Letters Between Us

Letters Between Us

It was summertime in England and the weather was odd. One week it was entirely sunny, full of children racing to pools and rivers and lakes. The next week it would be drizzling every day, the days as dreary as a certain raven-haired, emerald-eyed almost-sixteen-year-old boy.

This boy was Harry Potter, who was still as slim and bespectacled as ever. Although he was treated considerably better by his aunt and uncle (considerably better being completely ignored), Harry still didn't go outside much. He preferred the privacy of his room, with the curtains closed and the door locked. The sun always seemed cold to him now.

With the loss of his beloved godfather, Harry Potter was just as lost himself. He tried not to think of Sirius Black, but his heart and his mind alike always betrayed him.

I'm a marked man, he thought bitterly. Perhaps… perhaps Sirius's death has taught me something: I am meant to be alone. Alone until I defeat Voldemort…. If I defeat Voldemort, he added on negatively.

And so Harry resolved that he would remain as he should be… alone.

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Unfortunately, when you're alone, you have to ignore others, and this meant that Harry would ignore Hermione and Ron.

Since he was ignoring them, he obviously couldn't tell him to stop sending him so many bloody letters when he very well wouldn't reply back. (This made Hedwig cranky, but what else could Harry do?)

Ron and Hermione were two very different writers, Harry always knew this. But this summer he was amusedly reminded of it; although he never answered their letters, it was still fun to read them and compare.

Harry,

As usual, the Burrow is crazy. Everyone is barking mad, I swear to Merlin.

Dad is still hankering and tinkering with muggle items—driving Mum off the wall with all the explosions. She's so confused now—she doesn't know whether to yell at the twins or Dad.

Yes, the twins are still at the Burrow. They wanted to live at the shop but Mum pleaded with them—“One more summer with you two,” she begged… I think she's regretting it now.

Bill and Charlie wanted to come home this summer—especially since what happened with Dad at Christmas `n' all. They're fine—but get this, mate: BILL IS DATING FLEUR. Yeah, Fleur? Remember her? Ex-girl-of-my-dreams from Beauxbaton??? She's dating my eldest brother (in case you missed it). It could be the most awkward situation of my life, but I figure that there are other girls out there… that and I'm sure she'd be more than willing to introduce to me to any veela cousins/friends she may have….

Onto Percy: can you believe that flippin' git? He wrote a letter to Mum and Dad apologizing for everything—if you ask me, he should also be apologizing to you, but Mum is more than thrilled so she won't hear any bad words against him. That stupid cow is hangs around here occasionally, although he still has his own flat. Dad is skeptical about Percy's change of heart, but he seems to accept it. The rest of us? Well, we have no choice, although Fred and George constantly grumble about him when Mum is out of hearing.

The twins' business is doing awfully well; I think even Mum's impressed. I refuse to test any of their new inventions, but they say they might pay me, so who knows?

Ginny is doing fine, but she is constantly using Errol, poor bird. She must be writing to Dean, the git. Once we're back to Hogwarts you and I are going to have a long talk with him, Harry—he needs to know that if he hurts Ginny in anyway, he's gonna have to answer to us.

I suppose you already know how Hermione's doing so I won't go on about her—so I just thought I'd ask how you're doing and all. Those Dursley's better be treating you right as well, otherwise I think Fred and George are going to slip something in their pantry where that whale of a cousin you have is going to see and… well, the consequences won't be pretty.

I'm going to sign off now—it's dinner (can't be late for that!)

Your best mate,

Ron

And now there was Hermione's letter:

Dear Harry,

How are you? (And don't lie to me, Harry, because you know that you'd never get away with it.) I hope those horrid Dursley's are treating you well—because they'd be slower than I thought if they don't take someone like Professor Moody's (Harry found it amusing she called him Professor Moody—even if he was technically never her professor) threats.

I'm doing fine myself, in case you're wondering. I finally got that order of books that I've been waiting for. If you'd like, I'd be happy to lend them to you when I'm finished.

(The next three paragraphs go into detail about her books… a little too much detail for Harry's taste, but he appreciated the familiarity that is Hermione.)

My parents and I have decided not to go anywhere this summer. I haven't been at home during the summer for so long that I think it might be nice just to lay low for a while.

That being said, I hope to see you very soon; I miss you and Ron very much.

Harry…? All niceties aside, I just want you to know that if you want to talk to me about anything at all, you can. I can't say that I understand what you're going through but I do care, Harry. I want to be there for you any way that I can.

Well, I suppose I had better stop. My mum has been yelling at me to come down for dinner—apparently this letter has taken me a good hour to write!

Write back soon.

All my love,

Hermione

Harry sighed. If anything, it was going to be hardest to separate himself from her. Especially when she told him she wanted to be there for him in any way she could. How could he turn away someone like that?

Because it's best for her, Harry thought. I don't want to see one of my best friends get hurt… or killed. Harry thought back to when that curse hit her and shuddered. He never wanted to have to worry about whether or not Hermione had a pulse ever again.

Never ever.

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And so the weeks passed and it was finally a week before his birthday. Yet, Harry was miserable with it all.

How unfair is it that I get to see another year and yet Sirius doesn't? He pondered night after night.

Little did he know that both of his friends had nightly wonderings as well.

Ron wondered whether or not his family would live to see another year, and Hermione wondered whether she'd get a letter from Harry.

According to reports from the Order, Harry was doing fine, although he was somewhat turning into a hermit.

“That's to be expected, of course,” Lupin wrote hastily to Hermione and Ron. “He's mourning… but if he doesn't snap out of it by September, then by all means, step in.”

But Hermione was tired of waiting. She needed to know how her best friend was doing—and soon!

The poor girl was so exasperated she wrote a letter to Ron; she knew Ron, with the emotional range of a teaspoon, would hardly know what to say, but she needed someone to listen to—and since her other best friend, the one with a larger emotional range—was currently feeling sorry for himself, she really had no other option, now did she?

After writing her letter to Ron, she scribbled a note to Harry the covered all the basis: How are you doing? Are the Dursley's treating you right? Have you been studying?

But in her hastiness (her mother called her down to dinner again) she accidentally wrote “Ron” on Harry's letter and “Harry” on Ron's. She sent Pig (who Ron said she could borrow) on his way never knowing the difference.

Later that day, Harry heard Pig tapping on his window and he groaned. What did they want? Why couldn't they just leave him alone???

But when he opened his letter, he was in for a shock: instead of “Dear Harry” at the top, it was “Dear Ron”!! He figured that she must have been in a hurry and wrote the wrong names on the envelopes!

He knew it was wrong, but Harry decided to read it anyway. Anything Hermione could say to Ron she could say to Harry, right?

Apparently not.

Dear Ron,

I'm so worried, Ron! Harry hasn't answered any of my letters. I can only assume he has been ignoring you as well.

I know the Order has been telling us that Harry's fine, although a little hermit-like, but I still can't but help and worry! Why can't we step in and help him? This is the time he needs us the most and they're keeping us from him.

I can't stand it, Ron. My house feels like a prison—my parents were planning on taking me to America this summer but the Order said it wouldn't be a good idea. I don't mind anyway; I didn't want to leave you two.

But still, Ron; why won't he answer us? I stayed up late night after night and I think I've figured it out; he doesn't want to lose us.

He thinks, I believe, that we'll end up like Sirius and his parents if we get too close to him: dead.

You know that we'd stick with him to the end, don't you Ron? I mean, we both are already in trouble anyway, even without our connections to Harry: your family is pro-muggle and I'm muggle-born! I know it would be useless to tell this to Harry, so I think once we meet up in August we should plan before he gets there how to get Harry back.

I know Sirius's death must be terribly hard on Harry, but why can't he see that Sirius wasn't the only one that loved him??

I understand and yet I don't understand, Ron.

Yes, Hermione Granger is finally stumped.

Well… on to other matters (I'm getting rather depressed, aren't you?) How are you? I hope you and your family's doing well. I'm glad Percy's finally come around—although I suspect you aren't too happy with that? No matter, at least your mum's happy.

I can't wait to see you in August—you don't know how much I've missed you.

Love,

Hermione

P.S. Have you been keeping up with your studies?

A turmoil of emotions hit Harry once he read Hermione's letter to Ron: guilt, surprise, anger, and… jealousy?

Why would Harry have any reason to be jealous? This out of everything rattled his brain; the rest of the emotions were easy to explain. Guilt from ignoring them, surprise that Hermione was so passionate about it, anger that the Order was keeping Hermione under house arrest as well, and jealousy from… from what?

The week after, Harry sat all day (and night) and pondered this. He only felt jealous once before in his life—when he saw Ron with his family—but this jealousy was… almost worse somehow.

Finally, Harry came up with it: he was jealous of Ron again. Why? Because of Hermione's letter to him. She seemed much more affectionate with Ron than him. She never told him: “you don't know how much I've missed you.” What was up with that? And why did she sign it “Love, Hermione” at the bottom? Was it in a platonic sense or something… more? And she confided in Ron? Why couldn't she confide in him anymore? Like she said before “Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon”. So why Ron? Why not him?

It took mere common sense to figure out why. Because he had been ignoring her, abandoning her, and who else would she turn to but Ron? Somehow, this revelation didn't sit right with him—not at all.

But why didn't it? Why didn't it sit right with him? If she wanted to be with Ron, he should be happy right? Ron was his best mate; the greatest guy he knew.

Suddenly, all Harry thought about was Hermione and Ron—Sirius's death was still there, like it always would be, but Harry had other alarming matters to take care off.

One night, drifting off to another short, ill-fitted sleep, Harry had a dream. It was like he was looking in: it was him and Hermione, walking hand in hand, by the lake at Hogwarts.

“I miss him, Hermione,” Dream-Harry told Dream-Hermione. “It's been over a year and I still miss him. He's dead, and I'm still here.”

Dream-Hermione squeezed his hand gently. “You are,” she said to him. “He died so you could still be here.” She went on her tip-toes and whispered in his ear: “Don't you ever forget though, Harry Potter, that Sirius wasn't the only one who loved you.”

Suddenly, the mood changed. Harry could feel it; it was new and exciting but terribly scary. Although, to Dream-Harry and Dream-Hermione, it seemed comfortable, right. “Really now?” Dream-Harry asked Dream-Hermione with an eyebrow raised and a twinkle in his green eyes. “Who else loves me?”

Dream-Hermione smiled softly (but not without her trademark roll of her eyes first) and, wrapping her arms around his waist and he hers, she whispered softly, a hair away from his lips, “I love you.”

And then, she kissed him.

Waking up, panting, Harry realized what it took him so bloody long to figure out: he wanted Hermione to love him, not Ron.

But why? Not only because he wanted her for himself but…

He loved her.

And by pushing her away, he was pushing her right into Ron's arms, and he'd be damned before he'd let that happen.

Harry leapt out of bed with renewed energy. Screw the prophecy, screw everything! If he was going to die, then he wanted to do it with the knowledge of what Hermione's lips tasted like, what it felt like to run his hands through her hair and what it felt like to have her whisper that she loved him.

But what… what if she loved Ron?

He flopped down on the bed, energy spent. Well… he was a Gryffindor wasn't he? He could try. He would try.

He leapt out of bed again.

Harry Potter wasn't going to remain alone any longer.

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Upon waking up the next day, Hermione got the best surprise that summer: a great white owl perched on her windowsill with a letter that had her name on it, written in a familiar, messy scrawl.

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A/N: This may be a two-parter, I'm not sure. Anyway, tell me what you think!

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM WANTED

WRITTEN: April 12 and April 24

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Part Two

Her initial reaction was disbelief. “Am I dreaming, Hedwig?” She murmured to the owl, then she froze. Obviously, if she was rambling to an owl, then of course the letter must be real, right?

“But perhaps I'm dreaming the owl as well,” Hermione argued with herself.

She fingered the letter. It felt real enough, certainly, but she had once read as a child that you couldn't feel things in dreams. Though… she had also read that magic didn't exist, and of course, that was complete rubbish…. So what was right?

“Ow!” The paper cut she received from said letter proved that Hedwig and the letter were real.

“Darn it all!” She gasped, grabbing a band-aid hastily from her bathroom and hurrying out to her room; this letter was keeping her in suspense.

But when another sheet of paper quickly fluttered to the ground, Hermione picked it up and immediately read across the top in her own writing: “Dear Ron”.

Oh, no! She had sent the letters to the wrong people! That meant Ron got Harry's… and Harry got Ron's!!!

Oh, what to do, what to do? Hermione paced around the room, Harry's letter on the desk, still unopened. What would Harry's letter bring? She had to know!

Then open it, silly girl! A voice snapped at her in her mind.

Quickly (yet quite cautiously), Hermione tore the wax and flopped down on her bed and began to read:

Dear Hermione,

I suppose that you have already realized that yes, you sent me a letter meant for Ron, and most likely a letter meant for me.

And I suppose you're also wondering why in the world have I decided to finally start writing back to you?

Don't worry, Hermione, I'll tell you.

Should I start from the beginning, perhaps? Yes, that would be best. I remember you telling me to “always, when explaining yourself, start in chronological order as to not confuse the person you are explaining yourself to.”

(And you think I never listen.)

But I'm getting off topic.

I haven't been answering your letters is because I've been wondering if I'm meant to be alone.

Really, the only people who I have left—who mean the world to me—are you and Ron. So pushing you two away, if it would help save your life, was something I had to do.

And if I was a truly sensible person, such as yourself, I would still continue to push you away… but I'm not. And frankly, let's face it—without you two, it's a guarantee that I'd lose this fucking war.

But I realized, when I accidentally got Ron's letter, that if I pushed you and Ron away… I'd lose you.

I mean, really, it's so bloody obvious; you can't have one without the other. Boy pushes friends away, boy loses friends. How dense can I get?

It really sort of sunk in though, and the fact of the matter is: I believe that I need you as much as you need me.

And if I push you and Ron away, well… that's like another guarantee that you'd go rushing into Ron's arms. When I thought of this, I didn't like it. One bit.

This made me question why? (I think I'm turning into you, you know that?) Why didn't I like the thought of you and Ron together?

You know what the answer was?

I wanted you all to myself.

To be honest, this was a scary revelation. I mean, I've never been in love before—let alone with my best friend—it bloody scared the shit out of me!

Well… I hadn't exactly planned on telling you `I love you' just yet, but why not? It's true.

There are so many reasons why I love you. Your intelligence. Your beauty. Your laugh. Your resourcefulness. Your kindness. Your bravery. I mean, really, the list could go on and on.

I like to think that what I'm feeling for you is what my dad felt for my mum. In fact, I know it is.

…I'm getting a bit sappy, aren't I? I'm sure Ron would laugh if he saw this letter, as he has “the emotional range of a teaspoon”.

There really is no other way around it, though, is there? The fact of the matter is that I love you, Hermione Granger, for everything you and for everything you will be.

Yours (I mean like literally here)

Harry

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When she was done with the letter, Hermione was in tears.

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A/N: I just had to re-write the letter. I wasn't happy with it, and a lot of you thought it was quite mushy, which it was. I'm hoping that I sound more like a boy here, but I'm not so sure (as I am a girl, of course, and have no idea what goes on in their minds.)

Feedback would, once again, be terrific!

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Part Three

It was early August, just a week after Harry sent that fateful letter to Hermione…

And she hadn't answered him.

He sighed as he felt that familiar tug of the portkey—Lupin and Moody had come to fetch him and take him to Grimmauld Place. While Harry loathed the thought of going there, there was no other option. The Burrow was in danger, and Diagon Alley was out of the question.

Landing at the front door, Harry sighed and knocked. Lupin frowned at his forlorn expression, trying to place where he had seen it before.

Opening the door was Ron. A smile lit up his face. “Harry!” He cried. “Great to see you, mate!”

A small, but genuine smile found its way onto Harry's. “You too, Ron.” They stepped in, and after making small pleasantries, Harry frowned.

“Where's Hermione?”

Ron looked at him. “She didn't tell you? Her parents thought it best if she didn't come to Grimmauld… they wanted an entire summer with her.” Seeing Harry's frown deepen, Ron hastened to add, “don't worry though; we'll be meeting her at Diagon Alley in about two weeks.”

Two weeks? How am I supposed to survive two bloody weeks without hearing from her??? Because Harry was convinced that Hermione didn't return his love.

I mean, if she had felt something, she would've written, right?

If Harry was any more melancholy than he was since June, no one particularly noticed. They all contributed it to Sirius's death.

Harry, however, knew Sirius wasn't dead. He had heard voices behind the veil. Until he had it confirmed… saw a corpse, saw a ghost, anything… Harry would keep faith.

But with Hermione?

That, he deemed, was nothing but a lost cause that he should never bring up again.

Perhaps he was meant to be alone.

0 0 0 0 0

(Two weeks earlier)

He—he loved her?

Sensible, level-headed Hermione Granger had absolutely no bloody clue what to do.

What if he only loved her because he needed someone to love, now that Sirius was gone?

What if he only disillusioned himself? That perhaps, in his grief, he pulled out that mad idea that he loved her?

What if… what if she loved him back?

Well… she didn't know about the other questions, but this one she knew she would be able to answer.

Now… if only she could figure out that answer, that would be just great.

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(Back at Grimmauld Place, two weeks after Harry's arrival)

Harry's birthday, though long over, was celebrated just the week before. He was showered with gifts and smiles, and he honestly felt very loved at that moment, even if the people he loved the most weren't there. But, he could feel his parent's love and Sirius's on him, and even Hermione's platonic love.

Speaking of Hermione, he hadn't gotten a gift from her. The material angle of it settled him not a wit, but the thought behind the gift… the way she showed she thought of him on his birthday… it was gone… and it hurt him.

“Don't worry, mate,” Ron said cheerfully. “I heard from Hermione a few days ago—said she wanted to give you her present in person.”

Harry blanched. So Hermione wanted to talk to Ron, but now him? So… he had been right. Hermione loved Ron.

Well, he thought bitterly, at least we've got that straight.

0 0 0 0 0

It turned out that Hermione was unable to meet them at Diagon Alley after all.

There had been some attacks on muggle families very close by to them, so immediately members of the order were sent to her house to guard over them. Hermione's things had been gotten from Diagon Alley by a member order and she would be escorted onto the train. And even then Harry couldn't see her, for she was now required to sit in the prefect car.

“At least I can delay the awkwardness,” Harry sighed to himself. He was looking forward to and dreading seeing Hermione again. He knew that love was one of the best things about life, or so he heard Dumbledore say once, but really, how come it had to be so damn painful?

0 0 0 0 0

She sought him out after the first dinner. He had sat near Neville instead of her and Ron, and Hermione immediately guessed as to why.

She sighed before going after him. He had promptly excused himself as quickly as he could after eating and tried desperately not to run out of the Great Hall.

Catching up to him, she took a hold of his sleeve and said quietly, “Harry… we need to talk.”

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Part Four

Catching up to him, she took a hold of his sleeve and said quietly, “Harry… we need to talk.”

Harry sighed. “Listen, Hermione, really, we don't need to.”

Hermione scowled. “I think we do, Harry. We have to set things straight.”

What use was there to fight it? So Harry reluctantly let Hermione drag him up to the Astronomy Tower for some privacy.

She led him so that they could lean against the railing side by side and look into the dazzling twilight.

“I want to apologize, first off,” she said quietly when neither would speak. “I wanted… I wanted to tell you everything in person… but I never stopped to consider how it would make you feel if I didn't just… just answer you and at least tell you I wanted to talk face to face.” She sighed. “I'm sorry.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “It's rather stupid of me to be angry with you for that,” he said, “even though I was. I mean, I did nothing but ignore your and Ron's letters for two months. So you ignored one of mine? It's fair.”

“Love isn't about fair, though,” she whispered into the night. He was silent for a moment, not knowing what to say, desperately trying not to get his hopes up.

“I love your letter,” she finally said again. “It was… it is the most beautiful thing—letter or no—that I've ever gotten.” She nudged him playfully. “And to think, last year you were coming to Ron and me for love advice when it came to Cho Chang.”

Harry laughed slightly, although it was quite inappropriate for the situation. “Everything I would do for Cho pales in comparison to what I would do for you, Hermione.”

She flushed a little, pleasantly surprised. The two fell silent once again—there was never a need for incessant chatting between them—and just watched the stars come out and the sky turn into dusk.

“I suppose we're dancing around the real subject at hand,” she whispered. “Shall I start from the beginning?”

Harry nodded.

“When I first got your letter,” she began slowly, as if picking her words very carefully, “I was in shock. You, love me? How? When? Why?” She laughed bitterly. “I wanted to research love—document and analyze it like it was one of Snape's potions. I suppose that the logic that I'm known for is my downfall when it comes to love.” She shook her head. “But love—love is like magic. It can't be explained, it can't analyzed. It's just—just something that, without it, life really wouldn't be worth living.” She sighed. “But I'm getting off topic, aren't I?

“I was a bit in denial, at first. What if… what if you only thought you loved me? We're only sixteen—well, fifteen for me—how do you know it's not just some passing fancy?”

“It's not!” Harry broke in, protesting. “I know I love you—it's as sure and real as the fact that my name's Harry Potter!”

Hermione smiled gently, patiently at him before continuing. “I couldn't be sure, though. You know me, Harry—I always question things.

“I questioned myself on many things that day I got your letter—but I had to wonder: now that Sirius was gone… what if you only loved me because you needed someone to love?” She broke off, tears shining in her eyes. She turned her head, looking at him. “Do you… do you need me, Harry? Or do you love me?”

He wanted to angrily tell her, “Of course! Haven't I said it enough times? Haven't I proved it to you?” But he remembered, this was Hermione. She questioned everything—and for all of her intelligence and bravery, she had insecurities. She had feelings. She was scared, Harry knew. She really couldn't believe he loved her.

“Both,” he answered honestly. “I love you—so, so much—and I need you. Take Sirius out of the entire equation and the answer is still the same: Without you, I would be depressed… most likely dead…” Harry sighed. “Cheesy as it may sound, it's true: without you, there is no me.”

0 0 0 0 0

Again, silence fell upon them, and Harry realized that he still didn't know if she loved him or not.

Hermione seemed to sense his growing anxiousness and continued. “Those questions I had to leave unanswered—although I know the answers now—but there was one question I had to answer—one question only I could answer… do I love you?” She wasn't looking at him, but into the distance, into the stars.

“It was rather complicated—for what was love? There were so many variables in this… and I suppose I should tell you something,” she looked at him now, just as he had been looking at her. “I—” she sighed. “While I was struggling with myself, I had to be perfectly honest about myself. With everything… and I… I repressed a lot of feelings for you. They were all subconscious emotions, I suppose. After all, what could have possessed me to kiss your cheek after fourth year, or run into your arms during second? What could have possessed me to ride a hippogriff for you, when I couldn't even ride a broom? What could have possessed me to fly on beasts that I couldn't even see?

“Love, perhaps? Yes, it was already clear that I loved you… but what kind of love was it? Platonic, or happily-ever-after love?” Hermione sighed. “So, again, I had to be honest with myself. What did you make me feel? What did I feel because of what you made me feel?

“You make me feel… you make me feel fearless. When I'm around you, I can stand up to people like Malfoy and Pansy. When I'm around you, I can go around riding hippogriffs and battling Death Eaters and look for hidden chambers.

“And yet… you make me feel fearful. I worry about you constantly, and I had to ask myself: why was that? Why was it that I worry more about you than about, Ron for instance?” Harry's ears perked up at this.

“Was it just because you were Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived? Surely, that couldn't be it, for it certainly never mattered to me in any other aspects… Well, perhaps just a smidge. After all, Voldemort is after you.” Harry had to squirm uncomfortably at this, remembering the prophecy. Hermione didn't notice, as she had looked away some time before, and continued on.

“Could it be, perhaps, that if anything happened to you, anything fatal, that maybe my life would shatter, more than a smidge? That my heart would break, more than just a little? Could it be, perhaps, what you said: without you, there is no me?

“But I wasn't done yet. That question I had to discontinue, just yet. I needed more puzzle pieces before I could complete that particular puzzle, so to speak.

“Sometimes you look at me, and I think, `Maybe, just for a moment, life is the way it's supposed to be. You're just a boy, and I'm just a girl, Voldemort and Hogwarts be damned.' I feel… I feel safe. I feel complete. I feel like… like I'm home.” She laughed a little. “It makes perfect sense. After we leave Platform 9 3/4 for the summer… I feel just a tad empty. Like perhaps I forgot something and I never get it back until I see you again. This happened every summer, you know,” she adds. “I always used to wonder over it, but then I'd read one of your letters or look at my photo album with us in it, and then… and then I'd feel a little less empty.

“So if you made me complete, whole… like I'm home, did I need you in my life? Did I love you?

She looked at him, and he knew the words she would say before she spoke them: “I love you Harry…” she smiled tenderly, and continued on, throwing his own words back at him; “I love you, Harry: for everything you are and everything you will be.”

He sighed, content. “Do you… do you really?” Oh, if that had been all a dream…

She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head into his chest. “More than you'll ever know.”

And Harry knew, right then and there, With her by my side, I know I wasn't meant to be alone…

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A/N: And that's everything, folks!

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Author's Note: I have changed Chapter Two of Letters Between Us. Harry's letter is almost entirely re-written, so go check it out and tell me what you think!

Coming Soon: A small one-shot from Ron's POV once he gets a letter meant for Harry, and once he hears of Harry and Hermione becoming a couple…. Stay tuned!

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