The warm August sun shone brightly outside as the Wizarding world rejoiced over the downfall of Voldemort and his deranged followers. Witches and wizards all over boldly celebrated on the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. Those who had fought and survived took a breath of fresh air as the burden of Voldemort’s prejudiced propaganda was lifted from their shoulders. Those who hadn’t survived were honoured for their bravery and courage.
However, inside the Burrow, sorrow hung in the air like the chill of a cold winter night. Unlike the rest of London, the people who currently sat in stoic silence at the table for dinner did not share in the feelings of joy. True to his Gryffindor heritage, and the prophecy that had ruled his life, the ‘Boy Who Lived’ had sacrificed himself to save them all. With his last breath, the son of James and Lily Potter had bid his goodbyes to the only two people to witness his death: the same people who had first befriended him at Hogwarts.
Ron Weasley had fallen into a deep depression since the night his best friend had died. The young red-head had taken to locking himself in his room at night where his sobs of pain could be heard vainly muffled in the dark. Yet during the day lonely and lost Gryffindor could be found sitting outside by the garden in quiet reflection as he stared blankly into space.
His fiancée, Hermione Granger, had tried to get him to grieve appropriately. However, she had found it hard when she herself was still wallowing in grief over the loss of the boy who she had once considered the brother she never had. When Harry had died in her arms, she had found herself in shock. Disbelief had flooded over her features, anguish written all over her eyes. Even though the trio had always considered his death a possibility, no one had accepted it, with the exception of Harry who had come to terms with his own mortality between the summer of sixth and seventh year. Cradled in the hands of death, Harry still managed to smile wistfully at his constant companions as he slipped into the eternal sleep that claimed his young life.
As soon as word had gotten out that Voldemort had fallen at the hands of Harry Potter, everyone began to celebrate. The fallen Gryffindor was hailed a hero, and given a grand and formal burial by the Ministry of Magic. However, Ron had gravely stood at the gravesite before Apparating away in anger when the Minister of Magic began declaring that without the help of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the Aurors would not have been able to take down ‘You-Know-Who’ and the Death Eaters.
Hermione had followed instinctively knowing his destination. She found him trashing the room he had shared with Harry at Grimmauld Place. His hexes were magnified by his anger, and it made the room static with magic as he blasted a trunk into oblivion. When she had demanded that he stop it, the red-head had stared coldly at her before turning his back.
“He was right, you know,” he stated flatly.
“Who was right, Ron?”
“Harry. A month before the final battle, he pulled me aside and told me I had to stop saying ‘You Know Who’ or he wouldn’t allow me to go into battle with him. He said that Dumbledore had told him that ‘fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself’. It gave me courage, Hermione. And that bastard up there giving Harry’s eulogy can’t even say it himself!”
Hermione embraced Ron in a loving hug. With a deep sigh of relief, Ron’s tense muscles relaxed as he melted into her warm arms. Pulling back slightly he kissed his lover’s forehead, as he gently stared into her brown eyes.
“He’d hate that pompous affair, you know. He wanted to be buried at Godric’s Hollow with his parents.”
“I know, Ron.”
After several minutes, Ron claimed he needed time to be alone and think. The sulking red-head made his way to the kitchen to floo back to the Burrow. Hermione was left alone in the ravaged yet forlorn room that Ron had massacred minutes earlier. She noticed that Ron had destroyed everything on his side, leaving Harry’s belongings untouched. His school trunk was packed, and his bed was made “ almost as if he was expected back any minute. Out of curiosity, Hermione walked over to Harry’s side, and opened his trunk. She knew that someone would have to clean it out eventually, and Hermione didn’t think that any of the Weasleys would be able to do it, especially not Ron or Ginny.
As she gingerly began sorting out the contents of the trunk, she noticed a stack of parchments at the bottom and lifted them out. Hermione gasped in surprise as she scanned the contents. Tears welled up in her eyes and she began sifting through the rest of the yellowed papers. She couldn’t believe Harry had kept writing letters after their first year at Hogwarts when she had suggested it. The brown-eyed girl quietly began sobbing as she read the topmost parchment:
31 June 1992
Dear Mum and Dad…
Harry's Letters by mgle_teacher
Chapter Notes: I wrote this story for the Ravenclaw Plot Bunny Adoption Center. I adopted "Flangst" here from Just Beyond the Veil, and I hope you enjoy it.
I also want to thank my two betas: Snape's Talon, and Gmariam for their comments and help.