never called that late without reason.
"Harry, is everything okay?" she asked immediately, stepping inside. Harry shut the door as she seated herself on the couch, gazing expectantly at him.
"Mione, everything's fine. What are you on about?"
Hermione appeared confounded. "Hedwig showed up at Hogwarts, but all she did was hoot excitedly and ruffle her feathers. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but she nipped at my hand and kept hooting at the door. I finally figured out that she wanted me to come to you...I got so worried, Harry! I thought something had happened to you!" There was a hysterical note to her voice.
For the first time, Harry noticed that Hermione was wearing wrinkled robes and a raincoat over her pajamas, and her hair was soaking wet. He pulled out his wand, muttering a drying spell, while staring at his snowy owl. Hedwig had her head tilted haughtily, until finally she gave an exasperated hoot and landed on Harry's shoulder, sticking out her leg. He removed the parchment, still confused.
"But, I--" began Harry, then his eyes went wide as the owl flew to land on Hermione's leg. Hermione smiled at the bird and then returned her gaze to Harry, her cinnamon eyes filled with anxiety. Hedwig looked at him expectantly. Suddenly, Harry figured out what she had done for him.
"You--Hedwig! You found...you think Hermione is the person that the letter belongs to?" he stuttered.
Hedwig gave an affirmative hoot and Harry was certain that if she'd been capable, she'd have been rolling her eyes at him as if to say, "Yes, Harry, you idiot. You can't write a letter like that without someone to think of in the back of your mind. It's Hermione. You love her; you've always loved her."
And in that instant, as Harry stared at his best friend, taking in her flushed cheeks and deep eyes, the tangle of wet curls down her back, and the fact that she had rushed over at two in the morning just to make sure he was okay, he realized Hedwig had been right. He did love her. He always had. He always would.
Walking slowly toward her, he reached his hand out carefully, extending the note.
"Here," he breathed, "This is for you."
Hermione accepted it and held the letter in her lap. "You wanted to give me a letter? Why didn't Hedwig just give it to me at home?" she asked crossly, realizing that her best mate was perfectly fine and she had been dragged out of bed for no apparent reason.
Harry gave Hedwig a knowing smile. "Because I think she thought it would be better for you to read it in front of me," he said honestly.
Hermione frowned, but began opening the parchment. "This had better be important, Harry," she threatened, "Or I will hex you into next week. I have classes to teach tomorrow."
Then, she began to read, her eyes widening with every new line. When she'd finished, she set the letter next to her, staring at her lap for a full minute before Harry spoke.
"Please," he whispered, "Please say something."
"I don't know what to say," she replied earnestly. "How long...when did you figure this out?"
"About a minute ago. But if you want to know how long I've felt this way, I think the answer is always. Always, Hermione."
The chestnut haired witch stood up. "Harry..." she mumbled, stepping towards him, "You make absolutely no sense sometimes..." Then she pressed her lips against his and every coherent thought flew out of both their heads.
It felt like being bathed in warm bubbles, drowning in folds of fluff. His tongue slid across her lips and she met it, stroking it with her own. And his hands twirled in her hair, and she grasped at the nape of his neck. It felt like there had never been a moment before this one, that neither person had existed until their lips met. And Harry felt as though he was on fire everywhere, and his lungs burned with her beauty and his chest ached with his love for her...a moment later, however, he realized that he just desperately needed oxygen. Breaking the kiss, he gasped for air.
"You...you feel the same way about me?" Harry asked in a small but hopeful voice.
"Harry, of course I do. I just never dreamed that you would love me back."
Harry smiled. "I'm a little slow to figure things out is all," he whispered, drawing her in for another kiss. And another, and another, and another...
"And since I'm already wearing my pajamas," Hermione mumbled between kisses, aware that both sets of hands were starting to explore, "Maybe I should just stay here tonight."
Harry smiled down at her, taking her hand and leading her toward the bedroom. " Maybe you should just stay here forever," he whispered as the door shut behind them. Hedwig hooted happily and went to her cage for some owl treats.
And that was how Harry and Hermione told their friends the story of how they'd fallen in love, which had to be repeated at least fifteen times that day...but that had been expected, they both agreed.
"After all," Harry told his wife, "you don't see too many weddings where an owl is the maid of honor."
Hermione smiled ruefully at Harry on her right and Hedwig at her left. "Maybe you should, love," she answered, "Maybe you should."