Summary: [Post OOTP] Sometimes the most comforting things come later in life, especially in the way of a letter.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
ANs: Don't ask me why I keep on writing Post-OOTP stuff that has to deal with Harry and letters. I just have no clue. I was doodling on a piece of paper, a random drawing of Lily and Harry, and then finally James hit the paper. And then words for a "supposed" letter came. And after I read what I wrote, I thought, "Hey, that would make an interesting fic." So here it is. Enjoy!
(Yes, the writing style is deliberate. And you'll see why. lol)
*THIS IS NOT SEVERITUS. lol Even if I do like those kinds of fics, it isn't.*
Harry was resting in his bed this summer night. He was sweating due to the tremendous heat, and his covers tossed aside. He was trying to recover from a nightmare received not too long ago: two hours in fact. He turned to face his clock: three o'clock was written in bold numbers. He sighed.
He got up from his bed, still a confused mess, and sat in front of his desk. But staring at blank wall seemed to make every little sound the swish of the veil, placing the last Black within its depths.
Harry got up and moved the chair near the window, where the moon was blaringly full. He wondered about Lupin and how he was coping. 'Not too well, I expect,' he thought. 'I guess he's about as I am, isn't he? Losing his only friend...but at least he didn't get him killed.'
He sighed deploringly as a tiny voice rose within him. 'But Lupin was trying to save you! Shouldn't you give him some sympathy?'
But he ignored it. He didn't even bother fighting it. All the anger left from the day he was in Dumbledore's office faded into a dull numbing sensation. The adrenaline was gone; leaving him a tired shell of nothing. Sirius was gone.
What else could he do now? Fighting off Voldie might give him some revenge, but what would that be? Fulfilling the prophecy and getting vengeance in the end wasn't really worthwhile.
It made him feel used, and tired. He hung limp in his seat. 'Very very tired', he thought.
He stared out towards the sky, up at the moon, as if her light could ease his pain. As he watched and stared, he felt like he was moving, oh so moving, into a hole that grew bigger and bigger. But then he stopped moving, and saw perched on the window sill was an owl.
Harry blinked and stared at the owl, as if trying to confirm something. Is it his? Who was this owl? The owl nodded gently, but ever so oddly against his cautiousness. Harry moved toward the envelope and stared at its cover, slightly yellowed, but not so much. In neat printing it wrote "To Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter of Godric's Hollow".
Harry wondered. Was this something, like a testament or a will for him? His sixteenth birthday was not so far along after all. Maybe he would get some kind of reminder of some place his parents lived or something! But then the excitement which rose in him was battling with the pummel of his heart beating, when he remembered, 'Maybe it's a ploy from Voldemort.'
Nevertheless, he took it, and gently opened it, looking at the Potter seal, with its lovely wax imprint and intricate design...over a shield, with a lion and a fleur-de-lis...Little tiny words made out a motto, and the only words distinguishable: Potter.
It was unstoppable this madness, the battle raging on; this rocking power within him. The battle could end, almost as if the reinforcements glittered in the distance, longing and reaching. 'But could they make it in time?' his heart told him.
He took the chance, he took the risk. This was the time between living and death.
He slid the letter out of its confines, opening the first page. Wild, thumping, stomping...
In violet ink, it read:
To my dear son, Harry.
You do not know how wonderful it is to be writing to you, but I fear, yes, I fear, this may only reach you if we are dead.
I feel like I cannot tell you this without tears coming through my eyes. But I must Harry. I must.
We were told one day of a prophecy that would be imposed upon ourselves into the possibility of death. Oh, Harry, I didn't know what to say then. You were born just a few days previous to this warning, and we were forced into hiding. I cannot bear to give you the news if you are indeed still alive.
Our hearts weep for you, if you are indeed alive; for I can't see how you can still live without us. Maybe that's my own doubts talking.
Your father wants me to tell you not to give up, and keep flying. He thinks you'll get his flying skills. I hope so too.
Please do not cry anymore, Harry. We love you and we know you must fulfill the prophecy. But I fear Sirius might have done something rash, or will if we have managed to get ourselves into death.
If you are, we want you to know we still love you. (no matter how repetitive it is...I believe it's ok to say so. You need it. We all need it.) And if we are indeed gone, hopefully Sirius may give this, or possibly Remus. But Sirius and Remus have been troubled with themselves lately.
Please, listen to me. This is your only chance, your only hope. Only you can, Harry.
We love you.
- Mum and Dad -
xoxoxo
PS- Yo, munchkin. Please, listen to what your Mum says. We really mean it, even if it does sound sentimental (like she can be). We are not sure we will make it alive, and your mother is preparing herself and so am I. We are ready to protect you as we can in our state. But if we're gone, I am sure our love will still reach to you.
Don't tell your Mum, but I charmed the parchment to record our voices singing a lullaby to you. It's a good bit of charmwork I daresay, and once you read this line, it'll start playing, but not too loud. We love you son. We truly do. -Dad
Upon this, Harry was in tears. Her voice was soothing as the words for "Rockabye Baby" were a calm melody to his soul. He could hear his own father singing in, and it seemed it took him lots of songs from the couple to coax him into sleep.
Harry smiled as he wiped the tears on his sleeve. He gazed up to give thanks to the owl, but it was gone.
Placing the letter back into the envelope, he placed it near his album, which fell from the desk. Picking it up, Harry saw the smiling faces of the Potters' own wedding. Sirius, smiling and laughing; James and Lily so content, their faces a glow... Harry traced their faces under his fingertips, grinning lovingly. 'His parents and Sirius...alive and happy.'
For once, he didn't feel sadness and contempt.
Shutting the album he took the envelope and gently shoved it in between the sheets, like a bookmark.
As he tucked himself in bed, he dreamed of sweet memories and lullabies from loving parents.
But most of all, he woke up, and was numb no more.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
ANs: Don't ask me why I keep on writing Post-OOTP stuff that has to deal with Harry and letters. I just have no clue. I was doodling on a piece of paper, a random drawing of Lily and Harry, and then finally James hit the paper. And then words for a "supposed" letter came. And after I read what I wrote, I thought, "Hey, that would make an interesting fic." So here it is. Enjoy!
(Yes, the writing style is deliberate. And you'll see why. lol)
*THIS IS NOT SEVERITUS. lol Even if I do like those kinds of fics, it isn't.*
Harry was resting in his bed this summer night. He was sweating due to the tremendous heat, and his covers tossed aside. He was trying to recover from a nightmare received not too long ago: two hours in fact. He turned to face his clock: three o'clock was written in bold numbers. He sighed.
He got up from his bed, still a confused mess, and sat in front of his desk. But staring at blank wall seemed to make every little sound the swish of the veil, placing the last Black within its depths.
Harry got up and moved the chair near the window, where the moon was blaringly full. He wondered about Lupin and how he was coping. 'Not too well, I expect,' he thought. 'I guess he's about as I am, isn't he? Losing his only friend...but at least he didn't get him killed.'
He sighed deploringly as a tiny voice rose within him. 'But Lupin was trying to save you! Shouldn't you give him some sympathy?'
But he ignored it. He didn't even bother fighting it. All the anger left from the day he was in Dumbledore's office faded into a dull numbing sensation. The adrenaline was gone; leaving him a tired shell of nothing. Sirius was gone.
What else could he do now? Fighting off Voldie might give him some revenge, but what would that be? Fulfilling the prophecy and getting vengeance in the end wasn't really worthwhile.
It made him feel used, and tired. He hung limp in his seat. 'Very very tired', he thought.
He stared out towards the sky, up at the moon, as if her light could ease his pain. As he watched and stared, he felt like he was moving, oh so moving, into a hole that grew bigger and bigger. But then he stopped moving, and saw perched on the window sill was an owl.
Harry blinked and stared at the owl, as if trying to confirm something. Is it his? Who was this owl? The owl nodded gently, but ever so oddly against his cautiousness. Harry moved toward the envelope and stared at its cover, slightly yellowed, but not so much. In neat printing it wrote "To Harry James Potter, son of Lily and James Potter of Godric's Hollow".
Harry wondered. Was this something, like a testament or a will for him? His sixteenth birthday was not so far along after all. Maybe he would get some kind of reminder of some place his parents lived or something! But then the excitement which rose in him was battling with the pummel of his heart beating, when he remembered, 'Maybe it's a ploy from Voldemort.'
Nevertheless, he took it, and gently opened it, looking at the Potter seal, with its lovely wax imprint and intricate design...over a shield, with a lion and a fleur-de-lis...Little tiny words made out a motto, and the only words distinguishable: Potter.
It was unstoppable this madness, the battle raging on; this rocking power within him. The battle could end, almost as if the reinforcements glittered in the distance, longing and reaching. 'But could they make it in time?' his heart told him.
He took the chance, he took the risk. This was the time between living and death.
He slid the letter out of its confines, opening the first page. Wild, thumping, stomping...
In violet ink, it read:
To my dear son, Harry.
You do not know how wonderful it is to be writing to you, but I fear, yes, I fear, this may only reach you if we are dead.
I feel like I cannot tell you this without tears coming through my eyes. But I must Harry. I must.
We were told one day of a prophecy that would be imposed upon ourselves into the possibility of death. Oh, Harry, I didn't know what to say then. You were born just a few days previous to this warning, and we were forced into hiding. I cannot bear to give you the news if you are indeed still alive.
Our hearts weep for you, if you are indeed alive; for I can't see how you can still live without us. Maybe that's my own doubts talking.
Your father wants me to tell you not to give up, and keep flying. He thinks you'll get his flying skills. I hope so too.
Please do not cry anymore, Harry. We love you and we know you must fulfill the prophecy. But I fear Sirius might have done something rash, or will if we have managed to get ourselves into death.
If you are, we want you to know we still love you. (no matter how repetitive it is...I believe it's ok to say so. You need it. We all need it.) And if we are indeed gone, hopefully Sirius may give this, or possibly Remus. But Sirius and Remus have been troubled with themselves lately.
Please, listen to me. This is your only chance, your only hope. Only you can, Harry.
We love you.
- Mum and Dad -
xoxoxo
PS- Yo, munchkin. Please, listen to what your Mum says. We really mean it, even if it does sound sentimental (like she can be). We are not sure we will make it alive, and your mother is preparing herself and so am I. We are ready to protect you as we can in our state. But if we're gone, I am sure our love will still reach to you.
Don't tell your Mum, but I charmed the parchment to record our voices singing a lullaby to you. It's a good bit of charmwork I daresay, and once you read this line, it'll start playing, but not too loud. We love you son. We truly do. -Dad
Upon this, Harry was in tears. Her voice was soothing as the words for "Rockabye Baby" were a calm melody to his soul. He could hear his own father singing in, and it seemed it took him lots of songs from the couple to coax him into sleep.
Harry smiled as he wiped the tears on his sleeve. He gazed up to give thanks to the owl, but it was gone.
Placing the letter back into the envelope, he placed it near his album, which fell from the desk. Picking it up, Harry saw the smiling faces of the Potters' own wedding. Sirius, smiling and laughing; James and Lily so content, their faces a glow... Harry traced their faces under his fingertips, grinning lovingly. 'His parents and Sirius...alive and happy.'
For once, he didn't feel sadness and contempt.
Shutting the album he took the envelope and gently shoved it in between the sheets, like a bookmark.
As he tucked himself in bed, he dreamed of sweet memories and lullabies from loving parents.
But most of all, he woke up, and was numb no more.