31 June 1992
Dear Mum and Dad,
It’s me, your son, Harry. I’m eleven years old, and I’ll be twelve this year. This is kind of awkward seeing as I don’t really know what to say or where to begin. I don’t think I should keep writing this, but Hermione insists that I write to you. She says that it will help me deal with the fact that you two are dead, some psychological Muggle rubbish, but I do not see how it will help at all. I only know you two have been dead my entire life. Well, it’s not like you don’t already know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be writing this stupid letter in the first place.
I’m rambling. I guess if you were alive, you’d like to know how I grew up. So, here goes nothing:
This is stupid. Hermione was wrong – this doesn’t make it easier.
The letter stopped abruptly, and Hermione wiped her eyes as she finished reading that first unsigned letter. She tenderly ran her fingers over the top of the parchment, caressing the crumpled and yellowed paper. She could tell where Harry had balled up the parchment in anger and scratched out his words in pain. Curious as to why Harry continued writing letters after this one, Hermione flipped to the next one. What she found broke her heart in two:
31 June 1992
Dear Mum and Dad,
I wish you were here.
I’ve missed you my entire life.
Harry
Hermione’s eyes watered at the heartfelt words Harry had first written to his long deceased parents. Even she could agree that they were the words of someone lost and frightened at the time. He had been a boy who had no one in the world to love and knew not the meaning of love or the word itself.
After she wiped her tears away, Hermione began shuffling through the rest of the parchments. There were dozens of letters and short notes that the Boy Who Lived had written to his parents during his last six years at Hogwarts. Almost on a monthly basis, Hermione noted.
She carefully put them to the side and packed up the rest of Harry’s belongings. Then the young Gryffindor shrunk the trunk and put it in her pocket. She knew there were many more treasures to be found in that trunk, but for now, they’d have to wait. Almost running on instinct, she knew that Ron would appreciate reading a couple of these valuable parchments.
Without further haste, Hermione Flooed to the Burrow and went in search of her redheaded fiancé.
‘Ron! Ron!’ she screamed as she ran up the stairs, heading to his room, but found it empty. Worry began to creep into her soul, and she began to look around, laying Harry’s letters carefully on the bed.
‘He’s not here, dear,’ the voice of Mrs Weasley clearly rang up the stairs from the kitchen below. Hermione furrowed her brow wondering where Ron could be, but at least Mrs Weasley appeared to know.
Walking slowly back down the stairs, Hermione went straight into the kitchen and sat at the table. She found the Weasley matriarch sitting at the table as well, quietly stirring her tea in blank contemplation. Mrs Weasley had a clinched expression, forlorn and lost all at the same time, and it caused Hermione to worry again about Ron. Both women sat staring at each other, wondering what the other was thinking, Hermione lost in her thoughts, and Mrs Weasley hiding hers behind a mask of blankness.
‘Where did he go, Mrs Weasley? I need to find him. I … I have something for him to read that I think will make him feel better,’ Hermione blurted out finally, not being able to take the deafening silence any longer.
Mutely, Mrs Weasley handed Hermione a piece of parchment, avoiding Hermione’s questioning eyes. Frowning, Hermione took the parchment, and broke the small seal.
My dearest Hermione,
I can’t stand this anymore. I need to be alone to grieve by myself for a couple of days and come to terms with Harry’s death. I feel like I’ve lost one of my own flesh and blood brothers. I can’t just keep hiding in the shadows anymore pretending that it didn’t happen or blankly reminiscing of the memories we shared.
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for abandoning you right now. I know you’re grieving the loss of a brother, too. Please wait for me until my return. I will not be long, I promise.
If you need to reach me, Errol will know how to find me.
I love you, Hermione.
Ron
Hermione’s heart sank as she finished reading the letter. Sighing heavily, she put the letter down and looked up at Mrs Weasley.
‘Did he say where he was headed?’ she numbly questioned her future mother-in-law.
‘No,’ the redhead stoically replied.
‘Did he say goodbye to you, then?’ Hermione asked, pain written all over her face.
‘Yes, he did. He was in a hurry to get away, dear. Please don’t blame him,’ Mrs Weasley gently muttered.
Standing abruptly, Hermione nodded to Mrs Weasley and hurriedly walked out of the tiny kitchen. She barely made it out the kitchen door before she broke into a run. A horrible pain clenched at her heart, and she didn’t think she could bear it anymore. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her, and as far as they could go, not wanting to stop until she ran out of breath. Her feet pounded heavily on the dirt of the forest that surrounded the Burrow. Hermione felt a twinge of pain in her knee, but she continued running, determined to get away from all the anger, pain, and tears that had surrounded her life for the past couple of days; scratch that – years.
Tripping on the root of a tree, Hermione fell painfully onto the grass floor beneath. She lay there, catching her breath, trying to sort her thoughts, but found her mind was muddled. She had tried to be strong for them both, but now Ron had gone and left her alone. Unbidden, tears began making a wet trail down her ivory cheeks. Her body tingled with pain, adrenaline, and sorrow. Painful sobs made their way out of her small frame as she bellowed out her grief on the soft green grass below her. Angrily pounding the wet grass, Hermione screamed her frustrations until her voice became hoarse.
After a while, the soft blades of grass caressed her feverish skin, soothing her anger and relieving her pain. As sobs continued to tear through her body, Hermione began to fall asleep, tired from the emotional upheaval of the day and slipped slowly into a dreamless state.
Hours later, Hermione lay on the healing grass, staring at the soft blue sky, wondering how long she’d been there and when Ron would be back. She blankly stared at the clouds above, making shapes of animals. It was getting dark; she could tell by the changing colour of the sky, but she didn’t feel like returning to the place Harry had once so happily called his true home. However, she eventually got up and headed back determined not to let the sorrow overshadowing the homely Burrow get to her. As she got closer, Hermione could smell enticing flavours drifting from the kitchen, and she could hear the voices of people talking.
When she entered, the first person she ran into was Ginny. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. No doubt she had been present at the grand funeral held in Harry’s honour and had probably stayed there until one of her brothers had gone to get her. A glint of light caught Hermione’s eyes, and as she looked down at the flash, the brunette noticed it was the engagement ring Harry had given to Ginny a year prior.
An unknown ache enveloped Hermione’s heart at her selfish thoughts and pain earlier. At least she still had her fiancé, regardless of his broken state. Mutely, Hermione enveloped Ginny in her arms and made a mental note to someday share Harry’s letters with Ginny as well; at the moment, Hermione needed to be alone and heal so that when Ron came back to her they’d be able to move on together and live their lives as Harry would have wanted.