Letters from a Lifetime

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR; I’m only borrowing.

Author’s Note: I decided to try to write an epistolary fic. It is rather heavily inspired by the brilliant Lori’s fic, ‘A Theory of Letters’ which is the best of its kind, as is everything she writes.

Enjoy!

Letters from a Lifetime

(Written on the inside of a birthday card, accompanying a gift)

Happy birthday, Hermione!!

How does it feel to be two decades old?

I’m including a letter I wrote you a couple years ago; you’ll know exactly when and why I wrote this once you read it. I didn’t end up giving it to you then for obvious reasons but I found it again recently and decided you should get to read it. I wrote it for you; it’s yours.

Have a wonderful day, my dear, old friend, until I see you tonight to celebrate in person.

Harry

(The enclosed letter)

Hermione,

If you’re reading this, then the worst has probably happened.

I wanted to write to you and to Ron, just in case.

I know I’m going to be alone at the end; for the first time this entire year, I’m going to be completely alone when I face Voldemort. I would say that I’m not scared but I’d be lying.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow; I do know I’m as prepared as I will ever be. The horcruxes are all destroyed except for the one which will be destroyed tomorrow right before I face him and then he’ll be mortal again. And I just wanted to say now, since I don’t think I’ve ever said it before, at least not in so many words, thank you. Thank you so much for staying with me, for helping me, for telling me when you think I’m being stupid or reckless. Thank you just for being you. I couldn’t have done this without you and if I survive tomorrow, it will be in large part because of you.

And no matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll always be your best friend.

Take care, Hermione.

Harry

~*~

(Slipped into Hermione’s bag one morning a year later)

Hermione,

A wonderful thing happened this morning. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was you. You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping, did you know that? (Not that you’re not beautiful when you’re awake too.) I decided that I have a new hobby: watching you sleep.

Whenever you find this, I hope you know you’re completely distracting me. I haven’t even arrived at the office yet and I already know that images and memories of last night are going to be haunting me and driving me insane all day. And it’s all your fault for being so damn sexy.

Harry

~

(Slipped into the pocket of Harry’s cloak the next day)

You’re just as distracting. I’ll be lucky if I don’t accidentally poison somebody today, given how hard it is to stop remembering all the things you did to me last night.

~*~

(Hastily scrawled onto a piece of parchment—two years after the above notes were exchanged)

Hermione,

I know you’re going to be told but I wanted to let you know myself. I’m being sent to Italy to investigate the assassination of the Italian Minister of Magic and the attacks on several of his Deputies.

It occurs to me we’ve never promised each other in so many words not to part in anger. We should. I promise it, at least.

About this morning, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for walking out like that, I’m sorry for raising my voice, I’m sorry for everything else I’ve ever done that hurt you. I know it wasn’t our first fight and it probably won’t be our last—although right now, I’m having a really hard time imagining ever being angry at you again—but I can’t leave now without making sure you know.

I love you, Hermione. Never, ever doubt that. I love you.

Your Harry

~

Dearest Harry,

I promise too. And I’m sorry.

Be careful, Harry! Promise me you’re not going to act on any of your reckless impulses. Come back home safely, to me, Harry. You have to.

I love you too. I always have. You know that, right? I love you, Harry Potter, and I always will.

Love,

Hermione

~

Hermione,

I’m somewhere in Italy now; I won’t say where for safety reasons (plus I’m not entirely sure myself.)

This gang is more organized than we’d thought. They’ve been planning this attack for months now and they finally acted on it. I guess evil never dies, does it?

I still don’t know how much longer I’m going to be gone.

I miss you like hell and wish you were with me, even though I’m glad you’re safe at home. You have to stay safe—and don’t give me that look. I know you can take care of yourself but believe me when I say that the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes is knowing that you’re safe.

I’ll be careful. I have every intention of coming back to you.

I love you.

Harry

~

Harry,

I can take care of myself and I don’t like being left behind like some damsel in distress. But I will stay home and safe—this time, because I have some very severe cases to deal with right now at St. Mungo’s. I won’t promise to stay behind every time, you know.

I miss you too. The bed is too big without you in it (which is why I’m seriously thinking that when you get back, I’m not going to allow you to leave the bed for at least a week…) I spent more than an hour yesterday thinking of all the things I want you to be doing to me and all the things I want to do to you and I came up with several new ideas I want to try out…

There now, is that incentive enough to get back safely?

Love,

Hermione

~

Hermione,

You are an evil, evil woman.

Why oh why did you tell me that? It’s downright torture when you know I can’t be there with you and I have no time (or privacy, with the cramped quarters of our team) to come up with any new ideas of my own.

You may picture me grumbling right now.

Harry

~

Harry,

What’s going on? It’s been weeks since I got your last owl and since then, it seems like the news has been full of all this horrible violence and rioting that’s been going on in Italy.

Where are you? How are you? Are you safe? How can you just leave me here to twiddle my thumbs and wait for you?

Tell me you’re safe.

I’m going quite mad with worry and I believe I’m driving Ron to distraction with my inability to stop pacing whenever I’m at home.

Be safe, Harry, please.

Love,

Hermione

~

Harry,

The news is full of an ambush on the British Security Team in Italy. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay. Please, love, be safe.

Hermione

~

(A hurried scrawl on a torn scrap of parchment)

Hermione,

I’m fine. No time now but more later.

Love,

Harry

~

Hermione,

It’s all over and I’m coming home now. Finally. I should be back within a week of your receiving this and I can’t wait to see you again, hear your voice again, touch you again…

I can’t believe how long it took or how bad it got towards the end and I never want to go this long apart from you again (has it really been nearly two months?) But it’s over now.

I confess to you that there was one bad second where I thought it might go badly and I seemed to see and feel everything with a hyper-intensity and I loved, hoped, and feared for a lifetime—but then it ended and my training kicked in.

It’s odd. You’d think I’d almost be inured to near-death experiences but I’m really not. This time it felt so much worse—my life felt more precious to me.

At any rate, it made me realize—no, that’s not true, I already knew it but it’s reinforced my previous conviction—that I never want to be without you again. I’ve missed you so much. I want to see your face first thing when I wake up every morning. I want—well, a lot of things that I won’t list here.

Even before I realized just why I needed you so much, you were the person I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with (you, more than Ron, even). In the few times I tried to imagine being old and gray and probably too feeble to walk, you were always there, in my visions, sitting beside me.

You are my forever.

I could go on much longer but, in short, I just want to tell you that I have a question to ask you when I get back home.

I love you.

Harry

~

(Sent by express owl and received two days before Harry left to return home)

Harry,

YES.

Love,

Hermione

~

(Sent by express owl and received the day before Harry’s return)

Hermione,

You realize I haven’t actually asked you a question yet.

You haven’t changed from the old Hogwarts days when your hand always shot up even before the teacher was done asking the question.

I suppose it serves me right for falling in love with a know-it-all.

Harry

~

(Left on Harry’s pillow a few days after Harry’s return)

Harry,

I was right about what the question was—and I was right about what my answer would be.

All my love, for the rest of our lives,

Hermione

~*~

(Five months later… Received late at night)

Dear Hermione,

I know I’m not going to see you until tomorrow afternoon and before tomorrow happens, I wanted to tell you that I can’t wait.

I’ve been thinking about my parents a lot today, for the obvious reasons, and it made me think of the Dursleys and all those years with them. I remember spending a lot of time feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I wasn’t as lucky as some other kids were, who had parents and families and friends and all that. And I never thought I was lucky when I was at Hogwarts because it seemed like being me meant that I was always in some kind of trouble and getting people I cared about into trouble and danger too.

But now I know that I am lucky. I was born under a lucky star or put another way, I live a charmed life. Because I met you and you became my best friend. I’m lucky because you love me (me—and a lot of the time, I still don’t know why) and beginning tomorrow, I get to spend the rest of my life with you.

I love you, Hermione. I know I’m not the most eloquent person in the world so I may not always show it but never doubt that I know I am the luckiest.

Your Harry

~*~

(Four years and ten months later)

Dear Harry,

I’m fine. I know you’re worrying about me but you really don’t need to.

I, and the rest of the St. Mungo’s team, have been very well-protected from being infected by so much as a cold while we’re here. And you know I couldn’t refuse. People are dying; entire villages have been affected here in the Netherlands and I cannot, I will not, ignore their plight, any more than you could ignore it if there was a sudden attack by Dark wizards. You fight evil in human form; I fight it in this way. And we will find out the cause of this strange sickness and cure it—no matter what it takes.

I’m sorry, Harry. I know you don’t like it when I make such promises but it is true.

Also, thank you for not asking me not to go.

I would have agreed to stay at home, if you had asked—and I know you know that. I also know what it cost you to let me go. Thank you for not asking, for understanding.

For that and for everything else, I love you.

Your wife,

Hermione

~

Dear Hermione,

I couldn’t have asked you not to go. If you were the type of person to sit back and agree, you wouldn’t be the Hermione I married.

Besides, I’m working on polishing up my heroically-forbearing-and-understanding husband act. How am I doing?

I’m meeting up with Ron for dinner and a drink later tonight and I have no doubt he’s going to make some cracks about my suddenly cold and very large bed. The git. Wait until the next time Luna goes off on one of her expeditions to find some strange new magical beast and then we’ll see how he likes it.

I know I don’t really need to tell you to be careful and take care of yourself—but I will, anyway.

Your patiently-waiting husband,

Harry

~

Dear Harry,

You’ve already been nominated for the heroically-forbearing-and-understanding husband award. But thank you.

I will be careful, Harry, as always.

As for you and Ron, try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone.

Love,

Hermione

~

My dear, bossy wife,

We will be good, I promise.

How is everything over there? I’ve been hearing from the media that the epidemic doesn’t appear to be lessening. Are you making progress?

Take care, love.

Harry

~

Dear Harry,

Oh darling, I wish you were here. I want to crawl into your arms and have you hold me…

A little girl died today from the illness. Her mother never left her side and she was there until the end. God, Harry, I’ll never forget the look on that poor woman’s face and the cry she gave when she knew her daughter was gone—it’s still ringing in my ears! I’m crying again as I write about it. But the amazing thing happened later. I left the woman alone with her daughter for a while and when I returned, the woman had moved. She was outside, holding her younger son, the only child she had left now. The boy—he’s still a baby and I doubt he’ll even remember his older sister—was sleeping peacefully. He’s perfectly healthy still and I stood and watched the woman as she watched over her son. And something about the expression on her face as she watched her son made me want to cry even more than I had earlier when the little girl had died. I can’t describe the expression except to say that it was a look of love, of amazingly powerful, deep love. And I somehow knew that the woman would be fine. She had her son to live for now. Maybe she wouldn’t ever stop grieving for her daughter but she would live on for her son.

I realize this is, perhaps, an odd thing to make me think about this and I wish I could tell you in person but watching that woman made me think and now I know. I’m ready, Harry. I know we haven’t talked about it lately but I’m ready now, finally.

I love you, Harry.

Hermione

~

Dear Hermione,

I cried over your letter. I admit it. (But if you ever tell anyone else, I’ll deny it.)

I really don’t know what to say, Hermione. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for that woman; I wish I could have been there with you, for you.

As for being ready—is it possible to be both incredibly happy and absolutely terrified at the same time? If it is, then that’s what I am. But I’m ready too.

Now, come home so I can show you just how much I’ve missed you and how ready I am…

Harry

~

Dear Harry,

I’m coming home.

We did what we came here to do and the illness (it’s been called the Black Tulip Virus) has been contained.

And we can start to work on that little matter we’ve been talking about…

Love,

Hermione

~*~

(A year later, left on Hermione’s pillow)

Dearest,

Thank you for my daughter.

She’s almost as beautiful as her mother is.

Love,

Harry

~

(Two years later, In Ron’s hasty scrawl)

Hermione says, and I quote, that you should get your arse back here now or you are going to come home to find one very brassed off wife.

Ron

~

(Two days later, Also written by Ron)

To Daddy Harry,

Congratulations, you have a son!

And a wife who is very tired but otherwise perfectly fine—and still quite annoyed at you.

Baby Emily (well, not exactly the baby anymore) is blowing a kiss at you.

Ron

~

(Sent by express owl and received the next day)

Hermione,

Thank you for my son. How are you? How is he? How is Emily? Give them both a kiss for me and know that I send you one too.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. These damn rebels have the worst bloody timing in the history of the world. I have every intention of being home within the week—and I don’t care if the whole of Uganda falls into the hands of the rebels but I will go home, even if they’re not all defeated, in a week. I promise.

Tell Emily that Daddy misses her and will be coming home soon.

I love you, darling.

Harry

~*~

(Fifteen years later)

Dear Hermione,

Of all the things I wanted to be doing today, lying in wait for Dark wizards in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in Kazakhstan, wasn’t one of them.

Young Russell has been highly amused at my grumbling. I think my stature as the heroic Boy Who Lived has been severely tarnished in his eyes on finding out that I’m also a man who’s completely in love with his wife and not at all pleased to be on duty right now. See how he likes it when he’s in the same boat, the young puppy.

Anyway, happy anniversary, my Hermione. Can you believe it’s been 23 years? Half our lives.

And nothing’s changed since that day. If anything I only love you more than I did then. Thinking about it, I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without you as my wife. Do you know just what you and our marriage have been to me all these years? You’ve been the stable center of my existence, the most precious part of me. With all that, just to say, I love you, doesn’t seem like enough, but it will have to do. I love you, Hermione, with everything there is of me to love, and I always will.

Give my love to the children.

Your Harry

P.S. We have reservations to go away for a weekend, just the two of us, in two weeks.

~*~

(Left on Hermione’s pillow the morning of her 50^th birthday, along with a gold rose and two tickets to a performance of Turandot)

You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world and I’m still the luckiest man, to wake up and see your face every morning.

Happy birthday, love.

Harry

~*~

(Stored in Harry’s Gringotts Vault along with his Will, found after his death in 2107)

Dearest,

If you’re reading this, then what we always dreaded, has happened.

I’m sorry, my Hermione, that I couldn’t give you as long of a life-time as I wished I could.

As I write this, I’m indulging in one of my favorite hobbies and watching you sleep. (And you needn’t wrinkle your nose at me like that, like you always do when I tell you how much I enjoy watching you sleep, because it’s true, even after more than 50 years of marriage.) You’re beautiful, you know, love. I think, when I’m gone, this will be one of the things I miss most; I’ll miss being able to watch you sleep.

I suppose this is a very clichéd thing for me to be doing, writing the letter to be read after my death. But I can’t help it.

Most people, I suppose, write to tell their loved ones to be strong, to go on living. But I don’t need to do that. I know you’ll be strong and I know you’ll survive. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. I have no doubts that you’ll survive and you’ll go on living.

I know you’ll be there for Emily, Andy and Sabrina and all our grandchildren (can I just say that I’m still amazed sometimes when I think that we have grandchildren?) I leave them to you, my Hermione, and I know that I have nothing to worry about for them.

One thing I do want to say is to be happy, love.

I have only one real regret when I think about my life and that is that I had to leave you like this, that I couldn’t give you forever. But other than that, Hermione, I’ve been very happy, proving what I once told you so many years ago: I really am the luckiest.

I’ve had more than fifty years with you and may have many more. You’ve given me three beautiful children whom I adore and we have seven wonderful grandchildren. I hope that I’ll be around to see our great-grandchildren but in case I’m not, I’ve still had a good life, a charmed life.

And looking back, I see now, more clearly than ever, that in my entire life, I’ve known only one love: you.

Thank you, love, for everything. And remember that I love you now, as I’ve always loved you, and that I will love you for the rest of my life and even beyond that. You are, as I told you so many years ago, my forever.

Goodnight, my Hermione.

Always yours,

Harry

~*~

(Found in Hermione’s bedside dresser after her death, many years later, by their eldest daughter, Emily, alongside a box containing every other letter Harry and Hermione had written to each other, which had been saved for all those years.)

Dear Harry,

It’s been so many years now, Harry, such a very long time.

I’ve missed you so much, love. I’ve missed you every day and every night, although in another way, you’ve been by constant, unseen companion every day. I’ve thought of you and I could picture the expression on your face and hear your voice in my head… And of course, I don’t know what I would have done without the children and their children. I’ve survived and been strong for their sakes, if not for my own, and I’ve even managed to be relatively happy.

But somehow, I’ve also only been waiting. I know that you’ve been waiting for me too, love.

And now, our long wait is coming to an end. I’m not sure how I know it but somehow I feel it; you’ve felt so very close to me lately. So I know we’ll be together again soon, forever this time.

You always said that I was your forever and the one love of your life. You were mine too, you know, Harry. My hero, my love, my soul-mate. I read about a Hebrew word for the one person who was intended to be yours by Destiny, the person who is pre-cut into your destiny in a sense. It’s said that a voice from heaven calls out who the person is destined to be with, before a person is born. The word is Bashert. You are my Bashert, Harry.

So, until we meet again, Harry, know that I love you with all my heart and soul.

Forever yours,

Hermione

~The End~

A/N 2: The definition of the word, Bashert, is taken from a West Wing fanfic by aerial312.