Letter Writing
Harry's hand slipped from the phone as a lone tear drop fell upon the counter beneath it. He raised his head and let his hands fall heavily to the counter. He stood staring at the small wet circle until, in frustration, he abruptly wiped it away. He released a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh and pushed himself back from the counter.
He walked around the house, going from room to room, trying to find something to occupy his mind. He went to the kitchen to find a snack, looking through the cupboards and the refrigerator…nothing looked good. He walked to the TV and opened the cupboard that housed the movies…nothing caught his eye. He snatched up the remote control and flopped down into the armchair. Flip, flip, flip…over one hundred channels flew by in a matter of minutes. He shut the TV off, tossed the remote to the coffee table, and sat back in the chair. He looked around the room anxiously, hoping something, anything would take his mind off of whatever was happening to him.
His legs shook restlessly and his fingers drummed against the arms of the chair. After only a few minutes, unable to take it anymore, he slammed his hands down, jumped up from the chair, and began pacing back and forth, reminiscent of the way he'd spent his time earlier that morning.
He walked to the sliding glass door and stepped outside. It was the first time he'd actually noticed how cold it was without the exhilarating feeling that generally accompanied it. The cool wind blowing in from the ocean brought little to no comfort in his current state, and that bothered him almost as much as everything else had that evening.
He paced the length of the porch, trying to clear his mind. He took deep breaths, counted to twenty, and then stopped everything when the thought of chanting crossed his mind. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. He walked back to the door and slipped inside the house.
He looked around restlessly, his eyes searching for something to do. He walked over to the stereo cabinet and opened it up. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the radio as he made his way back to the chair. The radio was set on a station that played older music, and to his surprise the music seemed to have a calming affect his anxiety.
It was familiar to him. Not the song per se, but the sound, the style. It was with shock and mild annoyance that he realized it was his aunt's kind of music. It was the stuff she'd listen to when Uncle Vernon wasn't around. He remembered catching her staring off into seemingly nowhere and wondering what she found there. He tried asking her once, in his younger years, but she snapped at him and sent him to his cupboard with threats of a whipping the next time he dared question her that way. It was one of the last efforts he made to bond with her one-on-one.
He made to change the station in hopes it would change his thoughts with it. He didn't want to think about his aunt; he was tired of her finding a way into his life, even from thousands of miles away. Instead of changing it, he decided to exorcise himself of as much of his aunt and her family as he could. He stood up and returned to the stool at the counter to write her a letter….
Dear Aunt Petunia,
I don't know why I'm here. Why I'm writing this letter to you. You'll probably tear it up before you even open the envelope. But you know what? That's okay. I'm going to imagine that you've opened it and that you've accepted my words because it's the only way I know right now to start my life moving in the right direction.
I've walked around this house and in nearly every little thing, I see a part of you. The dirt on the floor of the shower, the grocery bags on the floor by the kitchen, the t-shirts in the dresser drawer…you're everywhere. I find myself in a constant state of defiance and I'm hoping that by writing this letter, I can let go of it. I can't move forward if I keep looking back, and life with you is a definite part of 'looking back' that I don't need right now…at least not with the anger I seem to associate with it.
I'm sorry, not in the apologetic sense, but in the 'I wish it could've been another way' sense, for being forced upon you. They say that I have some kind of special powers, that I'm one of the most powerful of 'my kind' in the world. But I wasn't powerful enough to save my parents and to save you from having to raise me in their place. Believe me; I would've preferred to be with them as much as you hated me for being with you. Sometimes I even wish I'd died with them that night, although I'm sure I've never wished that as strongly as you have over the years. I know you never loved me; I can accept that, although I'll never understand it.
It was my destiny to destroy Voldemort and to bring life back to 'my' world…yours too, truth be told. You just never realized it. Or, maybe you did. I don't know. In some ways, I know that you helped that along. Life with you over the summers seemed to lessen, to some degree, my fear over what was happening with Voldemort. The way your family treated me often gave me something else to occupy my mind, if only for brief moments at a time.
Maybe I sound bitter…I have a right to be if you think about it. But I'm not, not really. Not anymore. Right now, in this very moment, although you've never asked for it, I offer my forgiveness for the years of hell you and your family put me through. I'm letting go of the anger and leaving that part of me behind.
Thanks, Aunt Petunia. Thanks for teaching me to appreciate the good things that come along. I know now that I have to treat my friends well and that I need to take the time to let them know how much they mean to me. And, to let them know how thankful I am that they've stood by me through the years.
Some of life's lessons are tough, but I'm slowly learning that a lot of good can come from them.
Forgiveness is all I have to give you and, although you may not feel there is anything to forgive, I give it with my entire heart. I'm breaking free of the shadow of what lay behind, and I'm slowly finding the light that I'm hoping will soon blind me in its brilliance.
Goodbye, Aunt Petunia. I pray you take my memories with you.
I wish you well,
Harry
Harry read and reread the letter until he could no longer tell if it was what he wanted to say or not. He volleyed back and forth, wondering if he'd articulated himself in a way that would really sound as though he was forgiving. He wanted to believe he was…he needed it. By the fifth reading, he wasn't sure anymore if he was coming across as intended. He knew that if it didn't sound that way to him, it certainly wouldn't sound that way to his aunt.
Rather than dwell on it any further, he folded the letter and shoved it into an envelope. He sealed it and carefully printed out the address for Number 4 Privet Drive. He didn't leave a return address. He knew he'd never hear back from her and, while it saddened him a little, he was fine with that. If the letter got lost in the mail that would be all right, too...he was already assuming she wouldn't read it so it really didn't matter what happened to it. In his mind, he could see her open it and read his every word. And, regardless of whether or not she wanted to, she would find herself grateful for his willingness to forgive. If nothing else, he knew…his imagination was in fine working order.
He pulled a stamp from the book he'd gotten at the grocery store and stuck it on the envelope. The letter would be placed in the mail box first thing in the morning and with it, he prayed, would go his memories.
He immediately reached for another piece of paper and began a letter to Ron…
Dear Ron,
How've you been? I'm doing all right. I've talked to Hermione a couple of times; she tells me you're still with Luna. That's fantastic! I hope that means all is well with you.
I don't know if you will have talked to Hermione in the time it takes for this letter to get to you, but in case you haven't, I'll tell you as much as I can about where I am. Just as with Hermione, I'm going to ask that you promise not to come looking for me. I need this time…more then even I realized when I left. I wish I could explain it, I just don't understand it enough to put it into words.
I'm living in the United States. A small, ocean-side town called Bandon, in the State of Oregon. I've rented a two-bedroom beach house for the next six months. It's magnificent here. You'd like it. Maybe when Luna graduates we can grab Hermione and take a group trip this way. I'm sure they'll both like it quite a lot. It'll be well worth it, mate. A bloke could fall in love in a place like this…if you haven't already, that is! Does she have you wrapped around her finger yet? (Just kidding)!
We could stay here for a month or so. I'll pick up the tab. What do you think? The Pacific Ocean is amazing. I've only walked the beach once, but the view from my porch is unbelievable. We might have to find another place to stay though. Can you imagine Hermione and Luna sharing a room? Not sure that's such a good idea. Guess we'll work that out when the time comes. There may be a bigger house available somewhere close by. I know someone I can ask about that, so I'll be sure to check it out before I leave.
I met a woman, Tanya. She works for the property management company I rented the house through. She was here when I got to the house. You should see her, mate. Wow! Not sure if Luna would appreciate your meeting her though-she could be part Veela. (Just kidding)! I'm not sure how old she is, but I don't think she's too much older than we are, she looks young.
I can't tell if I'm a really stupid guy or if something's going on that I just don't understand. She was flirting with me a bit last night and you'll never guess what I did. She asked me if I had someone waiting for me back home and immediately Hermione popped into my head! I told her 'yes, someone is waiting for me'. How's that for crazy? Where the bloody hell did that thought come from? I didn't want to take it back though. I told Tanya it was friends or nothing and I meant it. I'm eighteen, Ron (or, nearly anyway)…that can't be normal, can it? I told Hermione what happened and she seemed to be fine with it (I thought she might get a bit mad). I couldn't tell her I was questioning my own sanity though…who knows how she would've taken that bit of news!
I'm on a mission and I've decided there's no time for a relationship right now. I know that probably sounds stupid and so unlike the Harry you know, but it's the truth. I have to find out who I am…or, at least learn something about who I want to be. I've been trying my hand at writing. I haven't done much, but I'm just starting out you know. I'm sure I'll be doing it a lot more. I ordered some art supplies, they should be here tomorrow. I don't know what I expect to find, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that something is missing…maybe I'll find it, whatever it is. I hope so.
I wish that I could tell you my dreams and the things that I've been feeling, but that's really never been our thing, has it? I'm not sure I could do it if I tried. I'm just…confused, I guess. Maybe I'll find a way in another letter sometime down the line. Or, maybe I'll actually get it all figured out myself sometime soon. Now that would be a welcome discovery.
I'm trying something new tonight…letter writing. Remember I told you a bit about the Dursleys, the way they treated me like a house-elf? Well, it seems that everywhere I look, I'm reminded in some way of my aunt. Scary thought, isn't it? Well, I've just written her a letter, I'm hoping it will exorcise the Dursley demons once and for all. Offering forgiveness where it hasn't been asked might not count for much overall, but I'm counting on it freeing me of the anger that comes with my memories.
Enough talk of them! There's something I want you to know. Regardless of the way I've acted recently, you're still the best mate a bloke could have. I'm thankful, Ron, I really am…for your standing by me over the years and for your willingness to see me and the battle through to the end. Your friendship has helped me to survive many hardships and that means more to me than you could know. It's hard sometimes to put feelings into words, so I'm not sure you'll get the full meaning of what I'm trying to say. All past differences aside, I'm going to be there for you, Ron. The same way you've been there for me.
I suppose I've rambled on long enough, haven't I? The sentimental stuff freaking you out yet? (Yes, I can see that look on your face). I've written all of this and still feel as though I've said nothing aside from telling you how thankful I am that you're still my best mate. It's really too bad Snape's essays couldn't have been letters like this. Aside from my hand cramping up, this has been pretty easy.
Take care of yourself, Ron, and tell Luna hi for me. I miss you both. Be sure to keep in touch with Hermione; she misses you and she needs you now. I think about her often, more often then I probably should, and I miss her a lot, but neither of those things will bring her comfort or keep her company. I'm not asking you to spend all of your spare time with her, just please don't forget about her. Maybe you and Luna can visit her together sometime…I'm sure she'd like that. She has Hedwig until I return…put her to use or she'll go crazy!
Well, my friend, I'm going to end this letter. I can't seem to shake the image of a certain brown-eyed, bushy-haired girl we both know. Makes me think it's time for bed so I don't have to think about anything anymore. I hope to hear from you soon. I'll write again.
Your friend,
Harry
Writing, he was quickly discovering, was very therapeutic. He felt a lot better after writing the letters. A small part of his anxiety seemed to melt away with each word he wrote. He decided to see if he could write something else. Something that might help him to understand what was going on with Hermione and his constant thoughts of her. His favorite place to write that way was outside, on the porch. He grabbed his coat and when he looked at his shoes, he rolled his eyes and laughed. They were sitting in the same place where he'd taken them off after coming in from the storm, and they were filthy. He went to get his wand and did a quick cleaning spell on them. When he slipped his feet into them they were warm, clean, and dry. He grabbed some paper and a pen, flipped on the porch light…dimming it slightly with his wand, and stepped out into the chilly night air.
The storm had passed, taking most of the dark clouds with it. Stars were now shining down as though they hadn't been hidden at all. Thoughts of Hermione filled his mind as he sat down and this time, he let them. He felt somehow that, at least for the moment, the only way he would ever understand their meaning was to stop fighting against them.
Harry poised his pen above the paper and stared up into the sky. The stars were twinkling and the sliver of moon that he could see shone softly, the rest cast in shadow…the only indication that there might still be a lingering cloud above him. The wind coming off the ocean was cool, just as it had been during the storm. It was gentle now, no longer battling with nature's elements. The air was humid, thick with the heady scent left behind by the falling rain. It was the humidity that kept the night from being too cool and what kept him comfortable as he sat staring at the stars. He looked down at the paper with ever-present thoughts of Hermione and one final thought of the Dursleys on his mind. He began to write…
Thoughts about Hermione: a first attempt at sorting them out.
They say you're always welcome at home. That's how I always knew that the Dursley's was never really where I belonged. That only leaves two places for me now. The Burrow...and anywhere you are. I know I'm always welcome at Hogwarts, but Hogwarts could never be a home without you there. So now I wonder, where would my home be tonight? Are you curled up in your bed? Sleeping peacefully, as you wait for a new day to begin? Or have you gone somewhere else tonight? Wherever you are, I am with you. Can you feel me?
Do you know how much I miss you? It's painful for me to know that I can't be there to comfort you when now is when you likely need me most. You've always been my source of strength, but I know I need to learn to be my own source. I'm working on that, but it doesn't ease the pain that always seems to accompany my thoughts of you.
The sun will soon be rising where you are and I wonder…will you see the same colors in your rising sun that I see in mine as it sets? As you awaken and the world around you is welcoming the sounds of a brand new day, my world begins to sleep, welcoming the quiet sounds of the night. As your dreaming ends, mine begins. Will my dream start where yours ended? Is it possible for us to share one dream with so many miles between us?
The sun rises for you as it sets for me. But for a while, a few short hours, I look up at the moonlit sky and I am at peace. Everything feels right the moment I remember...the moon I am awed by at this very moment is the same moon you watched rise just a few short hours ago. I am reassured by the sight of it that you are never truly far from me. Miles mean nothing when we share the same sun, moon, and stars.
Again, I wonder...
Are we thinking the same thing as we cast our eyes toward the heavens?
I'm scared, Hermione. It's only been a couple of days and I'm already wondering how I'm going to make it without you. Is this what love feels like? Is it the pain in my chest that overwhelms me when I think about you, or is that only there because I miss you? In seven years I've never been happy when I've had to be away from you. Why am I just now realizing that? This isn't what I wanted. It's not what I'm looking for. I can't ever tell you.
This can't be love, it hurts too damn much and it's too confusing. It must be the dreams I've been having…it's all just too much for me right now. If only I could talk to you about it. No one understands me quite like you do.
Harry read the paper. Something he swore he wouldn't do since he read the first one he wrote to Hermione. He scoffed at what he'd written and balled it up in his hands. He held tightly to it, squeezing it into a small ball. "When did I become so bloody sentimental?" he muttered. "Damn it. Why can't I just be left in peace?"
He knocked the chair over as he rose abruptly from the table. He stepped to the side and raised his hand, the chair righted itself instantly. He took the crumpled piece of paper and his other supplies and walked back into the house, slamming it all down onto the counter. The sound of music caught his ear as he reached for the door. He listened intently for a moment, some guy was singing, "but you left me here, just when I needed you most." The irony was not lost on him and shook his head.
He closed the door and locked it before kicking off his shoes. He grabbed the crinkled up piece of paper and flattened it out as best he could before putting it with the others. Sentimental or not, he couldn't bring himself to throw the page away. He grabbed his wand and pointed it at the paper, the wrinkles disappeared, leaving the paper looking good as new.
He glanced at the clock and saw that it was 10:00. Earlier than he normally went to bed, but he wasn't going to complain. The day had been nothing short of overwhelming and he was anxious for it to end. He made his rounds, checking that the doors and windows were locked. He turned off the radio which was now playing a song about, "if you leave me now, you'll take away the very heart of me," he sighed and then headed for his room. He changed his clothes and slid between the sheets. He rested his head against the pillow and laid there, his eyes refusing to close.
He shifted from side to side, back to stomach…out of the covers, under the covers…head on the pillow, head under the pillow…one leg out, the other in-nothing worked. He lay on his back and forced his eyes to close…one, two, three, four, five…counting snitches didn't help either. He sat up in bed and flipped on the light. His eyes immediately went to the photograph beside the bed. He picked it up and stared intently at himself and Hermione. Could it be? he wondered.
He set the picture back down on the table and rose slowly from the bed, flexing his fingers as he walked back toward the kitchen. He picked up another piece of paper and began to write once more…
Dear Hermione,
What is there to say? Can you read my mind? You've always known my thoughts better than I have. Please, tell me what I'm thinking…
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Hermione sat on her bed, it was way past the time she should have been sleeping. It was almost morning. Her parents would be waking soon. She was just finally finishing the letter for Harry that she had been working on all day and night.
…now that you know, Harry. Is there a chance we could be thinking the same thing?