Letters

Letters  

ONE – Weasley Jumpers

The sign on the Gryffindor notice board caught Harry's eye. 'Students who wish to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday need to sign the list below.' Harry chewed the inside of his cheek and weighed his options. Stay here or go back to Privet Drive for two weeks. Snorting, he wondered what he actually had to think about. Harry rummaged in his school bag for a quill. He added his name to the list that included all the Weasleys. He would have to write to his aunt and uncle to inform them of his plans. He would do it after Transfiguration. Dear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, I'm writing to let you know I will stay at school for the holidays. Harry Potter Harry tied the note to Hedwig's leg. 'Do you mind taking it to Aunt Petunia?' he asked her, stroking her snowy head. Hedwig hooted softly, nipped Harry's finger and flew off through the skies. Harry felt this was going to be the best Christmas he ever had. Even if he didn't get any gifts. He never had before, so he wasn't expecting any this year. Not having to go to Privet Drive was gift enough. Harry walked back into the castle, the scent of baking apples and cinnamon wafting through the air. George chewed absentmindedly on the end of his quill. It was quiet in the Gryffindor common room, with just his brothers and Harry gathered around the fireplace. He sat back, his gaze wandering about the room. Percy, Fred, Ron and George were all wearing their mother's traditional Christmas gift of a new handmade jumper. Harry was wearing one, too. As George was sitting in the shadows beyond the fireplace, Harry didn't notice he was being watched. Harry's eyes darted to the other Weasleys and assured nobody was watching him, lightly traced the 'H' on the front of the jumper with a tentative forefinger. A small smile graced Harry's face. George put his quill to the parchment in front of him and began to write. Dear Mum, Thank you for the jumpers. They're lovely and warm as always. You did a bang-up job on them this year. Ronniekins said to tell you that his jumper is nice, but could you please do his in a color other than maroon next year? Harry really likes his jumper, Mum. He seemed to be amazed that you would do something like that for him. Frankly Mum, I don't think his Muggle relations have ever given him a real Christmas gift. Ron said they sent him something called a 'fiftypence'. Harry says it's Muggle money. He reckons it comes out to about twenty Knuts. Christmas dinner was fun, but we missed seeing you and Dad this year. I hope you had a lovely time in Romania. I'll write again soon. Love, George George rolled up the parchment, and took it upstairs to his dormitory. Mum and Dad would return from Romania and visiting Charlie in a few days. He would send it to Mum then. Early the next morning, Harry crept down to the common room. His primary school teacher had taught them the importance to writing thank you notes when you receive a gift. Harry finally had the opportunity to write one. Dear Mrs. Weasley, Thank you for the jumper. It fits perfectly. I really do love the color, too. It was a nice surprise, since I wasn't expecting my aunt and uncle to send anything. They don't really understand Wizarding ways.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Harry paused, doodling on a scrap of parchment. He re-read what he had written. He dipped his quill into his ink bottle and signed the bottom of the note. He would take it out to Hedwig later.  

TWO – You Have a Middle Name?

I realized last night I had the wrong Weasley in Hufflepuff, so I had to change this one to make sure they're all consistent. C'mon... I've got a chart with 18 Weasley grandchildren... I'll bet even Molly can't keep them all straight. 'The train's getting close to London,' remarked Al. He pulled out his wand and began to tidy the train compartment. Scorpius tore his gaze from Lily, and began to stuff his school robes into his trunk. 'Lily?' he said in an undertone. 'Hmmm?' Lily was packing her chess set. It was old and somewhat battered, having belonged to her father when he was in school. She had been trying to beat Hugo, but like Ron, Hugo was nearly unbeatable at chess. 'Can I write to you over the summer?' Scorpius asked in a rush. Lily didn't look up, but her cheeks went rosy. 'If you want,' she replied in seeming indifference, but a smile blossomed on her face. The train pulled into King's Cross. Scorpius could see his mother waiting on the platform, next to Lily and Al's parents. Lily, Al, Rose, Hugo, and Scorpius spilled out of the train in a jumble of trunks, schoolbags, and owl cages. 'Bye, Lily,' Scorpius said. 'Bye,' she said, smiling at him. 'Hope you have a good summer.' Scorpius watched as Lily's parents took turns to embrace her and Al, then Rose and Hugo, before turning to his own mother. 'Mother,' he said, somewhat formally. Malfoys did not indulge in public displays of affection. Daphne Malfoy beamed at her son, 'Scorpius.' 'Where's Father?' he inquired. Daphne's bright smile faltered. 'No matter, Mother. Let's get home. I'm starving.' 'When are you not?' she laughed. She took Scorpius' schoolbag from him, and slung it over her shoulder, leaving him to grip his trunk. 'Ready?' When he nodded, she took his free hand, and they Apparated to Malfoy Manor. Dear Lily, Father didn't come to the station again. He was home for dinner, but didn't talk much, beyond asking about my exams. I don't think he really wanted to know. Why do you think it doesn't bother my mother than I'm a Gryffindor, but it irritates my father so much? They were both in Slytherin, after all. We studied the War in History of Magic this last year. I learned a few things about my father I'm not very proud of. And my grandfather Malfoy. He won't speak to me, either. Unlike my father and grandfather, neither Mother, nor Grandmother Malfoy pays attention to blood status anymore. I asked Grandmother about it one day, and she said it had all been a mistake. A horrible mistake. But that's all. Anything I've learned about my family's involvement has been through History of Magic, and my parents won't tell me anything. Does it sound like I'm a whinging child? It does to me. I mean, I've got plenty of money, a roof over my head, a mother who loves me, and some of the best mates a person could ask for, but the not knowing feels like an empty space inside me. Didn't your parents tell you everything before you started school? Do you ever wish they hadn't? I'll take my Apparition test soon. I can't wait. I hope I pass the first time. I hope to hear from you.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Scorpius The owl tapped Lily's bedroom window. She recognized it as Mrs. Malfoy's owl. She let the owl in, and gave it a few Owl Treats and some water from the glass next to her bed. Her owl, Darcy, didn't like to share his water dish. The owl held out its leg so Lily could untie the letter, and flew back to Wiltshire. Dear Scorpius, We really need to find a good nickname for you. 'Scorpius' just sounds so… pointy, and you're anything but pointy! Not that you're pudgy, either… Okay, forget I just wrote that. But you are rather nice to look at… Maybe we could call you 'Peter Parker' – Spiderman's alter ego? You remember Spiderman, don't you? I think you, Al, and James must have watched it about five times last summer when you came over that week your parents were in France. What's your middle name? You've never said… So to answer your questions… All my family has been in Gryffindor. All of them. Literally. Until my cousin Parker was Sorted into Hufflepuff. We all thought Uncle Percy was going to die of embarrassment. But no. Uncle Perce didn't care. He really does love his family, even if he does come off as a pompous windbag half the time. I think Parker felt he had to make up for it, so that's why he was at the top of his class. You don't sound like a child. You sound like someone desperate for answers. You have to remember I was only nine when my parents told us everything. Al and Rosie pelted Mum, Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione with owls until they agreed to tell us everything. I think they preferred for us to learn about it from them instead of other people. I wish they had waited until right before I went to Hogwarts, but with James and Al at school, and me at home alone, if I had questions or nightmares, Mum or Dad was able to help me with them without too many interruptions. I'm glad they told me, though. We always knew there was something they weren't telling us. Rosie would have found out sooner or later anyway. I hope your father comes to his senses soon and realizes what a wonderful person you are. With my dad being an orphan, you realize how important family is. Even people who aren't related to you, but that you consider family. Speaking of that – Teddy and Victoire are finally getting married this summer! Uncle Bill wanted Victoire to finish her training as a Healer. She just finished her training in May. Maybe you could come to the wedding? It's at Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's house in Cornwall. Wow. It's three in the morning. Good luck on your Apparition test! Let me know how you do. Lily Dear Lily, My middle name is Edmund. My grandfather Greengrass' name. My great-grandfather Greengrass, it seems, had a fondness for a Muggle poet called William Shakespeare. My grandfather and all his siblings were named for characters in the plays Shakespeare wrote. But don't call me Ed. Or Eddie. Edmund is fine. But just for you. What's yours? Scorpius Dear Eddie,

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

It's Nymphadora. For Teddy's mum. Lily Scorpius dashed into his bedroom and flung himself into the chair behind his desk. He rummaged through the drawer for a quill and parchment. He felt like he could fly without his broomstick. What he was about to do would earn yet more disappointment from his father, but Scorpius was beyond caring. After six years, disappointment from Father over the recipient of a letter was little more than a flicker of hurt. His father had barely spoken to him since he had been Sorted into Gryffindor. The disappointments had only snowballed from there – from not wanting to play Quidditch to earning an Outstanding OWL in Herbology and Muggle Studies to having Albus Potter as his best friend. Scorpius never mentioned his romantic feelings for Lily. Dear Lily, I hope your summer has been good. And no, my father still isn't really talking to me. I wonder if it's habit by now. I know I've told you before, but Mother told me he was livid when he got my letter after the Sorting. I always wondered why he never sent a Howler. Maybe he just didn't care enough to bother. Enough about him. I'm not writing to talk about my father. I went to take my Apparition test today. I passed! On the first try, no less. Mother was pleased. She took me to Eeylops and I got to pick out an owl for my very own. It's a tawny female. I think I'm going to name her Cassiopeia. Or maybe Cassi, for short. You know how owls are with names. You'll see her when she brings you this letter. So, Lily, I know your birthday is coming up soon, and I was wondering if I could maybe take you out or something? Maybe we could go see one of those Muggle films? I blame your father. He has an insanely large film collection. I think Al and I stayed up for three straight days last Christmas watching some of them. I'd really like to see you before school starts. Scorpius Scorpius went to the bright-eyed owl, sitting on a perch in the corner of his bedroom. 'Cassi?' he ventured. She turned her head, and cocked it to the side, listening. 'Could you deliver a letter for me, please?' Cassi held out her leg. Scorpius tied the letter to it. 'Take it to Lily Potter. She lives in Godric's Hollow.' The owl hooted softly and gracefully took flight into the July afternoon. 'But Dad,' Lily wailed, 'you're being completely unfair!' 'I am not, Lily. You're only fifteen. You're too young to go on a date with anybody!' 'I am the same age you were when you took Cho Chang on a date in Hogsmeade!' 'Ouch. Low blow, Lils,' whispered James. Scorpius' letter had come last night, and Lily asked Harry if she could go out with Scorpius at breakfast. Lily was in the process of working herself up to a genuine Weasley tantrum, and Harry was in much the same mood. 'That was different!' Harry shouted. 'How?' Lily demanded. 'It just is,' he insisted. 'Oh, I see,' Lily said quietly. Al and James looked at each other, grabbed their toast and beat a hasty retreat to the back garden. Lily was like Ginny in that when she shouted you didn't worry. When she got quiet, you found a good hiding place. 'You don't mind him being friends with Al, but the second he wants to take me out, all of a sudden, he's Draco Malfoy's son.' 'Well, he is Draco Malfoy's son!' 'He's also a bloody Gryffindor, Dad, or has that escaped your notice?' 'Don't use that language, Lily Nymphadora Potter!' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Outside, James and Al exchanged another look. 'Oooh. He used the full name,' James whispered. 'She's really in trouble now.' 'I hate you!' Lily screamed, and stomped upstairs to her room, and slammed the door. Harry stared after his daughter, chest heaving. 'What?' he snapped at his wife, who sat at the opposite end of the table, calmly drinking her tea. 'Harry, I've been married to you for twenty-two years. I've known you for over thirty. And you've always had an irrational hatred for any Malfoy. Except perhaps for Narcissa, but she did save your life,' Ginny pointed out. 'We've had Scorpius as a guest in this house almost every Christmas since his first year and countless days and nights during summers. 'He is not Draco. And never will be. Like Lily said, he is a Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes. 'Now, you need to go fix this mess you have created.' Harry stared at Ginny in open-mouthed shock. 'After she's calmed down,' Ginny added. 'She's almost as good as I am with a Bat-Bogey Hex.' Ginny swept from the kitchen and collected Al and James before Apparating to the Burrow, leaving Harry and Lily alone. Dear Eddie, Ihate my father right now! He won't let me go out with you! Bloody stupid hide-bound –' The point of Lily's quill snapped she was writing so hard and blotted her parchment. She threw it across the room, and flopped onto her unmade bed, fuming. Dad could be so… so… 'Idiotic,' she said out loud. Harry stood on the other side of Lily's closed door, leaning his forehead against the wood. He knew Ginny was right. But damn it, nobody was good enough for his little girl. Problem was Lily wasn't a little girl anymore. She would be of age in two very short years. Harry thought about what Ginny had said before she left. If Harry had to put Draco and Scorpius to a side-by-side comparison, he knew Scorpius had not made the same choices with his life Draco had. In fact, if Scorpius reminded him of anyone, it would have been Sirius – another Gryffindor from a long line of Slytherins. But that's where the comparison ended. Where Sirius had been a prankster, Scorpius was a quiet, studious boy, who hated to draw attention to himself. He sighed, and knocked on Lily's door. 'Lily?' he called through the door. No answer. Harry took out his wand, and tapped the doorknob. It didn't click open. He tried turning the doorknob, and the door swung open, revealing Lily, crying into her pillow. Harry sat on the edge of her bed, and she threw herself into his arms. 'Lily, sweetheart… I'm sorry. Your old dad's just not ready for his baby to grow up.' Lily sniffed and swiped her sleeve across her face. Harry conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her. 'Okay… I'll let you go…' 'Oh, thank you, Dad!' 'On one condition,' he said. Dear Eddie, Dad says we can go out on a date. But before you get too excited, we have to take James and/or Al with us. And no ditching them somewhere. Besides, you know Dad. He'll have some bloody Auror trailing us. Total abuse of his job as Head of the Auror Department, but when you're Harry Potter… Lily Scorpius Apparated back to Wiltshire after seeing Lily home to Godric's Hollow. He walked into the mansion with a dreamy smile on his face. James and Al kept to themselves for the night, giving Scorpius and Lily something resembling privacy. He got to put his arm around her shoulders at the movie, and held her hand as they walked to an Apparition point. She even kissed him on the cheek before dashing inside the house. Too keyed up to sleep, he pulled out a piece of parchment.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Dear Lily, Wow. Love, (is that okay?) Eddie The letter lay at Lily's place on the breakfast table when she ambled down sometime after noon the next day. She read it, and blushed. Dear Eddie, It's okay. More than okay. Love, Lily  

THREE – Incendio

Harry couldn't sleep. He kept hearing the screams of terror from the wedding a few days before. Plus, he was staying at Twelve Grimmauld Place. Never a good place to get a decent night's sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, he crept to the drawing room. He pointed his wand at the empty fireplace and muttered, 'Incendio.' A fire sprang up in the grate, crackling loudly in the silent house. He crossed the carpet to the ornate desk and searched until he found a few sheets of parchment, a jar of ink, and a somewhat battered – but still usable – quill. He settled in front of the fire, lying on his stomach. Dear Ginny, I don't know what to say. I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not as if I can send it to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to break up with you. I didn't want to. I had to. You're in enough danger now, without being my girlfriend. I know you say you understand, but I hope you really do. I'm sorry I can't even send this to you. I'm sorry I put your and your family in this horribly unfair position. I'm sorry I couldn't dance with you at the wedding. I wanted to. So much. God, Ginny, I want to wake up, and find that all this has been a dream, and my parents are still alive, and there was no Voldemort. I want to wake up next to you. I can smell your hair in the Amortentia potion. I want to wake up surrounded by the scent of your hair. I want to fall asleep surrounded by the scent of your hair. I want to marry you someday. Someday. When this is over, Ginny, I swear, we will have a someday. I love you, Ginny. Did I ever tell you that? I don't remember if I did… I love you. You're so strong and brave. I wish I had realized it sooner. When this is over, you can spend as much time telling me what I prat I am for not realizing it sooner. Please be safe, Gin… If I succeed at this… and you're not alive to share it with me… Please be careful.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Love, Harry Harry folded the letter, and wrote Ginny's name across the front. He stared at it until his eyes burned and watered. 'Damn it,' he whispered. He felt helpless. He wanted to send it to Ginny, but he couldn't draw attention to Grimmauld Place or Ginny. Not even when she started school. He couldn't even risk leaving the letter here. Sighing, Harry pulled out his wand. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes. He exhaled strongly, and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stem them. One escaped, slid down his face, and landed with a soft plop on the letter, just under Ginny's name. He touched the front of the letter with the tip, and whispered, 'Incendio.' The letter went up in flames, the same color as Ginny's hair. He fell asleep with his hand resting in the cold ashes. Ginny sat huddled on the hearth of the Gryffindor common room. She ached all over. Even her hair hurt. She bit her lip, hard. She was not going to cry. She was damned if she let the Carrows know in any way, shape, or form they had gotten to her. She wanted to cry. She wanted to burrow into Harry and cry until his shirt front was soaked. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of the Cruciatus curse. He wouldn't think she was weak for crying. She tore the blank end of parchment from her Potions essay. Dear Harry, I wish you were here, and I'm glad you aren't. Jack Sloper has a small wireless. We listen to it sometimes at night. Neville or I usually put a Muffliato on the portrait hole. There's been nothing about you. So, no news is good news, I guess. I wish I had something like your Map. Just to see if you're safe. I hope you are. You have to be. For all of us. Do me a favor, okay? Try not to do anything stupid. You have Hermione with you, so she should keep you from making any colossal mistakes. I'm sorry if my handwriting is shite. I had detention with Alecto Carrow tonight. She let Crabbe practice his Cruciatus curse on me. Repeatedly. Fortunately for me, he's so thick, he can barely say the word. I'm still a little shaky from it, though. I wish I could send this to you. But it's a good thing I can't. You don't want to know what things are like at Hogwarts with Snape in charge. Please come out of this alive. I'd have to kill you if you died, you know. I know you know… how I feel about you. I do love you. Beyond an eleven year-old girl's crush. I dream about the night we fell asleep on a sofa in the common room. It felt… right. All my love, Ginny Ginny clumsily folded the letter with her trembling hands. She heard a creak, and froze in fear. If it was the wrong person, being caught with a letter to Harry would be the least of her worries. 'Ginny? What are you doing up?' Neville asked. 'Had to finish my Potions essay,' she whispered.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'What's that in your hand?' 'Nothing.' 'Liar.' Neville tugged the square of parchment from Ginny's fingers. He opened it and skimmed the words. 'Oh.' 'I need to burn it. Can't leave it lying around. Can't hide it in my things.' Ginny's voice grew husky with unshed tears. 'I'll do it,' said Neville calmly. He pulled his wand out, and almost gently, tapped the letter, while he softly said, 'Incendio.' The parchment burned to ashes. Ginny shook with the sobs that she had tried to hold back since the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding. Neville put an arm around her shoulder and let her cry into the sleeve of his jumper. Dear Ginny, Does it sound like I'm stalking you if I sit with the Map and watch you sleep in your dormitory? It does to me. When it's my turn to stand watch, I'll sneak out the map and find you. Just to see if you're all right. Why were you in the dungeon the other night? Did you have detention with Snape? Or worse, the Carrows? I hope not. If they hurt you… An Unforgivable might be worth it. Ron left. I can't find him on the Map. He's not at school. The Map doesn't lie. He's right. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Sometimes, I hate Dumbledore for sending me off on this bloody quest without any information at all. And I can't hate him. He knew if I knew everything, I'd rush headlong into something without being prepared to handle it. Bad habit of mine. I'd say 'get used to it,' but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to tell you that. I hope so. I'm wearing the jumper I got for Christmas my first year. It's a little ragged around the edges, and I had to put an Engorgement charm in it since I have grown a bit since my first year. Your mum once told me you picked out the yarn. Wearing it makes me feel like you're here. I would never say all this mushy stuff in person… I'm glad you won't be able to read this. Love, Harry Harry burned the letter, and scattered the ashes outside the tent. He stood in the cold, still night, looking at the sky. With a start, he realized it would be Christmas soon. Ginny paced the upper gallery of Aunt Muriel's house. She was waiting for everyone else to go to bed, so she could try to find the Potterwatch broadcast on the wireless. 'Ginevra, stop that stomping about!' yelled Aunt Muriel from her sitting room. Ginny mouthed, 'Don't call me Ginevra, you cow.' She hated it when Aunt Muriel called her Ginevra. She flopped down on a window-seat. A scrap of parchment and a quill lay there. Dear Harry, My parents didn't let me go back to school after the Easter holidays. I can't say I blame them. I can blame them for staying with Aunt Muriel. She makes Rita Skeeter look like a pleasant person. You remember her from the wedding, don't you? Tonks had a baby. Did you know that? It's a boy. He's a Metamorphmagus, like his mum. Remus brought a few pictures to show Mum and Dad. There's one with Remus holding Teddy (that's his name) and Teddy looks just like Remus. He's a beautiful baby. Remus says when Teddy's sleeping, he looks like his 'normal' self. There's a picture of that, too. Teddy has Tonks' face – the shape of it – but has Remus' hair and facial features. I wonder whose eyes he has.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

If people didn't have a reason to fight before, they should. That baby, sleeping so peacefully, deserves to have a better world. I hope you're safe. I hope this ends soon. If you die, not only will I kill you, but I swear on Merlin's best wizard hat, I will haunt you for eternity. Like Moaning Myrtle. But without all the wailing. Love, Ginny George watched from a bedroom doorway as Ginny folded the parchment, and muttered the Incendio charm. She had been doing that a lot lately. George thought that for a moment, Ginny was going to burst into tears. But she remained resolutely still on the window-seat. Not for the first time, George admired his baby sister's iron will. He wondered if he would have that kind of self-control if he ever needed it.   August 31, 2016

FOUR – Dear James

Dear James, Tomorrow you're going to go to Hogwarts. It can be some of the best times you will have. You will have lots of family around you at school: Victoire, Madeline, Isabella, Jacob, Fred, and Parker. If you need anything, ask them. Or go see your Head of House. If you're in Gryffindor (and I'm sure you will be) it'll be Neville. But it doesn't matter what House you're in. You will always be my son, and I will love you, no matter what. Your mum will tell you all the practical things, like do your homework on time, don't go wandering out after curfew, and make sure you dress warmly. Why? Well, she's your mum, and that's what mums do. She'll also try to go through your trunk in the morning to make sure you packed enough clean underwear. Don't fight it, just let her do it. Now, if you get into trouble, you will serve your detention, or any other consequence, and no trying to weasel out of it. You really don't want to get a Howler from Mum, do you? Remember, though, your mum and I will not be around to bail you out of mischief, so do try to keep your nose clean, eh? But what I really want to tell you are a few things that you won't learn from books. One… if you're hungry, and you missed dinner or something, there's a painting of a bowl of fruit. If you stroke the pear, it will turn into a handle, and the painting becomes the door to the kitchens. No matter what your Aunt Hermione tries to tell you, the house elves will feed you like Grandmum does – of their own volition. They'll even pack some food for you to take away with you. Remember though, the elves at Hogwarts are not to be taken advantage of. Two… it takes a lot of courage to stand up to your friends. Especially if they're doing something you know is wrong. That's a sign of true courage. Never be afraid to stand up to your friends. They will get over it. Three… Hagrid will invite you over for tea. The tea itself is fine. He does make a good cuppa. But don't eat the food. Don't refuse it, but just… move it around on your plate. And if you want to keep all your teeth, do not eat the rock cakes! Or the treacle fudge! Four… Don't waste your time with Divination. Yes, Professor Trelawney has made some real predictions, but the rest of the time, she will tell you all the horrific ways you're going to die. If I had paid any attention at all to her my third year, I'd have been dead before our final exams that year. Take something else. Anything else. Please… do your dad a favor and spare yourself the misery. Five… if there is an event, like a Yule Ball, for instance, and you really like a girl, do not wait until the last minute to ask her to go with you! Girls at that age do tend to travel in packs, so just take a deep breath and do it. They'll giggle a lot, too, but seeing as how you've grown up with Lily and all your girl cousins, I think you'll be okay. Oh, and speaking of girls… stay away

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

from Madame Puddifoot's. Not unless you want to lose your lunch. Six… most importantly, the 'coolest' people don't always make the best friends. Some of the best friends I made at school were hardly the coolest students. But when I needed help, they were willing to give it to me, no questions asked. Seven… do what makes you happy. If it's taking advanced Potions or Herbology, or even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, do it. You will be completely and utterly miserable doing something that makes you unhappy. That's about all I can think of now, James. If anything else comes up, I'll send you an owl. Just do your best. That's all your mum and I can ask of you. Love, Dad Harry sealed the letter to James, and tiptoed into the kitchen to lay it on the table at James' place. When he came down for breakfast in the morning, it would be waiting for him. He crept up the stairs to his and Ginny's bedroom and slid into bed next to Ginny. She turned over and cuddled into him. 'Did you write it?' He stroked the hair from her face. 'Yeah.' 'What'd you say?' 'That's between James and me, love. Go back to sleep.' James Potter sat on his bed in the seventh year dormitory. He held a ragged letter in his hand, reading it. Over the last seven years, he had often taken it out, and read his father's advice. As much as he hated to admit it, it was good advice. James ruefully shook his messy black hair out of his eyes and picked up a clean piece of parchment. Dear Dad, It's my last night at Hogwarts. You were right. I did have a lot of good times here. I wanted to take the time to tell you I still have that letter you wrote to me the night before I started school. I have it next to me right now. It seemed really dorky at the time, Dad, but it helped. Especially that time Fred and Jacob tried to spike Professor Williams' pumpkin juice with flobberworm mucus. So, as part of leaving school, I wanted to tell you what I've learned. Aside from the magical. I did learn to ask the girl out in advance. The first time I wanted to ask a girl to go to Hogsmeade with me, I scoffed at your advice and waited until that morning. Needless to say, next time, I asked as soon as the weekend was announced. And I did do what made me happy. Professor Flitwick says I'm almost as good as Mum in Charms. I think I got an Outstanding on my Charms N.E.W.T. I have a feeling my Runes and Arithmancy scores will be good, as well. And DADA… well, when your father is Harry Potter, you'd better do a good job at DADA. I was a much better Quidditch announcer than player, strangely enough. But I am good at it. Actually, if you want to see something amazing on a broomstick, watch Al play. If I ever had to create a picture of joy, it would be Al on his Lighteningbolt 350. Speaking of Al on a broom (and this is between you and me, Dad) Montrose has been out to scout him a few times. Flying makes him happy, Dad. I never did eat anything Hagrid cooked. I usually said I wasn't hungry. I only had to use the house elves a few times. I missed dinner a couple of times and I snuck down for a sandwich. They were dead helpful, Dad. I usually got more sandwiches than I could eat, biscuits, tea… You name it, they gave it to me. I've never seen anyone who liked to feed people so much. Except maybe Grandmum… I'm sure there's much more I could tell you, Dad. And if anything else comes up, I'll send you an owl.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

I hope I've made you and Mum proud of me. If I can be half the man you are, Dad, I'd say that's a pretty good life. Love, James James stepped off the train and waked up to Harry. 'Hey, Dad.' 'James!' Harry enfolded James into a back-pounding hug. 'So, Dad, I have something for you.' James held out the folded parchment. 'I finally wrote a reply to the letter you sent me my first year.'  

FIVE – Howlers

The day after James threw a dragon liver at Robert Nott in Potions, a snowy owl flew into the Great Hall at breakfast and landed in front of him. It clutched a large red envelope in its beak. The entire room went silent. James reached out with trembling fingers and took the envelope. The owl hooted imperiously at him, and took off. 'You'd better open it, James,' whispered his cousin Jacob. 'Yeah, Mum sent us one last year, and we decided not to open it,' chimed in his twin Fred. 'It was horrible,' added Jacob. 'Exploded at the table in front of everyone.' Fred's eyes widened at the now-smoking envelope. 'I'd make a run for it, if I were you,' advised his older cousin, Madeline. James grabbed the envelope and ran for the entrance. Before he could leave, the envelope burst into flames and his mother's voice rang out. 'James Sirius Potter… what on earth were you thinking, throwing dragon livers at other students…' James cringed. While his mother's voice was magically amplified, it was quiet. That was the voice he feared. If she was yelling, it was over and done with. The deadly quiet voice meant he was a few steps from a serious case of dead. 'I am so disappointed in you, James,' the voice continued. James' shoulders slumped. He hated it when Mum or Dad used that phrase. 'I expected better behavior from you, young man. Your father and I raised you to behave better than that. Just because we're not there, it doesn't mean you can get away with that kind of behavior. We will discuss this when you come home for the holiday next week.' The voice stopped and the letter fell to the floor in a heap of ashes. Shaken, James turned around to find the entire Hall staring at him. He gulped and went back to the Gryffindor table, dragging his feet. He picked up his schoolbag and went to the dungeons for Potions, without meeting the eyes of his cousins or classmates. Dad probably wouldn't let him go flying during the holiday. Or he'd have to do extra lessons. Mum would make him do chores. James slid down the wall next to the door and waited for Professor Williams to open the door. He heard footsteps and shrank down, trying to hide in the shadows. 'I got one of those my fourth year,' remarked a voice. James looked up. Victoire sat on the stone floor next to him. 'I was caught trying to sneak back to the tower with Teddy. Dad went spare.' Victoire smiled, 'The Howler had both Mum and Dad. Dad was threatening to strangle Teddy. Mum was shouting in French, no less. I was so embarrassed, I refused to come down for meals for two days.' 'I didn't mean to hit Professor Williams with the dragon liver,' James muttered to his shoes. 'Robert Nott is a git. He was saying stuff about Dad. Mum, too.' James looked up at Victoire. 'I just couldn't let him get away with it.' 'I know, James. I got that a lot my first year, with people saying things about Dad. You can't let them get to you.'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'That's what Dad said the when I wrote home a couple of weeks ago.' The door to the Potions classroom creaked open. Professor Williams stood in the doorway, like some sort of avenging angel. 'See you at lunch, James,' said Victoire. 'Potter.' Professor Williams was tall, thin, and had a voice that sounded like it came from the depths of Hell. James scrambled to his feet. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to hit you with the dragon liver.' Professor Williams merely stepped aside to let James into the dungeon. James miserably plodded to his desk, and began to set up his cauldron in uncharacteristic silence. Williams sorted through the previous class' homework, while James prepared for class. He looked at James' bowed head. 'I got one of those. My seventh year.' James looked up at Williams in surprise. Williams wasn't the friendly sort, really, downright stand-offish if it came down to it. He was a good teacher, though and didn't play favorites. 'R-r-really, sir?' James stammered. Williams allowed a small smile to grace his features. 'Yes. Almost what happened to you, except I tried to use a nonverbal Rictumsempra on my class rival, and accidentally knocked Flitwick off his pile of books.' Williams gazed at the ceiling in reminiscence. 'If you think my voice is deep, you should hear my dad's.' He chuckled quietly. 'Imagine it amplified a hundred times, and you get the general idea.' James tried not to shiver, but the idea of hearing that voice at that kind of volume was a bit frightening. He could hear the rest of the class making their noisy way down into the dungeons. Williams stopped by James' table on his way to greet the class. 'You didn't get detention because the liver hit me. Although my hair smelled like rancid dragon liver until after dinner, no matter how many times I tried to Scorgify it,' he mused. 'You got it for throwing it in the first place.' James opened his mouth to protest, but Williams held up a hand forestalling him. 'I heard what Nott said. And he will be serving a detention with me the day after yours.' With that, Williams strode purposefully to the door. Scorpius Malfoy stood nervously with the other first-years. His father's words echoed through his brain like a never-ending tennis match. 'All Malfoys have been Sorted into Slytherin. Anything else brings shame to the family name.' But Scorpius didn't really want to be in Slytherin. He wasn't really a typical Malfoy to begin with. Muggles fascinated him, for starters. He loved plants and spent his summers hiding in the gardens of his father's estate. His mother took pity on him, and gave him a plot to experiment with. The idea of blood-purity confused him. He didn't understand why it mattered. Harry Potter was a half-blood and look what he had accomplished. Youngest Head of the Auror Department. 'Malfoy, Scorpius!' Professor Longbottom called. Scorpius jumped and slowly walked up to the tall stool. He clambered up on it, and Longbottom dropped the Sorting Hat on his head. 'Not a typical Malfoy, are you?' said a voice in his head. 'You want to be different, even if you haven't quite figured out how. All right, then. Gryffindor!' the Hat shouted. Scorpius felt the blood drain from his face. The entire Great Hall hushed into a shocked silence that quickly turned into nervous chatter. Scorpius trudged to the Gryffindor table, aware that every single person in the room was openly staring at him. The misfit Malfoy, he thought to himself. He found a seat at the end of the table, and stared at the plate in front of him. He refused to meet anyone's eyes. Not even the sympathetic gaze of one Albus Potter, who sat surrounded by a sea of redheads. Scorpius picked at his dinner, and followed the tide of students up to the Gryffindor tower. 'The password's Felix Felicis,' said a willowy blonde girl. Scorpius clambered through the portrait hole and followed the others of his year to their dormitory halfway up the tower. He found the bed with this thing by it, and climbed into it, pulling the curtains of the four-poster closed. Scorpius stared at the red and gold hangings of his bed, imagining the disappointment on his father's face when he received his letter. He turned on his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. He had heard some other students talking about Slytherin on the train, and knew he wasn't going to fit in there. He had heard whispers about his father and grandfather over the years. But nothing outright. And nothing he could prove. After a couple of hours, the room grew still as the other boys went to sleep. Scorpius poked a cautious head out from the curtains and quietly found a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink from his schoolbag. He didn't want to write the

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

letter, but he thought it would be better for his parents to hear the news from him and not secondhand. 1 September 2017 Dear Mother and Father, I don't know how to say this, but I did not get Sorted into Slytherin like you wanted for me. I got Sorted into Gryffindor. I hope you can forgive me. I do not know how I will be able to make it up to you, but I will. Your son, Scorpius Scorpius sealed the letter and set it on his night table. Early the next morning, Scorpius got up and went down to the Owlery. He walked in past Albus Potter and called an owl down. Sighing, he attached the letter and sent the owl on its way. Every day for a week, Scorpius looked up fearfully for his father's owl in the swarm of owls that delivered mail at breakfast. It didn't come. Not that week, nor the next, or the week after that. After a month, Scorpius stopped waiting for the Howler that never came. Seven years later, Scorpius looked around his bedroom in Malfoy Manor for the last time. He checked the wardrobe to make sure he hadn't left anything in there. Not even a pair of outgrown shoes. Before he left, the room, he stopped to touch the letter lying on his desk with a forefinger. He could recite the letter from memory, having written it, and rewritten it so many times over the last week. Dear Father, I'm leaving. I only have one question for you: Why wasn't I good enough for you? You made it clear when you stopped speaking directly to me after I was Sorted into Gryffindor that I was not a proper Malfoy, whatever that means. I waited for seven years for some kind of answer from you. All I ever wanted was for you to accept me, for who I was, not who you wanted me to be. Would that have been so difficult for you? Mother seemed to manage it just fine. I hope one day, you can. Your son, Scorpius Edmund Malfoy Scorpius slung his schoolbag over his shoulder, and walked out of the room. Daphne waited at the top of the stairs. She enfolded him in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. 'I'll be fine, Mother,' he said. 'I know you will.' 'I left a letter for Father on my desk. You'll see that he gets it?' 'Of course.' Scorpius made his way down the winding staircase of the mansion. He opened the front door, walked through the garden gate, and Disapparated to Godric's Hollow.  

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

SIX – Not a Gryffindor

Parker Weasley, age eleven, stumbled down to breakfast, early one July morning. His younger brothers Payton and Patrick were already at the table, fighting over the fake wand in the cereal box. 'Morning, Mum,' he yawned. 'Morning, dear. You have a letter,' she said proudly, handing it to Parker. Parker was suddenly wide-awake. It was here! Parker stared at the letter for a moment before he pried the wax seal open. He grinned as he read the letter. 'So, Mum, when do you think we can go get my things for school?' Penny ruffled her son's curly hair. 'Maybe next week. Your Dad will want to go, too.' 'Okay. I wonder what House I'll be in.' Parker murmured, as he dreamily poured a bowl of cereal. 'Dad was in Gryffindor, and you were a Ravenclaw, so those would be okay. I guess it really doesn't matter, does it?' 'No, it doesn't.' Penny privately thought to herself Parker was going to end up in Hufflepuff. He had always been a rather placid child, except when the inevitable spat sprang up between the cousins. Then, he became a peacemaker. Parker hated fights. Not quite bold enough to be in Gryffindor, and while intelligent enough, but she didn't feel he would be a good fit for Ravenclaw. And he had far too sunny a personality for a Slytherin. So that left Hufflepuff. Parker stood with the rest of the first-years, waiting to be Sorted. He had a long wait, since they were going alphabetically. Calmly, he gazed around the Great Hall, taking in the enchanted ceiling, the hundreds of floating candles, and the students who were watching the Sorting. At long last, Neville – er, Professor Longbottom – called, 'Weasley, Parker!' Parker loped to the stool and climbed to sit on it, while Neville dropped the Hat on his head. 'Another Weasley, eh? Hmmmm. You don't have the temper of a Weasley, that's for sure,' said a voice in Parker's ear. 'Loyal and brave, of course, but there's something different about you. Let's break from family tradition, shall we? Hufflepuff!' shouted the Hat. Parker shrugged and waved to his cousins at the Gryffindor table, before heading to the Hufflepuff table. Dear Mum and Dad, I hope you won't be too upset by the news I am about to tell you. I was not Sorted into either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. The Sorting Hat put me in Hufflepuff. Isabella was put into Gryffindor with Victoire. I promise that I will do my best in all my classes and study hard so I can prepare for my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Love, Parker Penny grinned at looked at Percy. 'I won't say I told you so, but I told you so,' she crowed. Percy looked at the letter he held in his hands, and set it down carefully on the kitchen table. He had never really considered the idea that his son – his eldest son – might not be Sorted into Gryffindor. A Weasley not in Gryffindor. That was almost like Mum's cousin who was an accountant or something like that. Percy took a deep breath and thought about what his own father would have said if any of them had not been put into Gryffindor. He already knew the answer. After the war, Percy asked his father why he had been able to forgive him so readily, especially after the way he had treated the family for the three previous years. Dad seemed surprised and replied simply, 'You're my son,' before patting him on the shoulder and walking inside the house. Penny was starting to worry. Percy was curiously silent about the news in the letter. He looked up at her and smiled. 'I'll send off a reply after dinner, then,' he said. 'You're all right with him being a Hufflepuff?' 'Why wouldn't I be?' 'Tradition and all.' Percy stood and snagged Patrick around the waist, who was racing through the house, trying to chase a flying stuffed dragon.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'I'm going to put the apprentice dragon keeper to bed,' he said. 'And honestly, Penny, it's fine about Parker. I have a feeling he won't let us down in any way.' Later that night, with the house sleeping soundly, Percy sat at the kitchen table, re-reading the letter he was about to send off to Parker. Dear Parker, Your mother and I are pleased to hear you've been Sorted into Hufflepuff. I will admit it was rather a surprise to find out you had not been Sorted into either your mother's or my House. But Parker, believe me when I tell you, we love you for who you are, not who we might want you to be. You are my son, and nothing in this world is going to change how I feel about you. It is my sincerest hope, Parker, that you heed the following advice your Granddad gave me. I did not for a long time, and it nearly tore the family apart. Your family is what counts. No matter how much they may annoy or prank you, they do ultimately care about you. As ironic as it may seem, if you do something spectacularly idiotic, and they are angry and upset with you, it's because they care about you and the decisions you make or do not make. I wish I had listened more to my father. I have no doubt that you, Parker Frederick Weasley, will make us all proud. Love, Dad  

SEVEN – Buried Child

AN: The title of this chapter comes from the Sam Shepard play of the same name. 'Harry?' Ron squinted in the semi-darkness of the early summer morning. 'What time is it?' Harry checked his watch. 'Half past five,' he whispered. 'What are you doing up so early?' 'Just need to do something.' 'Are you going to be gone long? Mum's got that dinner planned for tonight.' 'I'll be back in a few hours.' Harry swiftly opened the door and left the room. He remembered to skip the creaky riser in the staircase and slipped out the back door of the Burrow. As he crossed through the garden gate, he Disapparated. zzzzzzzz A wiry young man walked down the lane of Godric's Hollow, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. His messy black hair fanned in the morning breeze, revealing an oddly shaped scar on his forehead. He was a young man, no more than twenty, but if you were close enough to see his eyes, you'd notice they were far older than his years. He headed for the cemetery, and slowly walked down the rows until he came to a halt at a series of three headstones. They bore the names of James Potter, Lily Potter, and Sirius Black. The markers for James and Lily Potter were weathered a bit, but the one for Sirius Black was brand-new and still glaringly white. The boy knelt in the middle and gently brushed the names of each one with his fingertips. He pulled a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket, and buried it. He moved so he sat between Lily and James' markers, facing them. He laid his hands, palms outspread on each one. It was July 31, 1998.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

zzzzzzzz Dear Mum and Dad, Today is my eighteenth birthday. It's all over. The war, I mean. Tom Riddle – Voldemort – is dead. Really and truly dead. We're free. But so many others are gone. Good and decent people who are gone far too soon. People I considered my family. I owe my life to you in so many ways. Not just by giving birth to me, or saving me from Riddle when I was a baby. My Patronus is a stag, like your Animagus form, Dad. It saved me from Dementors more times than I care to count. You both helped me escape from the graveyard when I was fourteen. You walked with me to meet my own death in May. You helped make it possible for me to defeat Riddle. In some form or another, you've been with me my whole life. And I've got my whole life ahead of me. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet. I've been asked to join the Aurors, even without N.E.W.T.s. I suppose spending a year on the run from Death Eaters is considered good job training. I told Shacklebolt (the new Minister of Magic) that I'd give him an answer by the beginning of September. I think I'll do it. If that's the way I can keep another Riddle from ever rising to power, then I have to do it. Nobody should ever have to live like I did. Nor should anybody ever be made to feel ashamed of their background. I've been living with the Weasleys. Molly and Arthur have been the best surrogate parents I could have ever asked for. They took me in, even at considerable risk to themselves and their family, treated me like a member of the family, made sure I had birthday and Christmas gifts, and simply became my refuge – them, and the rest of their family. They have a daughter. Her name is Ginny. She has red hair like you, Mum. She's amazingly stubborn and refuses to let anything cow her into submission, not even Molly, and that's saying something. Resourceful, too. I'm going to marry her one day. I know you both would love her. I know I do. She makes me happy. Happier than I think I have a right to be, sometimes. I love the both of you. I hope I've met the expectations you had for me when I was born. I've not always done my best, but I have tried. Love, Harry zzzzzzzz The sun rose over the gently rolling hills of Godric's Hollow. The young man stood, silhouetted against the blinding glare. Then he was gone. The only evidence he had ever been there, was a single lily on each of the three graves. zzzzzzzz Harry Apparated in the back of the Burrow and stepped through the garden gate. He lifted his head and saw Ginny sitting on the garden bench, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She met his eyes and smiled, holding out one hand to him. He took her hand in his, and pressed a kiss to the palm, before twining his fingers in hers. She scooted closer on the bench, until she could nestle her body with his. Ginny felt him nuzzle her hair, inhaling deeply. 'Did you go?' she said softly, turning her face so she could see his eyes. 'Yeah.' He cupped the back of her head and kissed her lightly.  

EIGHT – Bloody Hell

Hermione pushed Crookshanks off her stomach and sat up. She reached for the hair elastic on the night table of her bedroom in her parents' house and pulled her mass of hair back into a messy ponytail. It was warm in the room, and even with the windows open, there wasn't so much as the whisper of a breeze to stir the curtains. She was only going to be home for one more week, and then she would join the Weasleys and Sirius. She had received a letter from Dumbledore yesterday.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

And Hermione was anxious. She leaned against the wall, her feet dangling over the edge of her narrow bed, and methodically catalogued each person in her head. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren't the source of the faint buzz of unease. They treated her like she was one of theirs, although Hermione wasn't sure Mrs. Weasley had really believed them when they told her all the rumors about Harry were just that – rumors. Hermione smiled to herself. Of all of them, Harry was Mrs. Weasley's favorite. Not because he was Harry Potter, but because Mrs. Weasley couldn't bear to see anyone go without mothering, and she was trying to make up for Harry's childhood. Bill and Charlie? No. She didn't know either of them well enough. Percy? Possibly. She had an owl from Ginny a few weeks ago. Percy wasn't speaking to the family anymore. He believed the rubbish the Prophet was printing. But, no. Hermione didn't think Percy was responsible. The twins? Hermione scoffed before the thought could complete itself. Ron? She quickly shoved that one to the back of the line. It wasn't Ginny. Hermione was an only child and Ginny had become not only a friend, but something like a sister. Hermione worried about Ginny's, well, obsession with Harry in the past, but it seemed to have tempered a great deal lately. Hermione was worried about Sirius, but not for any particular personal reason. He had spent nearly half his life in prison. Muggles would say he was 'institutionalized'. Unable to function in the real world. But that wasn't the source of her disquiet and disrupted sleep. Sighing, Hermione went back to Ron. He confused her. He was a series of Runes she couldn't translate or an Arithmancy problem she couldn't solve. He could be so… infuriating! Hermione punched her pillow at the memory of the Yule Ball and the row she had with Ron afterward in the common room. Hermione had to admit to herself she had partially accepted Viktor's invitation to attend the ball as his date to make Ron notice she was indeed a girl. And it had worked. Sort of. But he had also willingly gone into a nest of Acromantulas at the age of thirteen for her. Hermione pulled the hair elastic from her hair, and wound it into a knot, using the elastic to hold it into place. She pulled out a piece of Muggle notebook paper and a ballpoint pen from the top drawer of her desk. It felt odd to use a pen instead of a quill after all those months in school. Dear Ronald No. That wasn't right. Ronald No. That wasn't right, either. Hermione crumpled up the paper and took out another piece. Hi Ron That was better. Not much… but it would do. How has your summer been? I haven't been doing much. Reading, mostly. My mum and dad wanted to go on holiday, but I begged off. I didn't feel much like going anywhere this summer. Viktor doesn't mean anything to me. Other than a friend. Somebody to talk about Arithmancy and Transfiguration with. I doubt Viktor would take on a mountain troll as an eleven year-old. In a girls' loo, no less. Sometimes, Ron, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. When you're just being Ron, and not trying to stop people from seeing you as just another Weasley boy. I don't see you like that. You have things you're good at, and not just chess. But you wouldn't believe me if I told you… You wouldn't even believe me if I told you I lo – file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Hermione stopped and viciously scratched out the last sentence. She wasn't ready to admit it to herself, much less to Ron. Hermione threw the pen across the room. She slid off the bed and began to pace around the border of the rug next to the bed. Times like this, she wished she didn't fear broomsticks so much. She'd give anything to be able to take off and fly some of the tension out. She looked at the letter, sitting in the middle of her bed, mocking her. 'Damn,' she swore. It made things complicated. Very complicated. 'Bloody hell,' she breathed. It was getting late. Or early depending on how you looked at it. Hermione picked up the paper and tore it in two. She continued until she had nothing but a handful of confetti. She opened her hands over the rubbish bin in the corner and let the tiny scraps of paper drift into it. Hermione slid back into bed and tossed restlessly for a few minutes. She drifted off to sleep as the sun rose. Ron twirled a quill between his fingers. He was sitting in the apple tree behind the Burrow. Tomorrow, they would move to headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix – wherever that was. It was a secret. He still admired Krum, as a Quidditch player, but that didn't mean he had to like him. He still harbored a wisp of resentment against Krum for taking Hermione to the Ball, not that he would admit that to anyone. Ron ruefully admitted to himself that he had always known Hermione was a girl. He just hadn't known she was a girl until he saw her at the Yule Ball. She was beautiful that night. Ron tried to convince himself that his feelings toward Hermione were brotherly. That he was trying to protect her, like he did for Ginny. Ron snorted. Who was he trying to kid? Himself. When he got off the train last summer, he watched Hermione leave through the barrier with her parents. He saw Ginny watching him. 'What?' he said gruffly. 'Nothing,' she shrugged. But Ron knew she suspected something. Ginny was a lot more perceptive than people gave her credit for. Ron leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes. Her hair wasn't really bushy, he supposed. Curly, for sure, and she had lots of it. He wondered what it felt like. Eyes weren't brown either. They were, but brown was too ordinary to describe them. Like caramel, they were. Ron stilled the quill and rearranged the parchment on his knees. Dear Hermione He crossed that out. He never used 'dear' to begin a letter. Except to Mum and Dad. Hermione, How's your summer? Gotten your Hogwarts letter yet? I haven't. Done anything interesting? I haven't. Mostly de-gnoming. Ron sighed in exasperation. He wasn't very good at verbalizing his feelings. Especially when he hadn't figured out what he wanted. 'Oh, forget it,' Ron mumbled. He stuffed the parchment into the pocket of his jeans and slid down the trunk of the tree. Maybe when he saw Hermione at headquarters… Ron smiled at the thought of hearing her go on and on about something.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Privately, he rather enjoyed listening to her and liked watching her get worked into a lather over something. It was kind of a turn – 'Oh bloody hell,' he groaned. And kicked the trunk of the apple tree.  

NINE – Herbology

Neville walked into the Leaky Cauldron on a warm July evening. He was hot and tired, after spending the day in a Hogwarts greenhouse working with some of the more dangerous plants. His thoughts ran in circles. Professor Sprout had told him that afternoon she was retiring and would not be back for the next school year. He waved absently at Hannah behind the bar and went upstairs. Sprout had hinted that the job was Neville's, if he wanted it. Did he? It was something Neville dreamed about since his first year. Neville stripped off his filthy t-shirt and jeans and stepped into the shower. He scrubbed the potting soil and dragon dung fertilizer from under his nails. Neville let the hot water run over his head. He knew he had to talk to Hannah before he did anything concrete. He thought it was almost funny. He had always seen Harry as a teacher, and here he was, about to apply for the job. Neville came out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his hair. 'Something on your mind?' He jumped, dropping the towel. He hadn't seen Hannah sitting on the foot of their bed. 'Do you think I'd be a good teacher?' he asked. 'Yes, you would. What brought this on?' 'Herbology job's open.' Neville pulled on some clean clothes 'And you want it?' 'Yes. Very much.' Neville surprised himself. 'Why don't you owl McGonagall? You never know.' Hannah stood up, walked to the door, and turned back to Neville, 'Your mum and dad would be really proud of you.' She went up on her toes, kissed him on the cheek and went back downstairs. Neville took out a piece of parchment. Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout informed me this afternoon that she would not be returning to school for the new school term in September. I know I'm young, but I'd love to have a shot at the position. I've been helping Professor Sprout with the greenhouses over the summers since I left school, and I work for the greenhouse that supplies St. Mungo's with the plants and herbs for its potions ingredients. I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely, Neville Longbottom Neville sealed the letter and set it on his desk. He'd send it out on his way in to work in the morning. A couple of days later, an owl tapped on the window of Neville and Hannah's flat over the pub. Neville opened the window

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

and let the owl in. A letter addressed to Neville in Minerva McGonagall's angular handwriting was tied to its leg. Neville untied the letter, and gave the owl a few Owl Treats. It flew off. Neville set the letter on the desk, and wouldn't open it. He headed downstairs for breakfast and went to the greenhouse. The letter still sat on his desk when he came home. It was still there when he finished his shower. And still there when he ate dinner. And still there when he climbed into bed. Neville felt the mattress give slightly as Hannah sat next to him. 'Are you going to open this? If I remember McGonagall, she's expecting an answer soon.' 'What if it says "Sorry, Longbottom, but you're really not the type we want to have teaching young witches and wizards at Hogwarts?" I just don't want to read that.' He picked a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt. 'You want me to open it?' Hannah asked gently. Neville turned over and buried his head in his pillow. 'Would you mind terribly?' 'Not at all, dear.' Hannah settled on the bed, and opened the letter. She scanned it. 'I think you might want to read this.' She held the parchment out to Neville. Neville propped himself up on his elbows and took the parchment. Dear Mr. Longbottom, Well, Neville, you beat me to it. I was just about to offer you the job outright when I received your letter. Pomona recommended you very highly for the position. She says you're one of the best Herbology students she's ever had, and your work in the school greenhouses has proven to be most valuable. I can't think of another person who would do as well with this position as you, Neville. Please send a reply soon. Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Headmistress Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Neville grinned like a child on Christmas morning. The next morning he sent a reply back to Professor McGonagall. It consisted of one word. Yes!   Teddy –

TEN – Have To

I hope I come back to you, but if I don't, I hope you will be able to understand and forgive me. But if you're reading this… You father is fighting, and I have to go, too. It's what I've been trained to do. And I can't just sit here and wait to see if he comes out of it alive. Because if I can do something, Teddy, it will be to make this world a place where you won't be prejudiced

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

against because your father is a werewolf. I can't tell you how much your father and I love you. From the first time we could feel you move to the day you were born. I've never seen your father as happy as he was the first time he held you. In case we don't make it back alive, there are some photographs of your father as a student with this letter, and your grandmother had plenty of me. There are also some pictures taken of you and me the day you were born and some of you and your father. I have to go now, Teddy. I love you so much. And that won't go away, just because I'm gone. Love, Mum Tonks folded the letter around the photographs of Remus, her, and Teddy, and left it on the dresser in her bedroom, with Teddy's name written on the front. She quietly went into Teddy's room, and brushed her fingertips over his tuft of turquoise hair. Not wanting to wake him up, but unable to help herself, Tonks lifted the sleeping baby from his cot and cradled him. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, hoping beyond hope that he would remember her voice or touch somehow. He began to squirm restlessly. She gently laid the baby back in his cot, and patted him, soothing him back to sleep. 'I love you, Teddy.' Tonks went down the stairs with more grace than she had ever managed in her life. Andromeda was sitting in Ted's old chair. 'Mum? There's a letter for Teddy… In case I… we…' Tonks choked. 'Will you see he gets it?' 'Do you have to go, Dora?' 'Mum…I…' Tonks replied helplessly. 'I have to.' Andromeda nodded, knowing somehow this would be the last time she ever saw her daughter alive again. She reached for Tonks and pulled her into a tight embrace. Tonks wiped the tears from her face, and Apparated to Hogsmeade. Ten-year old Teddy Lupin lay in his bed, the covers over his head, with a Muggle torch shining on a leather-bound scrapbook. Inside, were photographs of his parents – his mum with spiky pink hair, and his dad, with the scars on his face and greying sandy hair that fell into his sad grey eyes. Teddy studied the photos and then his own face in the mirror, trying to see what he had of his father's and his mother's. His birthday was next week. He understood that his parents died in a war. He tried to understand that his parents had needed to fight in it. Gran had tried to explain it to him. Teddy supposed he was lucky. He had Gran, and Harry and Ginny. And Ginny's crazy family. Some people didn't have that. But he still wished his mum hadn't left him.  

ELEVEN – Christmas Card

Dudley sat at his desk, a stack of papers to grade sitting in front of him. Sometimes, even he couldn't believe he was a teacher. He even liked it. The two years before he had to go into hiding with his parents, he had really started to try in school. And now he taught maths. To eight-year old boys. His mother had been horrified, to say the least. Dudley pulled the stack of papers toward him and started grading them. The light outside slowly faded to black. Dudley looked up and out the dark window at the snowy darkness. He shivered a bit in the chill. He scribbled a correction on the last paper and set it in the stack and sat back. Dudley wondered, every so often, what happened to Harry. He hadn't seen, nor heard anything from him in years. Not since he'd left the house. In the months he and his family had been in hiding, Dudley badgered the wizards and witches who kept an eye on them to tell them everything they

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

could about Harry. They did tell them Harry survived the war. When they were allowed to go back home, Dudley burst into the house, and ran up the stairs, thinking Harry might be lounging on the bed in the smallest bedroom. He opened the door, but the room was empty of everything that ever said Harry had lived there. The large trunk was gone, as was the stack of schoolbooks. Harry was indeed gone. His parents were pleased that Harry and his 'abnormality' were gone. Dudley was not. For six years, Dudley wondered where Harry was, if he was happy. It would be Christmas soon. Did he have friends to celebrate with? Dudley looked at the computer on his desk. Wondering why he hadn't done it before, he Googled 'Harry Potter'. It came back with a London address. Dudley grabbed a sticky note and scribbled the address down. Maybe it wouldn't be too late. About once a week, Harry checked his Muggle post for things like bills. His landlord might be a wizard, but he still had to pay for his electricity and water usage. There were a few envelopes in the box today. Most of it was of no importance. The brightly colored envelope almost went into the rubbish bin, too, until he checked the sender's address. It was from Dudley. Harry goggled at the envelope. He had barely spared a thought for his relative in years. He hadn't sent word that he had survived the war. He hadn't invited them to his wedding. Nothing. He preferred it that way. Did he think that made him less than gracious? Absolutely. And he didn't care. The five flights of stairs to his flat had never seemed so long before. Harry opened the door to the flat and went inside. He laid the envelope on the kitchen table and began to rummage in the refrigerator for some leftover soup. He resolutely kept his gaze away from the table. He wanted to wait until Ginny came home to even consider opening the thing. 'Hey,' Ginny came through the door of the kitchen. Harry hadn't heard her come through the fireplace. 'Hi.' Harry hunched his shoulders. Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'So…? How was your day?' she asked nonchalantly. 'Fine.' 'Anything interesting at the joke shop?' 'Not really.' 'Wow. George and Ron are slipping. I'd have expected something for the holidays.' Ginny took off her coat, and hung it on the hook by the front door. When she came back into the kitchen, she saw the bright red envelope on the table. It wasn't smoking, so it wasn't a Howler. She picked it up, and examined it. It was something from the Muggle post. She turned it over and read the sender's address. 'Oh,' she breathed. 'Are you going to open it?' Harry shrugged. 'Do you want me to open it?' Again, he shrugged. 'Do you mind if I open it?' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

A one-shouldered shrug. Ginny carefully tore open the envelope and slid out a Christmas card. She opened the card, unsure of what to expect, give what she had heard about Dudley from Harry and her brothers. Dear Harry, I hope you don't mind I've sent you a card. I'm sure I'm one of the last people you want to hear from. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I know it doesn't make up for any of the things I did or said to you. I don't know what happened that summer in the alley, but it was terrible. It made me see what everyone else did. I didn't like what I saw. So I tried to change. Anyway, I teach 8-year olds. Who would have thought that? But I like it. Hope you have a good holiday. Sincerely, Dudley Ginny closed the card and set it back on the table. 'You should read it.' Harry's shoulders tensed as he ladled soup into two bowls and put them on the table. 'Eat your dinner. It'll get cold.' He picked up the card, and threw it on the counter, before slicing hunks of bread off a loaf. He nearly slammed the basket of bread on the table, before he sat down at his place. 'Harry.' Ginny's hand came to rest on his arm. 'I really think you need to read that card.' Harry shoved his chair back from the table and stood up so quickly, the chair fell over. 'Why should I? Why should I bother reading something from someone who didn't give a damn about me for nearly sixteen years? Do you know what he did to me, Ginny? Do you?' Harry's hair was almost standing on end and his chest was heaving in an effort to contain the rage that exploded from somewhere so far deep down, he didn't realize it was still there. 'Do you know what his favorite hobby was when we were in primary school? It was terrorizing me. Him and his friends. He pushed me around, bullied me…' Harry stopped shouting to draw a deep shuddering breath. 'The summer after the Triwizard, he mocked me for having nightmares. Did he even bother to ask why? Nope. Just mocked me in front of his friends.' Harry picked up his bowl of soup and threw it into the sink. The bowl shattered and vegetable soup flew everywhere. Cursing, Harry pulled out his wand and cleaned the soup from the wall behind the sink, and repaired the bowl. He replaced the wand in his back pocket, and turned to Ginny, who was still sitting at the table, her soup untouched. 'The last thing he ever said to me was, "I don't think you're a waste of space." A waste of space… Like I was nothing more than muck they needed to scrape off the bottoms of their shoes. They expected me to be bloody grateful for the old clothes, the scraps of food they allowed me, and for the first ten years I lived there, for the damn broom cupboard under the stairs where I slept!' Harry restlessly paced the kitchen. 'Tell me, Ginny, tell me how in Merlin's name am I supposed to read a Christmas card from one ofthem?' Harry's voice cracked from the strain. 'Because I can't forgive them.' He muttered, Accio, and his coat flew into his hands. 'I'll be back later,' he said, jabbing arms into the sleeves, and he walked out the door, slamming it closed. Ginny stared at the door. She rose from her chair, and righted Harry's, pushing it back to the table. Ginny picked up the card from its place on the counter, and put it in the middle of the table, and then picked up her bowl and Vanished the soup. She wasn't hungry anymore. Ginny went to their bedroom, and crawled into bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. Harry sat in the dark coffee shop, an untouched cup of tea in front of him. He looked at his clasped hands. In the faint light, he could make out the scars on the back of his left hand. I must not tell lies. He grimaced at the scars, thinking he had lied to himself when he thought he was over the Dursleys. He wasn't. Unconsciously, he started to twist the slim wedding band around his ring finger. It made him think of Ginny. She hadn't deserved being the focus of his rant. He wasn't angry with her, she just happened to be the closest target. Harry stood up, tightened the scarf around his neck, and went into the night. He quietly opened the door of the flat, and hung file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

his coat and scarf on the hook by the door. A dim light shone in the kitchen. He could see the bright red envelope on the table. If nothing else, he owed it to Ginny to at least read it. He could always chuck it in the bin. He trudged into the kitchen, and gingerly picked up the envelope, like it was a Howler, ready to explode at any second. A few minutes later, he carefully put it back down. He knew he should send one to Dudley, but he couldn't do it. Not right now. Harry bent to untie the laces of his boots, and took them off. He picked them up and padded into the bedroom. Ginny was already in bed, asleep. Harry crawled into the bed, fully dressed. He gently touched Ginny on the shoulder. 'Gin?' he said softly. She came awake all at once. Harry pulled her to him, sliding down so his head rested on her stomach. Ginny stroked his hair, lightly rubbing the back of his neck. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled into her nightdress. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you.' He sighed and rubbed his face across the soft cotton fabric a few times. Harry looked up at Ginny. 'I read it,' he said simply. One year later… Harry looked at the Muggle photograph of James, Ginny and him that he had asked Hermione to take. He tucked it into a card, slipped the card into an envelope and sealed it. He found Ginny in James' nursery, nursing him in the rocking chair. 'I'm just going to drop this off in the post,' he told her, holding up the envelope. She looked up. 'Is that for…?' 'Yes.' Harry turned to leave, hesitated, and then turned back to Ginny. 'Thanks.' Dudley, I'm all right. I work for something that's like the police, but I guess my department's more like MI5. I'm married. Her name is Ginny. Do you remember my friend Ron, from school? She's his younger sister. She's a reporter for our newspaper. I also have a son. His name is James, after my dad. He was born this past September. It was nice to hear from you. Harry A/N: JKR said in an interview that Harry and Dudley had managed to have the sort of relationship as adults where they exchanged Christmas cards, but that was about it. I tend to think Harry would still be... um... unhappy, shall we say? at his treatment by the Dursleys, even more than seven years after he's left them behind.  

TWELVE – Growing Out of It

Rose walked into the Hall for breakfast one Saturday morning in March. She slid into a vacant chair next to James and huffily piled eggs, bacon, and toast on her plate. James didn't say anything about the small mountain of food on Rose's plate. He did give her a long look at the invective she was muttering under her breath as she poured herself a cup of tea. 'Bee in your bonnet this morning, Rosie?' he asked. Rose glared at him, and crammed a whole slice of toast in her mouth. Swallowing, she spread jam on another slice and without looking at James, huffed, 'Boys are bloody idiots.' 'Wow. Thanks, Rosie,' James responded sarcastically, nudging Scorpius, who had just joined them. 'Not you, you daft git. Milton.' James felt his eyebrows disappear under his fringe. 'Ravenclaw sixth-year?' Rose nodded shortly. 'What did he do?' James knew Brian Milton, who seemed to be a nice enough bloke, if a little too serious about the studies. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'Idiot waited until just now to ask if I'd go into Hogsmeade with him,' Rose sulked. 'Then he had the audacity to be upset when I told him I already had plans to go with you lot.' 'Wait, isn't he the one who used to tease you for practically falling out of your seat in class, when you knew the answer to something? Used to do sort of mean imitations of you in the corridors?' Scorpius gave Rose a blank look. 'And you're upset about not going to Hogsmeade with him?' 'And I thought you were intelligent,' Rose said pityingly. James and Scorpius exchanged looks and shrugged. Later, as they group of cousins made their way down the lane to Hogsmeade, James could only laugh to himself. Milton was an idiot if he thought waiting until the last minute as a good way to get on Rose's good side. Although, when Rose was upset, she didn't have a good side. Later that evening, Rose sat at a table in the common room, with a folded letter in front of her, wondering if she should send it home. Mum would be all right with it, she reasoned. But Dad will have a litter of Kneazles. Rose tucked the letter into her book and went upstairs to bed. Dear Mum and Dad, My classes are going fine, although Professor Williams gave us a test in Potions the other day with no advance warning. I missed one of the questions, which is disappointing. Professor Trentham said my hair color Transfigurations are some of the best she's seen. Professor McGonagall even said it might be the best since you were here, Mum! There is one thing they don't teach us here, though. Why are boys so… infuriatingly thick? Why do they think it's perfectly acceptable to wait until the last minute to ask you to do something, then when you decline, as you've made other plans, he had the absolute nerve to be insulted? What's worse, this particular idiot is a Ravenclaw, so you'd think he would be smarter than that. This is the kind of behavior I'd expect from Fred or Jacob. Maybe even James. This… insufferable stuffed shirt has been picking fights with me since second year. Mocks me mercilessly in the corridors. Scowls at me on the Quidditch pitch when I block one of his goals. And worse than that, Dad, he makes fun of my Chasers jersey! Idiot. If he knew anything about Quidditch, he'd know that the Cannons just need a good Keeper. He wouldn't know the right end of a broomstick if you pointed it out to him. He's lucky I haven't hexed him yet. Love, Rosie 'Oh my.' Hermione bit her lip, her daughter's bad temper evident in the number of underscored words. 'Sounds familiar, doesn't it?' She handed the letter to Ron, who read it with a faint sense of alarm. Rosie, in his opinion, was too young to think about boys. 'I should write her back,' Hermione said. 'No, I'll do it,' Ron said quickly. 'Really? But you hate writing letters.' 'Yeah, but I think this time, I'm better qualified than you,' he informed Hermione, a smug expression on his face. 'All those years of being a – what did she call it?' Ron scanned the letter. 'An infuriatingly thick boy.' 'Please don't say anything to upset her.' 'Hey now. I've managed to up my emotional range from that of a teaspoon to at least a teapot, Mione.' Ron grinned at his wife. 'Don't worry. I can write something that won't send her off to her dormitory in tears.' A few days later, Rose braved the raw March wind to read the letter she'd received from Ron. Settling on the grass, near the Black Lake in a patch of sunshine, Rose took a deep breath, and opened the seal. Dear Rosie,

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

I know, you were expecting your mum to write this, and if you're not satisfied with my answer, just owl us back. So you want to know why boys are so thick? Well… because most boys (and I include myself in this when I was that age) are unable to see past the tip of their nose. If it doesn't involve the words, "Quidditch" or "motorbike" or some other chestpounding activity, it doesn't exist. And for some reason, boys don't see girls as girls until it's too late. But once they do see the girl as a girl, and in your case, separate from all your cousins, they'll try anything to impress you. It won't happen overnight, though. Sometimes, it takes a few more years for a boy to pull his head out of his arse long enough to realize the girl who's been sitting across the table from you since the age of eleven is the one he wants to marry. And of course, he gets mad at your Chaser skills because he's an idiot. If he really liked you, he'd admire your ability to block, even if he is on the opposing team. And really, you should teach him a lesson about insulting certain Quidditch teams. Insulting the Cannons is just too easy. As for mocking you, Rosie, he just wants to get your attention. And he picks fights with you, because, well, he doesn't really know how to talk to girls, so he's going to find something to bicker with you about. Because, hey, he gets to talk to you, even if it is arguing about how much dragon dung fertilizer to put in the Venomous Tentacula plant in Herbology. If he really likes you, Rose-bud, he'll come around, and I guarantee you that he will not wait until Saturday morning to ask you to go to the Three Broomsticks or somewhere like that with him. He'll ask as soon as the notice for the Hogsmeade weekend is posted. And he'll find some way to have a real conversation with you, and not just the arguing. It only took me the better part of seven years to do that with your mother. Don't worry, Rose. Most of us grow out of it. Love, Dad  

THIRTEEN – No Answers

Lily licked the stamp, making a face at the bitter taste of the glue on the back. She pulled her jacket on, and left the small flat she and James shared since leaving school. Her destination was the postbox on the corner. She stood in front of the box for a moment, letter clutched in her hand, deciding whether or not to send the invitation to her sister. 'Are you goin' to stand there all day or drop that in there?' A stranger's brusque voice intruded into Lily's internal debate. 'Oh! Sorry.' Lily stepped aside, and the stranger dropped his mail into the box and left. She looked at the address her mother had given her. Tuney had married last year and moved to Surrey. Lily had not gone to the wedding. Tuney had had the wedding while Lily was in school purposely, so it would have been difficult for her to attend. James had found her at the top of the Astronomy Tower, weeping. She had hoped before that Tuney would find some way to forgive her. She said as much to James, as she wept into the shoulder of his cloak. James, with the certainty of one who knew he was magical his entire life, told her she needed to stop apologizing for being something her sister wasn't. Lily gave the envelope one last look, and dropped it into the post before she could change her mind. Written on the inside of the invitation was a plea to her estranged sister. Tuney, I would really love it if you would come to the wedding. I hope you and I can be close again, like we were before I went to school. I never wanted you to be hurt. Please, you're all the family I have left. Lily Petunia bent to pick up the post that landed on the doormat. She rifled through the envelopes, and found the one addressed in Lily's flowing hand. Swallow hard, past the lump in her throat, Petunia opened the envelope. Her eyes narrowed as she

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

read the note, but nothing else on her face betrayed the clash of conflicting emotions inside. She took the invitation to the kitchen, filled out the RSVP card, and set it aside. She would put it in the post. After lunch. The invitation hovered over the rubbish bin. Petunia took the ivory-hued envelope and found a hatbox in a cupboard upstairs. She furtively opened the box a crack, and shoved the invitation through, shutting the box quickly. I regret we will not be able to attend. Lily carefully settled the baby in his cot. She still couldn't get over how small he was. That he had James' face. How his eyes were changing color from the cloudy blue they had been at birth to the bright vivid green of hers. He had James' messy hair. Even as a baby. Satisfied Harry was asleep; Lily crept out of the room and stole downstairs. 'James? I need to step out for a bit. Harry's sleeping.' James looked at Lily over the rims of his glasses. 'Where are you going?' he asked curiously. Lily shifted guiltily. 'Muggle post.' 'Lily…' James put down the plans he was creating for an Order mission. 'She's my sister,' Lily argued. 'You have Padfoot, and if something came between the two of you, you'd move heaven and earth to try and fix it, wouldn't you?' 'I suppose.' James put his arms around Lily. 'But Lily, it's been nine years. You keep writing when something happens, no matter how big or small, and you wait for her to write back, and she never does. Fixing it does not mean that you continually apologize for being born a witch. She has to meet you somewhere in the middle.' 'I know that.' Lily jerked away irritably. 'Lily, please.' Entreaty colored James' voice. 'I don't want you to get hurt.' Lily stood on the rug, head bowed, face hidden by the flaming wings of hair that slipped over her shoulder. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a letter. Lily cradled it in her hands, running her thumbs over the name on the front. 'This is the last one. I promise,' she said softly. Petunia, I have a son. He's so adorable. He looks like he might resemble James later. He already does quite a bit. But he does look like he'll get my eyes. His name is Harry James. He was born on July thirty-first. Petunia, I will always be your sister. And I will always love you. Love, Lily It was a chilly morning on November second. Petunia pulled her warm dressing gown over her nightdress and went downstairs to get the milk. When she opened the door, Petunia's mouth dropped open in shock. A baby, no more than eighteen months old, lay in a basket on her doorstep. A letter bearing her name in a narrow, slanted hand, lay tucked in the basket. Shaking, Petunia picked up the letter. She had seen that particular handwriting once before.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

She broke open the green wax seal in trepidation. Mrs. Dursley, I regret to inform you your sister and her husband were killed on October thirty-first… The letter fell from Petunia's nerveless fingers. The anguished scream woke the baby, who began to wail, somehow sensing his life was going to change.  

FOURTEEN – Peanut Butter Morning

Teddy Lupin opened his eyes. A ray of sunlight hit him full in the face. He grimaced, remembering why he hated growing up in this room. It faced east, and he never got to have a lie-in during the summers. Not that Andromeda would have let him, but it was a nice dream. He stretched, and subsided limply back into the mattress. He had come round for dinner last night, and fallen asleep, curled into an armchair. The night before had been busy. There had been a seemingly random Muggle-baiting, and Teddy's unit of the Obliviator squad had been called in to modify the memories of the Muggles in a poor suburb of London. He vaguely remembered his grandmother urging him to his old room, and falling into the narrow bed. Teddy rolled off the bed, and crept down to the kitchen. He always woke up hungry, and was too impatient to sometimes to wait for what his grandmother called a 'proper' breakfast. He opened a jar of Muggle peanut butter and dipped a spoon inside. He swirled it around a few times, creating a large ball on the end of the spoon, before pulling the spoon out and screwing the lid back on. Just as he was about to start licking the peanut butter from the spoon, a tap on the kitchen window caught his attention. He padded to the window and opened it, letting in a small tawny owl he didn't recognize. There was a letter addressed to Andromeda tied to its leg. Teddy took the letter, offered the owl some water, and a few Owl Treats, and propped the letter on the kitchen table against the vase in the middle. The owl hooted softly at Teddy, then flew out the window. Teddy closed the window, and stood meditatively watching the owl fly off into the sunrise. 'I don't know why I ever bothered to put the peanut butter on bread for you,' a wry voice said behind him. 'You just ended up scraping it off and scattering breadcrumbs to the birds.' Teddy grinned around a mouthful of peanut butter. 'Mrng, Grnnn.' Frowning, he tried to work free the blob of peanut butter now stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sighing through his nose, Teddy pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator and poured some into a glass. Gulping half the contents helped clear the logjam and he pointed with his spoon to the table. 'There's a letter for you.' Andromeda picked up the envelope. When she was the carefully executed hand of her sister, her grip tightened enough to crumple the parchment. 'Do you want breakfast, Teddy?' she asked casually, slipping the letter into the pocket of her dressing gown. 'No thanks, Gran. I need to get going. Unit's meeting to discuss the incident the other night.' Teddy kissed Andromeda's cheek and bounded out the back door. Andromeda waited until she heard the faint pop of Teddy's Disapparation, before she sat at the table and pulled the letter from her pocket. Andromeda laid the letter on the table and stared at it, as if the reasons for writing it would come though the parchment. Narcissa didn't write very often. They sent each other occasional letters, perhaps one a year or so. In fact, Andromeda had just received one right before Christmas. Steeling herself, Andromeda broke the seal on the envelope, and slid out a piece of parchment. Dear Andie, I'm sure you heard about Lucius. Please, no sympathy. I'd probably choke trying to sound sincere in my expressions of gratitude. Andromeda smiled. Narcissa was the one with the twisted sense of humor. I heard from Scorpius the other day that he met you and Teddy during the school holiday. He idolizes Teddy, as I'm sure you file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

know. He asked me how to Transfigure hair color the other day. Specifically to turquoise. I'm glad Scorpius was able to meet you. He needs to have family where he feels he belongs. I don't want what happened to you, or Sirius, to happen to him. It appears I'm going to stay in England for the time being, or at least until school starts again. I would love to see you, Andie. You and Teddy. I know I haven't seen you in years. Not since Teddy was about a year old. Please, Andie? I'm not proud of the decisions I made in my past, and I'm not asking for absolution, but I want to see you. Maybe we can start over? Even at our age, Andie, I've learned it's not too late to do so. Narcissa Andromeda folded the parchment and slid it back into the envelope. Ted would have told her to at least see Narcissa once. Dora and Remus would have been wary, wondering why on earth Narcissa would want to see her after nearly twenty years. Teddy would act like he didn't care, but Andromeda knew otherwise. But what do I want? Andromeda asked herself. She didn't know. Andromeda took the letter to her desk and put it inside. She needed some time to think. The letter lay in Andromeda's desk for a week. Every time she walked by it, she shot a furtive glance in its direction. The desk, usually so innocuous, now mocked her, with its unanswered letter tucked into a drawer. Another week went by. And another. Teddy came over for dinner, as he usually did, if he wasn't eating with Harry and Ginny, claiming his cooking would choke a chimera. 'Hi, Gran!' he said brightly, coming through the back door. 'What's for dinner?' 'Whatever it is, Teddy, it won't be enough to feed you and your bottomless pit,' Andromeda said, stirring a pot of soup. 'But it's only some soup.' Teddy shrugged, and grabbed the jar of peanut butter from the pantry. 'No worries, then.' He found a spoon and began to eat the peanut butter straight from the jar. 'So, Gran, who was that letter from?' 'My sister. Narcissa.' 'I thought you two didn't really talk much.' 'We don't,' Andromeda said shortly. 'What'd she say?' 'Nothing you don't already know.' 'Gran…' 'Teddy,' she sighed. 'She wants to see me,' Andromeda admitted. 'Why?' Teddy was perplexed. Andromeda ladled soup into a bowl for Teddy. 'She just does, dear.' Andromeda shrugged. 'Maybe it's just time…'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

After Teddy went back to his London flat, Andromeda approached the desk, and pulled the letter out of the drawer cautiously, as if it would bite. Maybe it was time. Dear Narcissa, You are right. It's not too late. Will you be able to come this Saturday afternoon? Bring Daphne and Scorpius. Teddy will be here, too. Andie A/N: This is for Cassandra's Cross. :) I thought it would make a nice bookend with the chapter about Lily and Petunia.  

FIFTEEN – Passing Notes

James chewed the end of his quill. History of Magic might have been interesting if the teacher did more than read from notes that were already centuries old. He looked around the room. Evans was industriously taking notes. James snorted contemptuously. It wasn't that fascinating. Sirius was barely conscious, his heavy-lidded eyes mere slits. Peter sat with his head propped on one hand, idly swinging his feet – they didn't reach the floor. Remus had given up trying to pay attention, and laid his head on his crossed arms, breathing deeply. James frowned. He scribbled a note on his notes and elbowed Sirius in the ribs sharply. Remus doesn't look very well, does he? Sirius turned his head to look at Remus. The portion of his face that was visible was pale and his eyes looked bruised. No.Wonder if he picked something up when he went to visit his mother? James read Sirius' note, and gave Remus another look.Maybe, but if he was feeling that peaky, don't you think he would have gone to see Madam Pomfrey? Sirius had to turn a laugh into a cough. Did you just use the word 'peaky'? James scowled. Yes. What about it? Sirius smirked. The last time I heard anyone use the word 'peaky', my great-aunt was visiting, and she's about a hundred years old! James rolled his eyes. Get a grip on yourself. Sirius grinned. Where? James gave Sirius a narrow-eyed look. Could we get back on topic? Sirius sighed. The eternal question of what's-wrong-with-Remus? James shrugged. Yep. Sirius gave Remus a thoughtful look. What do we know about Remus? James chewed the end of his quill again. He leaves once a month to go visit his mother. He likes to read. Really good at DADA. Spends at least part of the month looking peaky. And don't say it! Sirius gave Remus another long, thoughtful look. Did you get a look at his back when we were getting dressed this morning? James frowned. Nope. Your bed is between mine and Remus'. What's on his back?

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Sirius sighed. A great gash from his left shoulder to right hip. He shuddered, thinking about the scar it would probably leave. James looked at Sirius in shock. You don't think his parents…? Smack him around or anything, do you? Sirius hastily scribbled a reply. No! James gave Sirius a skeptical look. And how would you know, Mr. Smart-Arse? Sirius bit his lip. Because I've seen it before in my family. Remus is hiding something, but it's not abuse from his parents. He shoved his hair from his face. They do love him, even they don't believe he hung the moon, like yours do, you prat. The bell rang signaling the end of class. With a grateful sigh, James and Sirius crammed their books into their bags. Remus hadn't moved, so they went to shake him awake, so he could go to Charms. The next several days passed peacefully, James and Sirius nearly forgetting about Remus' problem. Until one evening after dinner. James was in the process of breezing through their Transfiguration homework, when Sirius nudged him in the ribs. 'Hey, did you see where Remus went after dinner? He's not here.' James gave Sirius a look over the rims of his glasses. 'He might be in the dormitory, gumby.' 'Oh, right.' Sirius ran to the staircase and a few minutes later came pelting back down. 'He's not there, either.' 'Then he's probably in the library.' James rolled up his Transfiguration homework and pulled out his Potions textbook. Slughorn was having them look up the uses of some of the more uncommon ingredients they were using in class. James privately felt it was mere busywork, but his Potions grade wasn't as good as it could be, so he grudgingly began looking up the herbs on the list in his Herbology text. 'Sirius, please, I've got to get this donenow. I've got a game Saturday, and all this is due Monday.' Sirius sulked off to the library. He peered in every hidden nook and cranny looking for his friend. Remus was nowhere to be found. James stood in the bathroom brushing his teeth the next morning. Last night had been a lovely night. Full moon, clear sky… Full moon… Without bothering to spit the mouthful of toothpaste in his mouth into the sink, James raced back to his dormitory. Ignoring the burning sensation of mint in his mouth, he grabbed his pocket calendar from his schoolbag. He spat the toothpaste into the fireplace and scribbled a star on the day. He flipped back to the last month. Remus had been gone the last full moon, too. James bounced into Sirius' bed. 'Hey, Sirius, wake up!' He jumped up and down until Sirius woke up. 'I know what's wrong with Remus!' he shouted triumphantly. 'You couldn't wait until after I've had my morning coffee?' grumbled Sirius. 'Nope.' James folded himself into a ball on the foot of Sirius' disordered bed. 'So, spit it out, now that I'm awake.' James looked around the room. The only other occupant, Peter, was already downstairs. Regardless, he leaned closer to Sirius. 'He's a werewolf,' James whispered. Sirius blinked. Once. 'Werewolf? You're barking, chum.' 'No. He's always gone at the full moon. He's got loads of inexplicable cuts and scrapes every month. What would be the harm in asking?' Sirius scratched his chest, considering. 'Gosh, I don't know… Maybe he'll go off the deep end, and take a header from the Astronomy Tower when we tell him we think he's a werewolf?' he asked sarcastically.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

James sat quietly for a moment. 'Well, then, we'll just have to convince him it doesn't matter to us, won't we?' James was fiercely protective of Remus. He and Sirius were the two brothers he never had, and he was damned if anything happened to Remus. Sirius, oddly, was still silent. 'Won't we?' repeated James, demandingly. Sirius inhaled deeply. Could he feel the same way about Remus? The Blacks had very deeply ingrained ideas about who was worthy to associate with the family, and a werewolf was not on the list. He picked at a loose thread on his pajamas. All his life, he bucked his family's expectations. And it wasn't as if knowing this about Remus would change who he was. 'Right,' said softly. 'We will.' A few days after Remus came back from where ever he went, James and Sirius crowded on either side of him for History of Magic. Evans looked over her shoulder at Remus' squeak of surprise, and scowled at the trio three rows behind her. Sirius grinned laconically at her, while James waved cheerfully. 'What are the two of you playing at?' Remus asked tiredly. 'Nothing,' answered James innocently. He pulled his things for class out of his bag, and arranged them on the desk. It didn't take long for Professor Binns' droning voice to put most of the class into a stupor. James scribbled a note to Remus and shoved the parchment to him. We know where you go every month. Remus felt the blood drain from his already pale face. What do you mean? he wrote back. Sirius slid the parchment from under Remus' fingers. We know you don't go to visit your ill mother each month. Remus quill fell from his nerveless fingers. He felt dizzy. His pulse raced and the blood roared in his ears. His breath came in shallow pants. I don't know what you're talking about, he wrote casually. You must have the contents of a dustbin for brains. James frowned. You leave the school every month at the full moon. We know all about your "furry little problem". Remus nearly choked. Furry little problem? That wasn't exactly how Remus thought about it. Sirius grabbed the parchment. And we don't care! You're still our mate. James took the parchment again. What can we do to help? he asked simply. Remus shook his head and shrugged. Dunno. Sirius sighed and scribbled, Don't worry. We'll think of something. A/N: I've had this on on a flash drive for ages. I kept forgetting to look up how old the Marauders were when they found out about Remus' 'furry little problem'.  

SIXTEEN – Detention

Neville trudged to his quarters at the base of Gryffindor tower. 'Puffapod,' he said tiredly to the lion that guarded his door. The lion slid aside and Neville plopped on the sofa, just as Hannah came though the fireplace. 'Why did I agree to be the Head of Gryffindor House?' he asked conversationally. 'Is this a trick question?' Hannah sat at the other end of the sofa, and toed her shoes off, leaning back against the cushions. 'No. I'm not the only Gryffindor on staff. Calli Trentham is a Gryffindor. She could do this.' 'This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that half the Potter-Weasley brood are here, now, would it?' 'Maybe…' 'What did Fred and Jacob do this time?' Neville's lips twitched. 'It really was funny,' he admitted. 'They "accidentally" put a Sonorous charm on Vincent Goyle while he was in the loo.' Neville gave up trying not to laugh, and he chuckled. 'I know… I'm twelve. But Goyle sings while he's…' Neville

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

couldn't hold off the laughter any more. Hannah just shook her head. Some things never changed. 18 November 2017 Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I am writing to inform you that your sons, Fred and Jacob will each serve a detention with me next Tuesday evening for using a charm at an inappropriate moment. They will spend their evening cleaning the potting tray in Greenhouse One without magic. Sincerely, Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology Head of Gryffindor House PS – George, Katie, it was hysterical! They used a Sonorous charm on another student while he was in the bathroom closest to the Great Hall during lunch today. Even McGonagall had a hard time controlling herself. Neville was heading out to Greenhouse Three when he heard a commotion coming from the corridor that led to the Potions dungeon. He ran down the corridor to find Rose Weasley pummeling the daylights out of Geoffery Greengrass, surrounded by a circle of shocked students. 'You insufferable git!' she shouted, her red curls standing on end. Neville couldn't see the back of her neck or ears, but he was sure they were bright red, if she was anything like her father. Neville drew his wand from his robes and pointed it at the struggling students. 'Protego!' he said in firm voice. Rose bounced off Geoffery and into the arms of her cousin, Al. 'Let me go! I'll teach him he can't harass other students! He's nothing more than a foul, loathsome –' 'Rosie,' Al warned softly. He was having a difficult time holding her back. 'Rose, please, settle down.' Neville release the Shield charm. 'I'll have a word with your head of House,' he told Geoffery, who swiped the cuff of his shirt under his bloody nose, then ran down to the Slytherin dungeons. 'Would you mind telling me what happened?' 'That piece of –' Rose began. 'Language, Rosie,' warned Al. She visibly struggled to calm down. Breathing heavily through her nose, she bit her lip. 'He keeps throwing Potions ingredients at Scorpius,' she huffed. Neville sighed. He knew Scorpius had been having a rough year, but he wouldn't say anything to anybody and never once complained. 'All right, Rose. Go on to your next class. I will be writing your parents later tonight, and you'll have detention with me next week.' Rose nodded, chest still heaving, and Al, Scorpius, and Rose headed for the Charms classroom. He heard Scorpius' soft, 'Thanks, Rosie,' as they disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Neville looked up at Professor Williams. 'Did you see who started it?' 'Off the record?' Neville thought for a moment. 'Sure.' 'Rose did. But it's justifiable. Greengrass doesn't seem to understand Potions ingredients go into his cauldron and are not to be file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

lobbed across the room at other students, no matter how much they dislike them. He's had more detentions because of that.' Neville looked at Professor Williams in frank admiration. Severus Snape would never have said anything like that in a million years. 'So, officially?' Rose would get more than detentions for starting a fight, if Professor Williams wanted to press the matter. Greengrass was in his House, after all. 'Didn't see a thing,' Williams promptly replied. 5 April 2018 Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Rose was in a fight with one of the Slytherins. Apparently, the other student feels it is acceptable to harass other students, so Rose took matters into her own hands. She will serve a week's worth of detentions with me. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed. Sincerely, Neville Longbottom Professor of Herbology Head of Gryffindor House PS – don't be angry with Rosie. The Slytherins have been harassing Scorpius for ages now. She finally got fed up. Takes after you, Hermione. Neville pinched the bridge of his nose. Did McGonagall have these many headaches when I was a student? he asked himself. She must have when Fred and George were in school. If she did, it explained the line between her eyebrows. It also explained the amused look she'd given him at the staff meeting after dinner. Neville really didn't want to write the next two letters. How did you tell the two people, that you've known since the age of eleven, that you found their youngest child, and only daughter – whom you've known since birth – on the stairs leading up to Gryffindor tower with the scion of… Neville shook his head wearily. It was almost funny. Neville supposed since exams were over, they were at something of loose ends, but the stairs? Just as well, the train didn't leave until next Saturday. 21 June 2024 Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Neville stopped and ripped the top of the parchment off. He knew Scorpius and his father didn't speak to each other and it was highly probably that Draco wouldn't even read it. 21 June 2024 Dear Mrs. Malfoy, I found your son out-of-bounds after curfew last night. Neville worried his lip between his teeth. Should he tell her what they were doing? He was on a date, so to speak, with Lily Potter. They will both serve a detention, separately of course, with me next week. Sincerely,

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Neville Longbottom Professor of Herbology Head of Gryffindor House Neville sealed that letter, and started the next one. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Your daughter was out-of-bounds last night after curfew. She was on what amounts to a date with Scorpius Malfoy. They will each serve a detention with me, separately of course, next week. Sincerely, Neville Longbottom Professor of Herbology Head of Gryffindor House PS – Harry, before you blow your top, and I do know how you are about Lily, they were just kissing. It was a lot tamer than what I saw you do with Ginny our sixth year, and far less than what we saw Ron do with Lavender. Neville regarded the two sealed envelopes in front of him. He didn't want to be at the Potter house when they got that one. 'She was doing what?' Harry yelped. 'Kissing Scorpius, apparently,' Ginny said, reading the letter from Neville that had arrived that morning. 'Must have lost track of time,' she mused. 'She's also grounded when she gets off the train Saturday,' growled Harry. 'You're going to ground her for doing what we did?' Ginny asked incredulously. 'No.' Harry frowned at the parchment dangling from his wife's fingers. 'She's being grounded for being out of the tower after curfew.' He pulled the letter from Ginny's hands, brow furrowed as he read the brief note. 'Besides, it's not like either one of them has given us a reason to be unable to trust them.' He set the letter down with a sigh. 'Will this parenting thing be easier when they're out of the house, do you think?' A/N: Vincent Goyle is named for his father's 'bestest' mate, the late, and not very lamented, Vincent Crabbe, RIP. Personally, I think he was just too thick to think of a good name. lol!  

SEVENTEEN – From Ancient Grudge

Ted slid into his usual place at the Hufflepuff table. She was sitting at the end, alone, her nose buried in a book. She was beautiful. She didn't exude sex like her older sister, and didn't have the icy blonde beauty of her younger sister, but she had a way about her. There was something he couldn't identify about her, and nothing jumped out about her, but he found he was always aware of where she was in the room. Ted ladled porridge into a bowl and added milk and sugar. He poured a cup of tea and ate his breakfast, watching her out of the corner of his eye. He knew her, of course, but he didn't know her that well. Hufflepuffs and Slytherins didn't have classes together as a rule, but now it was N.E.W.T. year. They had Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Herbology together. Andromeda Black finished her breakfast and wandered in the direction of the library. Ted hastily gulped the rest of his breakfast and went tearing after her.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Andromeda was surrounded by books. She had a three-foot long essay due in Transfiguration on Monday, and was using the early morning to get some work done. Bella wouldn't do anything in the library if she could avoid it, and Cissy was a late sleeper. The rest of the Slytherins would travel in packs later, so Andromeda relished the time alone in the library. The sound of a person's body settling into a chair across from her pulled Andromeda's attention from her essay. She looked up to see Ted Tonks, a burly Hufflepuff sixth year sitting across from her. They had a few classes together. 'Hi. How's the essay coming?' he asked easily. 'It's fine.' Andromeda went back to her essay, trying to ignore the boy humming Muggle rock songs under his breath as he wrote. She heard the voices of a group of Slytherins coming into the library. Andromeda gasped softly, and darted to another table before they could see her. Ted looked up, puzzled. He didn't understand why she had to move. Monday morning in Transfiguration, Andromeda found a piece of parchment, folded into the shape of a swan sitting on her usual desk in the classroom. The only other person in the room was Ted. She slid into her seat, and unfolded the paper, hating to destroy the delicate sculpture. Andromeda, I don't know why you had to move to another table Saturday. Is there some rule about students from different Houses sitting with each other? I'm Muggle-born, you see, so there are things I don't always know. Even this far into school. I'd like to take you to Hogsmeade next time. Ted Andromeda stuffed the parchment into her bag, giving Ted a quick look over her shoulder. She knew Ted was Muggle-born. It had been obvious on the train to school their first year and he spent most of the first week wide-eyed at the magic. He had been the subject of many derisive conversations in the Slytherin common room since then. She tapped her quill against her notes, eyes going to the tip of parchment sticking out from her bag. She had a free period next. She'd write a note back. Ted, I'm a Slytherin. Not that I care to be, but my entire family has been in Slytherin. It's just won't do for a Black to be Sorted elsewhere. Although, I think my younger sister might have done well in Ravenclaw, but I shudder to think what might have happened if she hadn't been put in Slytherin. Slytherins don't talk to people outside their house. But that didn't answer your question. People in my family don't associate with anyone but pure-bloods. Personally, I don't care about it, but they… They could make things very difficult for me if I try to buck tradition. Andromeda paused, chewing her quill. She knew a few things about Ted. He played Beater for his House Quidditch team. He was easy-going and certainly intelligent enough and a good wizard. He always had a smile for her. Even as far back as their first year. She tended to drift about alone, even going so far as to stay on the outskirts of her family that was at school, and those friendly smiles in the corridors helped make her feel less lonely. I'm really sorry Ted, but we can't be anything other than classmates. Andromeda Andromeda checked her watch. She had ten minutes to get to Potions. Slughorn didn't like it if they were late. She sprinted into the dungeon, panting. She was the only Slytherin in the sixth-year Potions class. The only vacant seat was next to Ted.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

She began to set up her cauldron, and got out the ingredients for that day's potion. Under the pretense of digging in her bag for a quill, she took out the note she'd written back to Ted, folded into a tiny square. Under the table, she nudged Ted, and palmed the note to him. He looked up, his bright blue eyes startled, until he looked at his hand. He slid the note into his pocket with a nod. Andromeda smiled to herself. Ted sang while he made potions. 'There's nothing you can do that can't be done/There's nothing you can sing that can't be sung/There's nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game/It's easy…' 'What is that?' she murmured, while stirring her potion, not looking at Ted. He stopped, mid-lyric. 'Huh?' 'That song. You were humming it Saturday.' She was still avoiding talking directly to him. Not that anyone in the class would ever say anything to Bella. One didn't just approach Bella. She reminded Andromeda of a praying mantis. But just to be safe… 'It's the Beatles,' Ted said to his own cauldron, knowing Slughorn would have a fit if they openly talked to each other. 'It's nice.' 'I like it.' They worked in silence until the end of class. Once Ted reached the corridor, he pulled the square that had been burning a hole in his pocket the entire class. He unfolded the note, and his face fell as he read it. Weeks passed, and Andromeda noticed Ted didn't sing in Potions anymore. Hufflepuff totally decimated Ravenclaw at their match at the end of November on a bitterly cold day. Andromeda waited until everyone from Slytherin had left the stands, knowing Bella would give her a hard time about it later. She slowly went down to the pitch where the Hufflepuff team stood talking excitedly about the match. They all fell silent at the sight of her green-and-sliver scarf. Andromeda drew in a deep breath, and held out her hand, where a piece of parchment folded into a dragon rested on her palm. It had taken her two weeks of surreptitious practice to get it right. Ted's eyebrows went up, but he held out his hand, and Andromeda carefully transferred the dragon to his larger hand. She gave him a small shrug, and trudged back to the castle. Ted wouldn't open the note in front of the team, and waited until he was in his dormitory. It had one sentence. I miss the singing in Potions. When Andromeda went into the Charms classroom, a folded parchment flower rested on her desk. Ted whistled under his breath, determinedly not watching her. She picked it up, watching him out of the corner of her eye, and unfolded it. What about that corner of the library? Where you go to hide? Flitwick came in just then, and began class. Andromeda looked at Ted, and nodded. Once. 'I don't hide back here,' Andromeda said crossly. Ted put his bag down on the table and laughed softly. 'Oh, yes, you do.' He sat in the chair next to Andromeda. 'Unless someone's looking for you, they can't find you easily.' 'Oh, all right, fine. I hide.' Andromeda flushed, and pulled her Herbology textbook out of her bag. 'Care to explain all the pure-blood nonsense you were going on about?' Andromeda ducked her head. 'It's complicated. My family… See, my family thinks that everybody in your family must be magical. You can't have a Muggle-born parent or grandparent or anybody in your family.' 'But why?' Ted's face creased in confusion. 'Just because my parents are Muggles doesn't make me less of a wizard.'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'I know.' 'There's plenty of… What did you say – pure-bloods – who can barely do magic!' 'I know.' Andromeda held up a placating hand. 'I don't think that way.' She ripped a strip of parchment off her essay and began to tear it into tinier and tinier pieces. 'But my family,' she shrugged helplessly. 'They'll disown me. My sister – she'd do way more than go spare.' Andromeda's eyes were large in her pale face. 'Even you…' She bent her head to her essay. 'You're not safe from her, either.' Ted looked at her in shock. 'You… You're joking,' he said weakly. Andromeda shook her head. 'No, I'm not,' she said sadly. 'Bella… She's serious about it.' Ted idly flipped through his Transfiguration notes. 'So where does that leave us?' 'The same place we were before.' 'Andromeda?' Fifteen year-old Narcissa knocked on Andromeda's bedroom door. 'Andie?' Andromeda opened the door, impatiently. 'What?' 'You have a letter,' Narcissa said, trying to imitate Bella's insolent tone. 'Don't talk like her,' Andromeda told her baby sister. The house was still and quiet. Bellatrix had married Rodolphus LeStrange last night, and their parents were still asleep. The party hadn't wound down until nearly three that morning. Andromeda knew her parents were making arrangements with Lucius Malfoy's parents for either her or Narcissa. Andromeda shut the door in Narcissa's face, and opened the letter. It was from Ted. Andromeda, Can you get away tomorrow night? There's a play I'd like to take you to see. If you can, owl me back and meet me in front of King's Cross at six tomorrow evening. Ted Andromeda bit her lip, running her hand through her hair. She was taking a terrible risk if she did write back to Ted. 'What's the play about?' Andromeda clutched Ted's hand as he led her though the Underground to find the train that would take them to Regent's Park. 'It's a surprise.' He looked over his shoulder and grinned. 'I think you'll find that you'll understand it.' 'Who wrote it?' 'Muggle playwright. Had to study him in primary school. Don't worry; it's a pretty universal theme.' Andromeda followed Ted through the bewildering array of Muggle streets, slightly nervous. She had never been in a Muggle area this much before. Her parents only barely tolerated taking them to the train for school. They emerged into a wide green area. It was populated with a wide array of people. She came to a stop, eyes wide. 'Andromeda, keep up,' admonished Ted. She ran to where he had set his knapsack down and spread a blanket on the grass. A few days later, Narcissa brought her another letter. 'Who's writing to you?' 'Nobody,' Andromeda replied. She opened the letter and a delicate kite fell out of the envelope. 'Weird.' Narcissa wrinkled her nose at it.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'Not so weird, Cissy.' Andromeda carefully unfolded the letter. It had one line on the parchment. Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. Narcissa peered over Andromeda's shoulder. 'What's that supposed to mean?' 'Nothing.' Andromeda smiled and refolded the letter into its kite form, and slipped it into a box on her dressing table that already held a flower and a swan. Andromeda sat on the edge of her bed, shaking. Her parents had just informed her she would be marrying Lucius Malfoy. He made her want to throw up. She had stared at her parents so hard, she thought her eyes were going fall out of her head. Her eyes went to the box on her dressing table. It held a collection of notes, the parchment folded into whimsical shapes. Ted had left them on her desk at random times during the school year. Each one had a quote from the play he'd taken her to see last summer. The last one had been folded into a heart, and was waiting for her in the last Charms class before their N.E.W.T.s Andromeda rose from her bed and opened the box. She took the heart out and gently tugged it so the parchment lay flat on the surface of the table. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. She wondered if he really meant it. Andromeda hoped so, because now she needed him to mean it. Ted, Andromeda stopped. She pulled a book from under her pillow. Ted had given it to her for her birthday that past March. She flipped through a few pages. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. They want me to marry Lucius Malfoy… I can't stay here anymore, Ted. Andromeda Ted slowly put the letter down. Andromeda, Bring as much as you can. King's Cross day after tomorrow. Ten in the evening. Ted

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Narcissa opened her eyes and yawned. She threw the sheet and blanket off and slid off her bed. She shuffled to the door. I hope Andie's not in the loo, she thought. Shouldn't have had that butterbeer at three, she sighed silently with a grimace. Her foot landed on something that crackled. Narcissa, You always have a home with me, if you need one. Andie Narcissa let the letter fall to the floor. She pushed her bedroom door open, and stumbled to Andromeda's. Narcissa turned the doorknob and peeked around the edge of the door. Everything was where it should be, but Andromeda wasn't in her bed asleep. Narcissa let her gaze sweep the room one more time. The box on Andromeda's dressing table was gone. She slowly walked into the room, and opened the wardrobe. It was empty. A/N: The song is 'All You Need Is Love' by the Beatles. The other quotes are from 'Romeo and Juliet'.  

EIGHTEEN – Hello, Goodbye

James walked down the corridor, heading toward the loo. Remus was out on patrol and he was tired of Peter gagging all over him and Sirius. James spared a glance over his shoulder at the compartment. Sirius had shown up on their doorstep one night at the beginning of August, with his broomstick and school trunk in hand. James and his parents hadn't asked why Sirius was there. They didn't need to. He passed by a compartment, and doubled back. He stood in the open compartment door, leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb. She was alone. She had her nose in a book, and didn't look up. James supposed he was half in love with her. Stubborn, though. He had asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him all year last year. Each time she said no. She said no to everything. Walks around the lake, the Astronomy Tower, even to sitting with him at meals. James supposed he had to admit she didn't give in easily. It was intriguing. 'Where's your friend, Evans?' Lily looked up at James over the top edge of her book, then dropped her gaze back to the print. James raised an eyebrow. This was unusual. She usually hurled an insult at him, followed by a sniff of, 'Arrogant toerag.' Lily looked up again. 'Are you lost or something, Potter?' 'Nope. Just didn't expect to see you alone, Evans. You've usually had your shadow trailing after you.' Lily's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'He wasn't my shadow,' she spat. 'Why don't you go harass some first years and leave me alone?' James grinned at her. 'One day, Evans… You'll go out with me.' Lily snorted. 'Potter, when will you get it through that thick head of yours that if you were on fire, I couldn't be bothered to spit on you to put you out?' James sat next to Lily in Charms the next day. He shoved a scrap of parchment toward her in the commotion of the practical demonstration. Why do you have such a bad opinion of me, Evans? I've never done anything to you. Why won't you at least try to get to know me better? Lily snorted as she scanned the note. She crumpled it up and stuffed it in her bag.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

The next day, Lily pretended to bump into James, walking out the Transfiguration classroom. He looked down in surprise, at the neatly folded parchment in his hand. I don't like you, because you're an arrogant toerag, and always have been since I've known you. You have no regard for anyone's feelings, save your own. How can you say you've never done anything to me? You took my best friend away from me. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you. 'You've really wound her up, then, Prongs,' commented a hoarse voice in his ear. James looked at the slight form of Remus sprawled across the other half of the sofa. Remus sent a significant look toward Lily, sitting on the other side of the room, engrossed in her homework. 'How do you know it's her?' James asked, annoyed. 'She's the only person who calls you an arrogant toerag, mate.' Remus paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably. 'You went too far last term.' 'What?' James felt his ears burn. Once he had calmed down, even he knew he had gone too far. Not that he would admit it to anyone. Remus had warned him last year, albeit obliquely, that his quick temper was going to get him into trouble one day. 'Why do you do it?' Remus asked, in a soft, persistent voice. 'Because he's a greasy-haired, slimy bat-like git.' But that wasn't why. Although it helped James justify his behavior. 'I don't think so,' Remus said, shaking his head, making the sandy hair flop into his tired grey eyes. 'I think it's because he loves her, and the idea that she might love him back drives you barmy, mate.' 'How do you know he loves her?' Remus snorted. 'You really ought to read more Muggle literature, Prongs.' He slid off the sofa, and headed for the portrait hole. 'I think I'm going to see if there's anything chocolate to be had in the kitchen.' Evans, I am sorry you lost your friend. I don't know what I'd do without Remus or Sirius. How did you know Snivellus – here it had been violently scratched out – him anyway? Lily tossed the parchment James had crumpled into a ball and thrown at the back of her head into the fire. He was the first wizard I ever met. We're from the same town. She folded it into a Muggle paper airplane and launched it toward James, where it glanced off the side of his face, and lodged in his glasses. Lily's mouth opened in surprise, and she quickly turned around back to her Transfiguration notes. James watched the snow fall outside the common room windows. It was getting late, and he supposed he should go up to his dormitory and go to bed. The common room was deserted. He paced around the room, waiting for Remus to come back from patrol with Lily. James told himself he was waiting for Remus, as it would be a full moon soon, and they needed to plan their trip to the Shrieking Shack. 'Oh, face it, Potter, you're waiting for Evans.' James laughed caustically at himself. He wondered if he was starting to enjoy Lily's rejection. Sirius told him he was starting to act like a puppy – always returning to the one who kicked him – and wouldn't be surprised to find out James' Animagus form had changed this month. He kicked at the armchair he'd just passed. He was sitting on the floor, with his shoe off, massaging his sore toes when Remus and Lily climbed through the portrait hole. 'What on earth did you do, Prongs?' 'Nothing,' James muttered, shoving his foot back into the shoe, and casting a baleful glance at the offending chair. Remus' eyes flicked back and forth between James and Lily. 'I'll just go on up to bed, then. Good night, Lily.'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

James went to the table where he had been doing his Potions homework. He gathered his books together, and watched Lily open her book. 'So, uh…' James cleared his throat nervously. Lily sighed. She had a ton of homework left to do and she had been on patrol that night. 'Spit it out, Potter, then leave me alone.' James stared at her, his mouth working like a stranded fish. He flushed and spun on his heel, heading for the staircase to the boys' dormitory. Did you love him? James tossed the crumpled ball of parchment between his hands, unsure of whether or not to toss it toward Lily. It was the night before school started again after Christmas, and she was sitting in a circle of friends. James drew a deep breath, and carefully lobbed the ball neatly into Lily's lap. Lily frowned as the crumpled parchment landed on top of the Muggle novel she was reading. She picked it apart and in seconds, her bright green eyes darkened, and she spared a single scathing glance toward James. Nevertheless, she stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. In a few minutes she bid her friends good night and went up to her dormitory. As she dressed for bed, Lily's thoughts went back to the scrap of parchment in her pocket. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and loosened the curtains around her bed, so they cocooned her in red. That's a loaded question, Potter. It's not a very fair one, either. Yes. And no. I don't know. Maybe I did. Maybe I kept hoping… If he had someone like me, maybe he'd give up on the Dark magic. Maybe he'd realize there are more important things. I did up until the day he called me a… Well, you were there. You heard it. There's no need to go about repeating it, is there? Do you think anyone who really loved me would have said that? Maybe he didn't mean it. I mean, people do say things in the heat of the moment when they're angry, right? No matter. It's over. Does that answer your question? Lily slid the note into James' hand when she sat next to him at breakfast the next morning. She didn't even look at him as she spooned eggs and potatoes on her plate. She pointedly ignored him until he ran to catch up with her after Herbology. 'Evans,' he began. 'I…' He couldn't say it. Especially when she turned those cool green eyes on him. 'Never mind,' he muttered. He watched her walk into the castle, head bent against the wind, snowflakes glistening in her fiery hair. 'You must have it bad,' Sirius sardonic voice drawled in his ear. 'Huh?' 'If she leaves you that tongue-tied, Prongsie,' Sirius elaborated. 'Nah. It's nothing. Come on, it's time for lunch, and I'm starved.' James put a hand into the pocket of his robes. He felt the crinkle of crumpled parchment, and weighed his options. McGonagall could be twice as hard on her own House than any of the others. She didn't take kindly to disruptions to her class. Especially not N.E.W.T. level. He sighed and pulled the hand out. He'd have to wait.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

It doesn't have to be over. You're right. People do say things in an argument they'd never dream of saying otherwise. If it – he – makes you happy, maybe you should think about forgiving him. With a pang, James dropped it on the floor next to Lily's feet. 'Evans,' he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. 'What?' she hissed back irritably. 'You dropped something.' 'No, I –' 'Evans! Potter! Is there something you need to share with the rest of the class?' Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the classroom. 'No, Professor,' James said, almost meekly. McGonagall was the only one who could put that tone into his voice. McGonagall's eyes flicked toward Lily. 'No, Professor,' she said firmly. But she bent to pick up the ball of paper at her feet. James was scowling at his Potions textbook when a Muggle paper airplane sailed gracefully into his head. No. It was over long before that. I just couldn't see it. That day last May was merely the final nail in the coffin. 'So, Evans, what are you doing today?' James silently cheered at being able to say something coherent to her. 'Nothing,' she replied, and a look of shock crossed her features as she realized she had just engaged in conversation with the arrogant toerag. 'And it's Lily, Potter, or had you forgotten?' 'James,' he said automatically. 'What?' 'James. My first name, in case you forgot, too.' Meet me at the top of the Astronomy Tower… James picked up the parchment that had been folded in half and left sitting on his school bag. He looked at his watch, and realized it was after curfew. However, being Head Girl had its privileges. As did being Head Boy. Still… James went up to his dormitory and pulled his Invisibility cloak from his trunk. He found Lily standing by the parapet, looking up at the clear night sky. 'Lily?' He frowned when he realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. 'Lily…' he breathed, thumbing the tears from her face. She mutely handed him a piece of stiff, fussy paper. Mr. and Mrs. Michael Evans request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, Petunia Evans to Mr. Vernon Dursley on the seventeenth of June at ten in the morning… James let it fall to the floor. He gathered Lily into his arms, stroking her hair, and crooning nonsense to her until she calmed down. Lily walked into the small flat and heard a crunching sound. She lifted her foot, to see a flattened ball of crumpled parchment. 'James Potter! You need to pick up after yourself, you lazy prat!' She picked up the parchment, and noticed the writing.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Will Lily frowned and looked up. There was a trail of parchment on the hallway to the sitting room. She picked up the next one. You And the next. Marry And the last. Me? Lily looked at the coffee table and a small box rested on a pile of crumpled up parchment. She looked suspiciously around the room, but James was nowhere to be seen. Lily picked up the box and opened it. It held a ring adorned with a round sapphire. She picked up one of the parchment balls under the box, and smoothed it out, and wrote one word on it, folding it into a paper airplane. 'James? I know you're in here under that bloody cloak of yours!' She heard James' laugh, and aimed it toward the sound. It bounced off James' head. Yes.  

NINETEEN – Intoxicated

Draco brought the full wineglass to his lips and slowly, but steadily drank the contents of the glass. His lips stretched in an obscene imitation of a smile, as he poured another glass. He held the wineglass aloft, regarding the blood-red liquid inside. The firelight made it glow like a living thing. He deliberately brought the glass down to his mouth and drained it as he had done the previous… How many had he had tonight? Four at dinner. And in the study… The glass he was pouring made it five. Nine all together. Draco was slightly surprised to see his hand was still unwavering as he picked up the glass. This one he sipped, allowing each drop to slide down the back of his throat. He wasn't worried about running out of alcohol. There was another bottle on the desk, its cork already removed. Draco sighed and looked outside at the gently falling snow. They had stayed in Wiltshire for the Christmas holiday. Scorpius moped around the house like… Like a what? Draco wondered fuzzily. Like a wilted plant. Draco looked into the bowl of the glass, and swirled the wine. Maybe we should have gone to Nice. But Draco wasn't interested in trying to deal with all the Ministry hoops he would have to jump, just to go spend a holiday with his mother. They would have had to wait for Scorpius to come home from school, because Daphne would have insisted on his joining them. Draco snorted. His father would have left on holiday and made Draco stay at school. But I'm not my father. Draco wasn't sure whether to be proud of that or ashamed. He swallowed the rest of the wine and sloshed the rest of the bottle on the table next to his chair into his glass. He knew his drinking had gotten worse since his last probationary interview with Potter. He couldn't make himself care. He thought it was probably too late to try and repair the remnants of his relationship with his mother. And Draco suspected it was the same with his wife. Not that he'd loved her especially, but he'd never given himself a chance to at least try and like her. He had never even tried with his son. He was too afraid to try. And now he was irrelevant. Narcissa and Daphne had gone to fetch Scorpius from the train. They had gone to get a tree for the sitting room, which Scorpius insisted on bedecking with handmade ornaments. Draco had shut himself in the study that evening, leaving the door cracked. He could hear the laughter and music from the wireless and smell hot cider and popcorn. Later that night, Draco had gone into the sitting room to look at it. It was homely, festooned with fairy lights and chains made of brightly colored paper. Someone had taken silvery paper, and made snowflake cutouts. Draco had sniffed derisively and gone up to his bedroom. When he was Scorpius' age… When he was Scorpius' age, he would have given anything to have an evening like that with his parents. He was just too stubborn to admit it.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Draco heaved himself to his feet, swaying as a wave of dizziness swept over him. The room tilted dangerously as he tried to walk to the desk. I must be drunker than I thought. He dropped into the chair behind the desk, unwilling to make the trip back to his armchair. Damn. I left the glass over there, too. Shrugging, Draco decided to just drink from the bottle. It wasn't the first time. It wouldn't be the last. The firelight flared, highlighting the Mark on his forearm. When did I roll up my sleeves? He thought, perplexed. Draco picked up the bottle and took a long pull from it, wincing at the harsh bite. He turned the bottle and squinted at the label. It was one of the cheaper bottles of swill his father favored in the days before he died. It nearly made Draco laugh out loud. It didn't matter. As long as it took him to where he was going. Seeing the Mark made him think of his aunt Bellatrix. 'Ah, Auntie Bella,' he sneered. She had been the one to hold his arm out as Voldemort burned it into his skin with his wand. She seemed to take some sick sense of pleasure in his obvious pain. She had spent hours, harping about duty and honor, afterward. Draco hadn't bothered to listen. It would have been too much effort. Thinking about Bellatrix seemed to trigger something in Draco's memory. Ah yes! He yanked open a drawer of his desk, and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill. He plunged the quill into a bottle of ink, heedless of the droplets of ink splashed on the desk, and began to write in an untidy, nearly illegible scrawl. 23 December 2018 Dear Mrs. Weasley, I realize this is a little late, but really, thanks ever so much for ridding the world of my aunt Bellatrix. Seriously, the woman was a menace to society. She was a barmy old slag anyway. Used to try to give Voldemort a peek at her knickers when she thought everyone was looking. Gave me nightmares. Honestly, I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that Auntie Bella wore knickers with the Mark printed on them. Offing Bella was the best thing that could have happened to the wizarding world. Well, after Potter gave Voldemort the old heave-ho. Sincerely, Draco Malfoy Draco clumsily folded the letter, and lurched to his feet. He stumbled down to the kitchen, where the owl perches were, hoping his barn owl was not out hunting. His owl was not there, but Daphne's tawny owl was. Draco went to the owl, moving deliberately, his movements a study in exaggerated care, as if he were trying to prove to the owl he wasn't drunk. 'Ish fer Molly Weashley,' he slurred. The owl reluctantly allowed Draco to tie the letter to her leg, and launched herself into the night sky as soon as she could. Draco grunted and reeled back down to the study. This deserved a toast. Draco picked up the dusty green bottle on his desk and held it up. 'Happy Effing Christmas!' He tilted the bottle back, taking several large swallows, lowering the bottle with an explosive gasp. Molly Weasley went into the kitchen and stopped short at the unfamiliar owl sitting expectantly on the back of a chair. It held out a leg, and Molly cautiously took the letter it offered her. The owl flew out the kitchen window with nary a backward glance, leaving Molly to examine the address on the front. It was hardly legible, but it was addressed to her. She opened the wax seal and scanned the letter inside. She burst into peals of laughter. 'Oh, that George…' She set it aside so she could show it to George when he brought Sophie over before he went to the shop. 'A fake thank-you note, I tell you…' 'George, that note you sent last night was too much,' Molly told her son, handing him the badly ink-splotched parchment. 'What note?' George took Sophie's coat off and hung it up in the scullery. 'You sent Grandmum a note?' Sophie's grey eyes turned up to George. 'Why would you do something so daft, Dad?' 'Just because you don't write,' George told his eleven-year old daughter, sending her off to the sitting room with a light swat on the rear. He looked down at the parchment. 'I didn't send this.' 'Oh, go on with you!' Molly leaned against the counter. 'You can't tell me Draco Malfoy really sent this and called a family member a… What was that again?' Molly took the letter from George. 'Ah, a "barmy old slag". Do you really think Draco Malfoy sent this?' file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

George took the letter from his mother. 'Mum, I can assure you, I didn't send this. And by the looks of it, if Malfoy did send it, he was rat arsed. Shitfaced, even.' George folded the parchment and gave it back to Molly. 'He'd have to be for the likes of Malfoy to deign to even acknowledge any of us,' he said dryly. 'You mean this is real?' Molly brandished the envelope. 'It looks that way.' George shrugged. Molly carefully put the letter down on the table, looking at it thoughtfully. 'Interesting.'  

TWENTY – Tetchy As a Dragon

Charlie found the small advert in the back of Dragon Keepers International. The reservation outside Holyhead needed an experienced dragon keeper. Charlie stared at the advert until it blurred in the fading early autumn light. Repairs to the school were going better than expected, and Charlie fairly itched to go back to what he loved best. He was torn, however, between wanting to return to Romania, but unwilling to be so far away from home anymore. Wales was an extremely attractive option. 20 October 1998 Dear Mum, There's an opening at the Holyhead reservation. I think I'll try for it. I'm going to send off an owl in the morning. Ginny's doing well as the Captain of the Gryffindor team so far. The first game is coming up soon. I hear that a few professional teams might come out to have a look at her. Wouldn't that be something if our little Gin-Gin played for England someday? We're working almost non-stop to finish repairs on the school. Hopefully, Hogwarts will be back to normal in another year or so. I'll try to get away for lunch Sunday, but I can't promise anything. Say hello to Dad for me. Love, Charlie 21 October 1998 Daffyd Rhys Holyhead Dragon Reserve Wales Dear Mr. Rhys, I am writing to inquire about the dragon keeper position advertised in the October issue of Dragon Keepers International. I spent six years at the Miercurea Ciuc Reservation in Romania. I have experience with most of the dragon breeds. You may contact Rubeus Hagrid at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Andreas Georghu at Miercurea Ciuc for references. Sincerely, Charlie Weasley

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

23 October 1998 Dear Mr. Weasley, I will be in Hogsmeade next week on the thirtieth of October. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks at four in the afternoon, and we'll talk about the opening at Holyhead. Sincerely, Daffyd Rhys Charlie spent three hours talking to Daffyd. He looked familiar, although Charlie couldn't quite place the man. Charlie had to hand it Daffyd – he didn't seemed fussed about Charlie's lack of N.E.W.T.s. He was far more impressed with Charlie's capabilities learned at Miercurea Ciuc and had been most fascinated by Charlie's experience in transporting four fully-grown dragons across international borders for the Triwizard four years ago. Two days later, Daffyd sent Charlie a letter, formally offering him the position. Charlie immediately wrote back accepting the job. 4 November 1998 Dear Mum, I got the job in Holyhead. I'll stay in Hogsmeade working on the school repairs until Christmas. I will come for the holiday, then I'm going to move to Holyhead in January. Tell Ron and Harry they can stay at my flat when they come up for Ginny's game. Remind them to bring sleeping bags. Love, Charlie Charlie dumped his bags in the front room of the small cabin assigned to him. It was like the one he had in Romania – a front room with a kitchen and sitting room, and a bedroom and bathroom in the back. He unpacked his scant belongings. It didn't take long. Charlie didn't have much in the way of clothing, nor possessions. Charlie threw his first-aid kit into a cupboard in the bathroom, and flopped on the bed. The dragons were mostly dormant during the winter months. Tomorrow, he would start a shift in the hatchery. Charlie enjoyed the hatchery, in spite of the dizzying scent of brandy mixed with the almost sickening odor of chicken blood. Charlie was grateful they only had to butcher a chicken or two a week and use a Refilling charm. It was the one part of his job he hated. Charlie heard some of the other dragon keepers pass by his cabin on their way into Holyhead. He had been invited to go along, but Charlie had begged off, saying he needed to settle in and unpack. It was marginally true, but Charlie craved solitude sometimes, and he wasn't in a mood to sit in a pub when all he wanted to do was read or listen to the wireless. 8 January, 1999 Dear Bill, The reserve is smaller than Miercurea Ciuc. Mostly just Greens and a few Blacks. Things are a lot different here. A few of the others who are good at Potions have found a way to make something like formula for babies for the hatchlings. Just add brandy, and no more chicken butchering. I'm eternally grateful for that. Charlie grimaced and shook his hand a few times. He'd never been much of a letter-writer before the war, usually sending a few lines here and there. Cards at Christmas and birthdays. The last couple of years, it had been dangerous to even try. Not that Charlie minded. It wasn't as if he had anything to say beyond the usual, 'Hello-Mum-things-are-well-love-to-Dad-Charlie' line.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Charlie didn't write to everyone, though. Mostly he wrote to his parents and Bill. He gave the unfinished letter a baleful glance and set it aside. He could finish it later. The Black in the fireproof bin was teething. It prowled restlessly around, making tiny growling noises. Dragons didn't have much in the way for facial expressions to begin with, but this little one had a decidedly irritable air about him. Charlie reached into the bag he carried and fished out a numbing salve to rub on the hatchings' gums. They were tetchy under the best circumstances and a teething one was risking a fire. Charlie scooped some of the salve onto a finger, and got the dragon to open its jaws. He quickly rubbed it on the gums, but before he could remove his finger, the dragon's mouth closed around it. Charlie let the hatchling gnaw his index finger until the salve kicked in. Drooling slightly, the dragon released Charlie's finger, and settled in the nest and went to sleep. Charlie looked ruefully at his left index finger. There were dozens of pinprick marks all over it. The Black had a few needle-like teeth just breaking through its gums. He shrugged and pulled a few plasters out of his bag, wrapping them around his finger. He had a salve in his first-aid kit that worked well on the bites like this he'd gotten in Romania. There were only two more hours on his shift. He could take care of it then. Throbbing pain woke Charlie early in the morning, radiating in waves from his left hand. Charlie groaned and rolled over, reaching for his wand. 'Lumos.' Charlie trained the tip of the wand on his left hand, startled to see the index finger had swollen to three times its normal size. The rest of the hand was puffy, too. Charlie held his wand closer to his hand. This doesn't look good. Gingerly using his injured hand, Charlie picked up his watch and looked at the time. It was after three in the morning. 'Nox.' Charlie laid the wand back on the night table and lay back down in the pillows, trying to ignore the pain that traveled up his arm with each heartbeat. After tossing for several minutes, Charlie got out of bed and pulled a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers and a jumper over the t-shirt. Charlie carefully slid his left arm through the sleeve of his coat. There was one thing about this reservation he found agreeable – there was an infirmary on site and he wouldn't have to go into Holyhead or try to get to London. In Romania he would have had to go into Bucharest for something like this. Charlie trudged through the snow to the stone building that housed the infirmary, cradling his hand to avoid jarring it too much. He opened the door and came face-to-face with a witch who resembled Daffyd, writing in a file at a small table by the dim light of a single lamp. 'Excuse me,' Charlie ventured. 'I don't mean to bother you, but…' He slowly unwrapped the scarf he'd wound around his hand. The Healer narrowed her eyes at the hand, and waved her wand at the rest of the room, illuminating the room with blazing brightness. 'What did you do?' she asked, gently turning the ominously-tinged hand over. 'Nothing. Put some numbing salve on a Hebridean Black hatchling.' The Healer glanced up at Charlie. 'Looks like you let it use your hand for a teething ring,' she commented. 'Just a little bit,' Charlie said defensively. 'I have some salve for stuff like this. Used it in Romania all the time,' he added offhandedly. The witch looked up at Charlie, her head cocked to one side, examining his face. 'You were in Romania?' 'Yeah. For six years.' Charlie felt perplexed. It wasn't exactly a secret he'd been in Romania. 'Charlie Weasley?' she asked incredulously. 'Uh, yeah…' He blinked at her. She just raised an eyebrow and began to examine Charlie's hand. 'Did you put that salve of yours on it?' 'Yes.' She reached for a bottle on a shelf behind her. 'What breed did you work with? In Romania?' 'Short-Snouts, Ironbellies, Ridgebacks, Longhorns, Horntails. Mostly Horntails,' he said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. Dragon keepers who worked with Horntails were regarded as one of the elite. Horntails were notoriously difficult.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

She snorted, her gaze sweeping Charlie from head-to-toe. 'Compensate much?' she sniffed derisively, holding his hand over a basin, and pouring a potion over it. 'That salve of yours doesn't work for Blacks. Different saliva properties than the other breeds.' She rummaged in a small bin and tossed a small tin to Charlie. 'Try that next time,' she advised. 'You're not the first Hebridean virgin we've had in here.' Charlie caught it one-handed and tucked it into his coat pocket. The more he heard her speak, the more familiar she sounded. 'Do I know you?' he asked in exasperation. 'You don't remember me, do you?' She wound a bandage around Charlie's hand. 'Figures.' 'Should I?' The witch snorted. 'Never mind.' She used a Sticking charm to fasten the end of the bandage under Charlie's wrist. 'Don't use the hand for a couple of days, and don't let the hatchlings use you as a chew toy,' she admonished. Charlie nodded, still confused about the witch. 10 February 1999 Dear Bill, I'm off-duty for a few days. Blacks may not have the reputation that Horntails do, but they do have rather dodgy spit. Learned something new today. Ended up going to the infirmary last night. I have to go back later today so they can check out my hand. Need to ask you something, Bill. Do you know this witch? She seems to know me. Charlie Charlie picked up a pencil and began to sketch the woman's face. The high, slanting cheekbones. Eyes tilting up slightly at the corners. Elfin nose. She wasn't what Charlie would call pretty, but he was sure he'd remember her. He just couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd seen her. Charlie never thought of himself as something of a loner, but the longer he was in Wales, the more he felt the label fit. In Romania, he could hide his anti-social tendencies behind a language barrier. He would go into Holyhead every so often with the others, but didn't say a great deal. Charlie began to think that was why he worked with dragons. They didn't talk much. He stood in the snow outside his cabin and began to gather snow into a large, tightly packed ball. When Charlie was satisfied with the mound of snow, he took out his wand and began to sculpt it into a fanciful dragon, combining traits of the Blacks with the Short-Snouts. It was incredibly detailed, down to the scales and the claws digging into the snow underneath. Charlie colored it black on the back, gradually fading to match the clear blue sky overhead. Grinning, Charlie waved his wand, and smoke curled in tendrils from the dragon's snout. 'Nice,' commented a sardonic voice behind him. 'What else can you do?' Charlie twisted to see the witch from the infirmary behind him. 'Hi,' he mumbled. 'You still don't remember me, do you?' Charlie slid his wand into a pocket. 'Sort of,' he admitted. 'You look a lot like Daffyd, though.' 'I would hope so. He's my father.' 'Oh.' Charlie frankly studied the woman in front of him. 'It's not just that. It's just I could swear I've seen you before, but I can't place you.' He snorted. 'Don't suppose you've ever been to Romania.' 'No. Grew up here on the reservation. Went to school. Spent three years in London studying to be a Healer, then came back here.'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

'Why?' Charlie asked bluntly. 'I mean you could go anywhere.' The woman gave him a faintly pitying look. 'This is home,' she replied simply. 12 February 1999 Dear Charlie, I think I remember her. Your year, Ravenclaw. Prefect. Used to take Potions notes in Welsh, just for fun. She was almost legendary for that with the other prefects. Hope it helps. Bill Charlie set Bill's letter down and looked out the window. He sifted through his memory, through the faces of his year at school. A sixth year Charms lesson stood out in particular. He'd been practicing Refilling charms with Tonks and Charlie had been lazily filling and refilling his flask with wine. He'd heard a sniff of disapproval behind him, and turned to cheekily grin at … 'Bronwyn,' he breathed. He remembered her now. She had caught him sneaking back to Gryffindor tower after he and Tonks had snuck up to the Astronomy Tower. Bronwyn had taken five points from Gryffindor. Charlie thought of Tonks with a bitter pang. At the time, he'd fancied himself in love with her. Tonks had been his first, and that evening up on the Astronomy Tower had been their one time together. Seeing her laid out on the floor of the Great Hall last spring next to Remus had been a great shock to Charlie. Even more shocking, almost, than the sight of Fred's body. Charlie had gone to her and Remus' funeral, and sat through the service in stunned silence. Later, he would feel deeply ashamed at the thoughts that flew through his head, because he kept seeing her on the Astronomy Tower, with long, violet hair streaming down her bare back. Charlie had written a letter to Mrs. Tonks, expressing his condolences. Ironically, it had been easier to write that one, than all the letters home combined. Charlie walked into the infirmary so the Healers could clear him to return to duty. Bronwyn sat at the table, dabbing something evil-smelling over a small child's dragon pox hives, assuring him, to the child's disappointment, that his greenish hue would fade in a few days. The child skipped out of the infirmary, and Charlie slid onto the now-vacant stool, holding out his hand. 'You're Bronwyn,' he said, without preamble. 'Yes.' 'You sat behind me in Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration in sixth year. Worked across from me in the greenhouse in Herbology.' 'Yes.' Bronwyn turned Charlie's hand over and tapped his palm with her wand. The hand glowed green, and faded. 'You're free to go,' she told him. 5 April 1999 Dear Charlie, Would you mind if I stayed with you a few days in July? I'm doing a tryout for the Harpies and I thought I might be able to stay with you. Don't worry; you don't need to entertain me. Ginny Charlie used the side of his finger to smudge the pencil line and create a shadow that would give Ginny's cheek definition. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Every time he saw her, he was amazed at how mature she had become. She was only nine when he left for Romania. 'Girlfriend?' Bronwyn sat next to him in the grass. 'Sister,' Charlie corrected. 'She'll be staying here for a few days next month.' Bronwyn tilted her head to study the burgeoning drawing. 'She's pretty.' 'Yeah. First Weasley girl in generations.' Charlie drew in Ginny's hair, streaming behind her, as if on a broom. 'You're really good.' Bronwyn didn't bother to hide the surprise. Charlie shrugged. Drawing had come naturally to him. He had taken a few lessons in Romania from one of the other dragon keepers to pass the time during the winters. It was an activity he could do in solitude. He spent hours outside as a child drawing things. And, it was something the others couldn't do. He handed Bronwyn his sketch book. 'Here,' he grunted. Bronwyn took the book, and slowly paged through it. It was filled with sketches of Charlie's family, the mountains around Holyhead, and the dragons. 'That's top-notch, that is,' she said, handing the book back to him. Charlie just shrugged. 'You don't talk much, do you?' 'No.' 'You must be the dog's bollocks on dates, then,' she said wryly. Charlie snorted. 'I haven't been on a date in…' He tried to remember the last date he'd been on, but couldn't. 'It's been a long time.' 'Want to go down to the pub with me? Tomorrow night?' Charlie glanced at Bronwyn. 'I thought you didn't like me.' 'I don't know you well enough to not like you. But other than this habit of yours of staying by yourself all the time, the others seem to like you.' 'Next time. I'm on duty tomorrow night.' 'You could have just said that,' she huffed, standing up and brushing the grass off the seat of her jeans. 25 June 1999 Dear Bill, Bronwyn asked me on a date. What does that mean? She's been contemptuous of me ever since I couldn't remember who she was. So what gives? It's not like we spent time together at school or anything. I don't think I'll ever understand women. Charlie 28 June 1999 Dear Charlie, Quit being a hermit and go out with her! Don't ask to understand women. You never will. Bill

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Charlie set the letter down and walked out of his cabin. He paced in front of the cabin where Bronwyn lived. It was on the other side of the valley from his. 'Hey, Bronwyn… If you're not doing anything next Friday, would you like to go into Holyhead with me?' he muttered, practicing. 'Yes, I would.' Bronwyn spoke from behind Charlie. Charlie whirled around. 'Stop sneaking up on me like that!' 'Why are you pacing in front of my cabin?' 'Trying to get the nerve up to ask you out,' he growled. 'You want to come inside?' Bronwyn walked up the steps and into her door. Charlie watched her, and found himself thinking about all the things that could go wrong in following her inside. Bronwyn stuck her head out of the door. 'Are you coming in, or staying out?' She's so bloody infuriating, Charlie thought. But he found his feet climbing the steps and taking him through the door. It was time to start living his life instead of drifting through it.  

TWENTY ONE – To the Edge of Doom

A/N: As promised, here are Harry's two letters to Ginny from Making Mistakes.

Ginny dug through her bag, searching for her bottle of shampoo. She could have sworn she took it out of the bag and put it in the bathroom Saturday afternoon, but it wasn't on the shelf in the bathtub. Maybe I imagined putting it in there, she thought. Stranger things have happened when I've been pregnant… The bag just held a collection of socks and knickers that Ginny hadn't been in the mood to unpack the other day. She would have to go back to the house and get another bottle of shampoo. Sighing, Ginny made her way to the kitchen. 'Mum, I'm going to run a few errands. I'll be back in a bit.' 'Whatever for?' Molly asked, rolling out dough for biscuits. 'It seems I forgot to bring my shampoo with me.' Ginny snatched an unbaked biscuit off the baking sheet, dodging Molly's swat with a wooden spoon. 'Ginny, we have shampoo here. Use mine, for Merlin's sake.' 'I don't like yours,' Ginny said. 'It makes my hair look a shambles.' Molly laid more biscuits on the baking sheet. 'Fine. Don't be out too late, all right?' 'Back in two hours, tops,' promised Ginny, walking out of the back door. She pushed open the garden gate, and Apparated, disappearing before it had swung shut. She re-appeared in the lane behind her house, drawing her wand from her pocket. She jabbed it at the door, and it swung open. As Ginny walked through the back door, she felt a cool tingle ripple over her skin. The wards Harry put up over the house wouldn't let anyone but her or Harry into the house. If it had been someone else, like Ron, he would have found himself in the lane, flat on his bum. Ginny sighed in the cool, quiet house. It was getting warm and in spite of the charms Molly had on the oven, it made the Burrow quite stuffy when she baked. She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, and went into the bathroom. There were a few spare bottles of shampoo in the cupboard. She picked one up and stuffed it into her bag, and paused, hand hovering over the sandalwood-scented soap Harry liked. Without bothering to consider why, Ginny snatched a few bars and stuffed them into her bag, as well. The t-shirt he'd left on the floor of her bedroom in the Burrow Sunday morning still bore traces of the

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

unmistakable aroma of Harry. The soap would have to do as a substitute until he came home. Going back down the stairs, Ginny glanced into the office. The bottom drawer of Harry's desk was slightly ajar. He said there were papers in there… Ginny chewed the inside of her cheek, weighing going in to read whatever it was that Harry had left, or walking away. She swung the bag to the sofa, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. She carefully lowered her bulk into the chair, and opened the drawer. A single folder lay in the bottom of the drawer. Ginny drew it out, and laid it on the desk. She stared at it for a moment, then slowly took in a deep breath, and opened it. Three things lay inside – piece of parchment bearing the words, "The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter" and another document with the name of the cemetery where James, Lily, and Sirius were buried. Well, James and Lily, at any rate. Sirius' grave is empty. And a sealed, folded piece of parchment also lay inside, with just a single word on the front: Ginny. Feeling slightly as if she was tempting fate, Ginny picked up Harry's will. Her eyes widened as they traveled down the page. She had no idea Harry had that much money. Not that she didn't know when she married him that he was fairly wealthy, but she didn't know just how much he was worth. She suspected that before he had this will written, he didn't know, either. His job paid quite well, and hers not quite as well, but even if they only had that to live on, they could still be comfortable. Neither of them were extravagant in their spending. If anything, they tended to be fairly frugal when it came to money. She dashed away the tears that slipped down her cheeks, when she came to the part where he intended to leave a portion of his fortune to her parents. He had always wanted to repay them for everything they had done for him when he was a child, but Harry knew they'd never accept a single Knut. If nothing else, he made sure she, Teddy, James and Bun were all going to be taken care of. She mentally tallied the cost of books, robes, and the other things for school, and realized that even if the cost of things went up several times their current value, it was more than enough for the three children to attend school and have the extra things, like good broomsticks and ample pocket money. Ginny laid the will aside, and picked up the second parchment. It was rather straightforward. Harry asked that if something happened to him, that he be buried next to his parents and Sirius. If there wasn't a body, he asked that a headstone be put up anyway. Everything was arranged. From the funeral to the wording of the headstone was taken care of. Ginny swiped her sleeve across her face. She didn't want to try to imagine what it would be like if Harry died. She didn't have to. She had plenty of memories of her parents trying to make arrangements for Fred's funeral in those stunned days after the battle. Her normally competent parents were unable to make the simplest decisions regarding Fred's burial. Charlie, amazingly, had been the one to step in, and choose the austere granite block that had the words "Frederick Gideon Weasley" and his birthday and the day of the battle engraved on it. George had come out of his stupor long enough to insist that "Mischief Managed" be added underneath. Those were the first words he's spoken in days. Shaking her head, Ginny snapped back to the present. Harry had been in a state of bewilderment for those first few weeks. He went where people steered him, ate, or pushed around the plate, what someone put in front of him at meals. She was surprised he would remember how difficult it had been for everybody to make arrangements for an event they thought wouldn't occur for decades. But she was grateful she wouldn't have to try to make any sort of decision about that. She didn't think she'd be able to. Ginny picked up the last piece of parchment. It opened at her touch. 18 May 2006 Dear Ginny, If you're reading this, you've either snooped through my desk, or I'm dead. I really, really hope it's the former. Because I'm not sure I'd like the latter to be why you're reading this letter. If you have been snooping, then you've also found the other papers. Even now, I don't remember much about that first month after the war, except for your mum and dad and Andromeda all trying to make arrangements. Actually, I don't remember much about that, either. I just have this picture of the three of them sitting around the kitchen table, with endless cups of tea in front of them and the cloud of uncertainty that hung over them. Even though it's not nearly as dangerous as it once was, there is still a lot of danger inherent in my job, and the idea that you might have to sit at our kitchen table, with that cloud over you bothered me. So after we were married, I went to Godric's Hollow and made my funeral arrangements. You might think it's horribly presumptuous of me, to take this decision out of your hands, but I do it because I love you. file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

You do know that if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have been able to go face Riddle. But what you don't know (and I don't know why I've never told you) is that you were the last person I saw before I went into the Forest. I was under the Invisibility cloak, and I could swear that you knew I was there. And the last coherent thought I had, as Riddle said the words meant to send me to my death, was of you. I don't know when I fell in love with you. I don't know if it was back when I was twelve, and the idea that you might be dead sent chills down my spine. Or when I was fourteen, and Neville asked you to the Yule Ball. Or the Easter I was fifteen and we were talking about Sirius in the library. That was when I knew that I could confide in you if I needed to. I knew for sure when I was sixteen. When I could smell your hair in the Amortentia potion in Slughorn's class. I never told you that, did I? But I knew by my nineteenth birthday I didn't want to live the rest of my life without you. That being said, Ginny, I don't want you to be alone for the rest of your life. I know you have your family, but it's not the same, and you know it by now as well as I do. I want you to be happy, Gin. And I'm not convinced yet that spending the rest of your life alone is the best way to do it. But I promise you, Ginny; I will try my hardest to make sure that doesn't happen. Because I'm sure if I die, you will kill me. Don't ever forget that I love you, Ginevra. And that my last dying thought will be of you. Love, Harry Ginny folded the parchment with shaking hands and laid it back in the folder, where it re-sealed itself, once it lost contact with her hands. She buried her face into her arms and burst into tears. Ginny climbed into the bed with a slight pang. As narrow as it was, it felt as vast as their bed in Godric's Hollow without Harry. She was exhausted, but didn't feel like sleeping. Charlie was still awake, and Ginny knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, if he wasn't sleeping himself. She picked up the copy of Pride and Prejudice from the table, and opened it. A folded piece of parchment slid from between the pages, and into her lap. The front of it held her name, in Harry's angular hand. A soft susurrus of the edges of parchment, prying themselves apart, signaled he had sealed it, like the letter in the desk. With a glance at Charlie, Ginny turned the parchment over and began to read. 24 June 2006 Dear Ginny, I've been an Auror for eight years. And this is the first time I've ever wanted to walk away from an assignment. Because it means leaving you alone to deal with all this. And yes, I know, at some point, your family's going to step in and fill the void. It doesn't make it any easier for me to leave you again tomorrow. I considered leaving now, while you were asleep, because I don't want to have to tell you good-bye again. But that's the coward's way out of things, and I won't do that to you. I know we haven't exactly been on the same page the past few days, and you will never know how sorry I am. Because it's been my fault, Gin. There were other people who could have gone on this assignment, and I could have stayed here, and checked in with them. But I went anyway. I saw it as my chance to get my revenge. I didn't think about it that way then, but I know that now. It wasn't fair to you. Or James. Or Albus. I have hated being away from you. I didn't realize how much I depended on you until I couldn't turn to you in the night, and remind myself that my nightmares aren't real anymore. I didn't realize until I didn't have you next to me in bed, that I couldn't talk to you about the case, and I have missed being able to do that. I should have done that from the beginning. I was wrong. And I'm going to try and make it up to you. If I can. Ron and Hermione were my first friends. And they are still two of the best friends I have in the world. But you, Gin… You're the best friend I'll ever have. Everything I've earned… Everything I've ever done… It's nothing without you. Because I have to tell you, Gin, the reality of my life with you is so much better than anything I could have dreamed.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

I love you, Ginny. I always have since I figured out what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. And I always will. Love, Harry A single tear dripped from Ginny's face, and landed on the bottom of the parchment, blurring Harry's signature. She carefully folded it again, and tucked it into the book. She laid the book on the table once again, and slid down in the bed. Ginny turned on her side so Charlie couldn't see the tears that welled from the corners of her eyes and dripped onto the pillow.  

TWENTY TWO – Letters From a Ghost

Sirius stood on the hard wooden plank covered with a thin, lumpy mattress that served as his bed in his cell in Azkaban. He rose slowly, painfully to his toes and wrapped his hands around the bars set into the slit of a window. He strained to see the bare sliver of sky that was visible to him, deep inside the massive walls of the prison. What he could manage to glimpse was dominated by the full moon, hanging like a ripe peach in the nighttime sky. Dear Remus, I'm so sorry… I left you without figuring out a way to care for you. I should have done something, knowing something might have happened to me, and you with no way to support yourself. Unless you're still tutoring Muggle students in literature. I can't imagine that pays enough. At least you still have the flat so you can have a roof over your head. I wasn't thinking about you when I left to find Peter. I wasn't thinking about anything. I didn't love you enough. If I had, maybe, just maybe, I might have stopped. Then I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't be alone. Sirius used his jagged thumbnail to scratch another day off on the wall. Today was 31 July 1991. Today, his godson was eleven years old. He wondered if Harry had gotten his letter yet. Had he gone to buy his things? Was he getting an owl? Was he planning to go for his house's Quidditch team his second year? Dear Harry, Happy birthday! I wonder who you're living with. It should have been me… I wonder if the Weasleys took you in. There would be nothing more Molly would have loved than to add another to her brood. If she's not mothering someone, she's not happy. I can't imagine that they'd put you with your mother's sister. I heard too many stories about her from James. He stared at the photograph of the newspaper, hungrily gazing at the family waving back at him. It wasn't the Weasleys that pulled him toward the photograph like lodestone. It was the small rodent riding on the youngest boy's shoulder. Dear Peter… If I ever get my hands on you, the smallest part of you they'll be able to find won't be a finger. They'll be lucky to find anything at all, you damned coward. The large black dog crouched in the empty top row of the stands, his eyes avidly following the game overhead. Harry was magnificent on his broom. Better than even James. The peal of thunder made him cringe. Padfoot didn't care for thunder overmuch. Neither did he like the bolt of lightening that streaked across the dark sky. He put his paws on the seat and howled his displeasure, as another bolt of lightening illuminated his fur. When Harry came floating down from the sky, Padfoot ran down the ground, keeping a pale eye on his godson from afar.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Dear Prongsie… You should see Harry fly! He's bloody brilliant! He would have caught the Snitch, too, if those goddamned Dementors hadn't come to the pitch. He should play for England someday. If he does, we'll have a legitimate shot at the World Cup. Can you imagine it, James…? Our Harry, wearing red and blue with the Union Jack, "Potter" and the number seven on the back of his robes. I think I might have startled him a little. I suppose he wouldn't remember me as Padfoot, would he? Probably not. Lily used to fuss at me for turning into my Animagus form around Harry. Seemed to think I'd give the boy fleas… As he helped Remus pack up his ever-increasing book collection to make the move to number twelve Grimmauld Place, Sirius' eye fell on a photograph of the four of them on James and Lily's wedding day – James, Lily, Remus, and himself. He picked it up and wiped a fine layer of dust off the frame. Dear Lily, I've always said how much Harry resembles James, but last week, I realized where I'd seen that steely resolve under everything else. I've seen it in you too many times to count, but the one time that stands out is the day after Harry was born. Nothing was going to hurt him, not if you could help it…  

TWENTY THREE – Stuffed Bunny

Ginny slipped into Lily's bedroom while Harry corralled the children to load them into the car. Cadbury sat forlorn on Lily's bed, propped up against her pillow. Ginny reached down and picked up the worn bunny, stroking the soft brown plush of one floppy ear. Even though she knew perfectly well why Lily had left the bunny in her bedroom, Ginny had a motive for coming up to fetch Cadbury. At some point, Lily might need his familiar comfort. It wasn't totally unprecedented in their family – Ginny could recall seeing the tiny green nose of George's stuffed dragon poking from the pocket of his trousers at school. And regardless of how eager Lily was to start school, they all experienced some measure of homesickness at some point. 'Ginny! Let's go! We're going to be late!' Harry yelled up the staircase. 'All right, I'm coming!' Ginny shouted back, tucking Cadbury into her bag, and running down the stairs. 'Relax, will you?' she said to Harry, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase. 'We're on time.' Harry held his watch out at Ginny's eye level. 'We're late,' he informed her. Ginny smiled, as she darted into the office and picked up a piece of parchment from the desk. 'We're not. I set your watch ahead twenty minutes.' 'You…' Harry gaped in astonishment at his wife. Ginny slipped the parchment into her bag and walked past Harry. 'Come on. We're going to be late, then.' She glanced over her shoulder. 'Is the boot closed?' 'Not yet.' Ginny smiled. 'Perfect…' 31 August 2019 Dear Lily, This is something of a tradition. Your dad did it for James and Al, and it's my turn to do it for you. When James started school, your dad thought it would be a good idea to pass along some things he'd learned. We split it up like this, because, well, frankly, there are things your father can't tell you that I can. First of all, finish school. I know there's a part of your dad that wishes he had. It might seem a long way off, but it'll be over before you know it.

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

It's all right to be homesick. And yes, you will be. Even though if you're anything like me, you won't want to admit it. There's no shame in admitting it, however. And there's no shame in admitting you need help with something. Something I wish I had learned a lot sooner. Don't feel like you have to pigeonhole yourself into doing something because it's what your brothers do – find out what you want to do. Do what makes you happy. That's what your grandmum told me, right before I started my seventh year. It was good advice. Make some friends outside the family. That might be a bit difficult, given how many of your cousins will be at school the same time as you. Your family will always be there when you need them, but sometimes, you need to be with other people. Be yourself. Be Lily and don't feel like you have to live up to anyone's preconceived notions about you based on the fact you're related to James and Al. Make your own decisions. Because, Lily, you will have to live with them. And, hopefully, your father and I have managed to help you understand it's the choices you make in life that ultimately determine who you are. Your father and I will always love you, Lily. You're our daughter. Nothing will ever change that. All my love, Mum Lily pulled a slim, leather-bound book from a shelf and it fell open to a much-creased letter tucked into the pages. She carried it to the desk, tucked into a corner of the flat and gently removed it, smoothing the creases. She pulled a clean piece of parchment toward her and held a quill suspended over it for a moment, her fingers tightening slightly. Tomorrow morning, she would put her eldest child on the train for school. With a sigh, she slowly lowered the quill. 31 August 2046 Dear Elizabeth…  

TWENTY FOUR – Mischief Managed

George dug though the clothes that were spilling out of the drawers of the small bureau. Half of them weren't his – they were Fred's. He was looking for his favorite jumper, one he'd bought with some of their first earnings when they opened the shop. Like most of his jumpers it was blue, but the hue of this one hovered around deep midnight blue. He wanted to wear it to the party Lee Jordan was throwing for New Year's Eve at the Leaky Cauldron. He tried to tell himself it wasn't an attempt to look good for Katie, but he knew Fred would be lying on his bed, howling in hysterical laughter at George's obvious attempt. His hand closed around soft cashmere and George pulled the jumper from the back of the drawer. A folded piece of parchment slipped from its folds and landed on the floor, one corner landing painfully on the top of George's foot. George bent and picked up the parchment, wondering who had folded it into his jumper. Just one word was scrawled across the front – George in Fred's untidy scribble. George ripped it open, hands trembling violently. 20 April 1998 Dear George... Obviously, if you're reading this bloody thing I'm worm food. If that's the case, I'm not going to turn this into some slush-fest. Makes me a bit queasy just thinking about it. At any rate, there are only two things I want to tell you, because I know you'd ask me about it if I was there. First of all, I think you should try and bring Ron into the shop. Keep it in the family. I know… He says he wants to be an Auror, file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

but after he gets done doing whatever it is he's doing with the Missus and the other half of his brain – if he survives, that is – it might be enough for him to be done with it all. At least offer it to him. Be patient with him, because well… He's Ickle Ronnikins, yeah? Knowing Ron, he'll cock something up royally more than once. Harry ought to have at least a twenty percent share of the shop. And if he doesn't come out of this alive, either, just… Find something he'd like and donate it every quarter. Or give it to the poor students' fund at Hogwarts. Either way, just find something that Harry would approve of. And buy Ginny a good broom for Quidditch. Merlin knows she'll need to have a good one. If things end well, she'll need a good one. I think she'll end up better than Charlie, and that'll be saying something, isn't it? The last thing I'm going to tell you, you gormless fool, is don't let Katie wait too long for you to get your head out of your arse. It's obvious you fancy her. And if I know you, you're going to dither about it and not tell her, deny it until you're blue in the face. But don't wait too long, eh? Birds like Katie don't come round too often. And Katie's not the type to fanny about waiting for a bloke to come to his senses. Mischief managed, bro. George slowly folded the letter and picked up the trousers lying across his bed. He slipped the thin rectangle of parchment into one of the pockets and pulled them on. He shook out the jumper and yanked it on over his head. 'Bloody git,' he mumbled, shoving his feet into his shoes. 'Still has to get the last word in…'   25 March 2020

TWENTY FIVE – When Plans Change

Dear Mum, I need to tell you something that will probably disappoint you, and I hope you'll be able to help Dad understand why I'm doing this. I don't want to start working in the Ministry straightaway when I finish school. To be honest, I don't really know what I want to do. The idea of going into international law makes me nauseated just now. After seven years of studying, jumping straight into three more years of studying like that makes me want to throw my books at the wall and run in the other direction screaming. Professor Moreno suggested I take a year off and try to figure out what it is I do want to do. I think I'd like to do that. The Muggles call it a "gap-year", I believe. I just don't want to let Dad down. I still intend to take all my N.E.W.T.s, so you shouldn't worry about that, and I promise I will do my best on them, despite my own ambivalence about how I shall use them. And I suppose you, Dad, and I will have to sit down during the Easter holiday and have a chat about all of this. I just wanted to warn you it was coming. I think Dad will take it better from you. Love, Parker Penelope Weasley smoothed the creases from Parker's letter and her fingertips drummed a thoughtful tattoo on the surface of the kitchen table. She had suspected something like this had been forthcoming. Parker was so earnest and so anxious to please both her and Percy, that she had feared Parker was going to place himself on a path that would make him unhappy. If not now, then in the future. When he'd come home for the Christmas holiday, she'd fussed over him. Exclaimed over the shadows under his eyes and how he picked at his meals, more often than not gently tugging the book away from his hand and replacing it with a fork. Penny recognized the signs of a burnout. She'd done it herself in school and was grateful to take a low-level position as someone's assistant in the Ministry. It required little original thought on her part and was almost refreshing mentally. By the time the war had broken out, she had only begun to rediscover her intellect, using it to spy for the Order. After she'd married

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

Percy, Penny had been somewhat shocked to find she didn't want to return to work. She stayed on for another year, then quit in order to stay home with Parker. Percy hadn't commented on it, but seemed to accept it was what made her happy. He'd neither attempted to convince her to stay home, nor to return to work when Parker was old enough to begin primary school. This was an entirely different situation. Percy already had Parker's paperwork to work at the Ministry ready to go, sitting in a folder on his desk. He'd been looking forward to Parker joining him at the Ministry since the day he'd taken him to work one day when Parker was five years old. Parker perched on a tall stool behind the desk next to Percy, busily scribbling on scraps of parchment, dressed in a miniature version of Percy's neat robes. When they'd put him to bed that night, Parker had said, 'Daddy, when I'm grown up, I'm going to come work with you!' Percy had smiled and patted his son's curly head. Penny saw the brief pang in his eyes, and knew he was thinking about the years he had seen his own father every day and ignored him each and every time their paths crossed. 'Where are the boys?' Percy asked, setting his briefcase next to the door. Penny glanced up from the letter. 'Oh… They're at my mum's.' 'Is that wise?' Percy asked dryly. 'So they'll rot their brains in front of the telly for an hour.' Penny shrugged. 'It won't kill them.' Percy shook his head. He'd seen the televisions in Ron and Hermione's flat and Harry and Ginny's house and had been deeply suspicious of them at first. 'We've gotten a letter from Parker,' she said, trying to make her voice bright and cheery. 'Oh?' Percy eagerly reached for it, only to have Penny snatch it away. 'I think you ought to sit down first,' she warned. 'Why? Did he set off a Deflagration Deluxe in the middle of class?' 'Of course not.' Penny motioned for Percy to sit. 'I really think you ought to sit down.' She suddenly waved her wand at the cupboard and a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhisky landed between them, along with a small glass. 'And perhaps a drink.' 'Penny, what's going on?' Percy asked tightly, pushing the bottle aside. Penny tried to tell him what Parker had written, and instead, merely pushed the letter to him. 'You should read it.' Frowning, Percy took the parchment and read it. He closed his eyes, then opened them, reading the letter once more, in the hopes it would say something different, but the words were the same. Everything he'd wanted and dreamed for Parker was drifting away. He set the letter on the table, and reached for the bottle, pouring a few fingers' worth of whisky into the glass, tossing the whisky back with an economy of motion. He looked at Penny and abruptly pushed his chair back, clattering up the stairs. Penny waited a few minutes, then followed him. She found him sitting on the edge of the bed in Parker's bedroom, cradling a photograph of the two of them behind Percy's desk from that long-ago day in the Ministry. Percy's photographic self couldn't help glancing down at his son with undisguised pride. 'Perce?' She joined him on the bed. 'Yes, I know,' Percy mumbled. 'The Ministry isn't for everyone. He'd just be so good at international law and diplomacy…' 'He would,' Penny said softly. 'But you know Parker… He'd do anything for you if he thought it would make you happy. However, he needs to do something for himself and figure out what makes him happy.' 'I just wanted…' Percy choked. 'I know,' Penny soothed. 'And you should talk to him when he comes home. You. Not me.' 'Why?' 'Because it's you he's always worked so hard to please. Even if you don't entirely agree with him or his wish to take a year off, you have to let him know you're all right with it. And you have to be all right with it. For his sake.' Penny paused, unwilling to bring up unpleasant memories, but plowed ahead. 'And think about how different it might have been, had you been able to do the same,' she added delicately, before sliding off the bed. 'I'll just go and fetch the boys.'

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]

She left the room, leaving Percy to his thoughts. Percy traced Parker's round cheeks in the photograph, grudgingly admitting to himself Penny was right.    

file:///C|/Users/user/Documents/fanfic/Letters.htm[26/02/2011 15:36:55]