Letters to the Happy Couple

"Would it have been worthwhile
If one, settling on a pillow or throwing off a shawl
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all'" -T. S. Eliot

White. Red. Black. These were the only things Remus could see, unless he concentrated very hard and painfully; swirls of color shot through with late afternoon light. This time of the day had always made him feel sad and introspective: the waning of the light, the dying of the day. It meant that night was coming, but more than that, it seemed almost a betrayal.

The air near him, which before had been filled with muted sounds of merriment, was suddenly sliced through with the chink of another person's wine glass tapping his own, clutched in his hand on the tabletop in front of him. More black entered his vision, and he forced his eyes to focus on the man who had flopped down into the chair across the small round table.

"Well, Professor, what is your educated opinion?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Hm?"

Harry looked over at him, smiling slightly. "What do you think of this fine match? Wedded bliss, or statistical time bomb?"

"Oh, they'll have a wonderful life. Arguing 'til death do they part."

The younger man laughed. "That's somewhere along the lines of what I was thinking. But you can't dispute the value of a good makeup session."

"Oh, Merlin, I don't care to be thinking about that at the moment," Remus groaned.

"It is rather strange, isn't it? I mean, it's been obvious for some time, of course. Maybe that's why it's so difficult to believe it's actually happening."

At that moment, the music stopped in the background and Arthur Weasley was seen on the small stage, stepping up to the microphone (arranged for the benefit of Hermione's family, the use of which delighted Arthur) and shouting into it, causing a screech to fill the crowd.

"Oh, so sorry. Wasn't sure how well it was going to work. Right, at this time, we'd like to invite all the guests to take part in the traditional letters ceremony. To explain to those who are not familiar with this, the task is to write a letter or note or even simply a few words on one of the parchments on this table in front of me and place it in the baskets. There are no rules as to what you may say; anything you like, be it advice, well wishes, or something you've always wanted to tell the bride or groom, is acceptable. The couple will then read all of them at a later time. This event has been a cherished part of Weasley weddings for quite some time and has sometimes proved very useful." He chuckled. "Molly and I received one that ordered us to "have lots and lots of babies."

The whole crowd laughed at this, and some began to head to the table next to the stage, on which were placed two frilly baskets, one black and one white, a pile of parchments, and several quills.

Remus leaned back in his seat, contemplating. He knew perfectly well what he'd like to say, and thought it was a perfect opportunity. After all, someone was advising him to tell her, in writing, what he'd wanted to tell her for some time. Only a fool could argue with the pushy hand of Fate.

He was, of course, very drunk by this time, which was no small feat for a werewolf's metabolism. Incidentally, while this had all the same effects on one's good judgment and rational thinking that it would have on most people, it also caused an unusual thing to happen to Remus.

He stood up suddenly from his chair, wobbling ever so slightly. Harry glanced at him as he made to head for the front table and, noticing his state, stood to pull him back into his chair.

"Hold up, mate, I don't think you want to be doing that at the moment. You never know, even you might say things you regret."

"Ah, yes, young Harry, it may appear to be so to the viewer unacquainted with the drinking habits of this particular guest. But, as you will surely notice, my vocabulary remains, at the moment, wholly unspoiled by the effects of alcohol." He winked at Harry. "After all, the best work of an artist is often done at his lowest moments."

Harry considered holding him back again, as he stood once more and turned in the direction of the table. But he decided against it as he realized that he didn't know if Lupin was at all violent when drunk. He didn't care to find out at the mercy of werewolf strength.

"Trust the professor to get wordy while sloshed." Shaking his head, he got up to seek out Hermione for a dance.

Remus wandered slowly to the little white table, where the white basket sat. If he thought hard enough, it almost seemed like Hermione herself there, beckoning his thoughts to her. Next to it was a similar black basket.

Slowly and carefully, he picked up a sheet of parchment and a quill and headed to a nearby vacant table to think.

Many times, he shifted to get up and return the materials to their place. What right did he have to be saying these things to her? This was her wedding day, for Merlin's sake!

But once the thoughts began to flow, he found it impossible to stop them from making themselves known. Some time later, as he was reaching out a hand to carefully place his thoughts in the appropriate basket, he felt a hand on his arm.

Watch them as they go round.

Remus whirled to find Hermione standing there beside him. Unfortunately, the whirling made him feel woozy, so he clutched the little table and Hermione's arm for support. Hermione laughed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" She put out a hand to steady him again.

"No, no, it's quite all right," Remus replied clearly. "Apparently, I might have had too much to drink, despite what I told Mr. Potter a minute ago."

"Oh, that's a shame, I was hoping you'd care to dance with me. I haven't yet had the honor, you know." She looked at him expectantly.

"Well...one can make exceptions for an activity that involves swaying anyway. I'd love to."

Momentarily distracted, Remus, in his state, had forgotten about his letter, leaving it lying on the table as he was led onto the dance floor.

Later, after Remus had been put in a taxi and sent home, no one trusting his Apparating or flooing skills in his state, Harry was helping the Weasleys clean the area under the huge white tent.

"Well, mate," Arthur sighed, walking up to Harry with an armload of odds and ends. "I think that's the last of it. Why don't you go home, we can handle the tent."

"All right, Mr. Weasley. And congratulations again." Harry yawned and headed toward the Apparating field.

He stopped as he felt something crunch slightly under his dress shoe. Looking down, he saw a square of parchment covered with what was definitely a wobblier version of Remus's handwriting. Glancing around, Harry bent to pick it up, thought against reading it, then decided he'd better, just in case. After all, he knew what it was. He wondered if he had always known.

Dear Hermione,

You're beautiful tonight. You've always been a pretty girl, despite what you may believe, but I've always said that you would make a very beautiful woman. Your hair is shining from across the room as I pen this letter, probably an awful mistake, but there it is.

You appeared at a time when my life was beginning to make less and less sense. Of course, you've always had a certain knack for exhibiting quite a bit of that, a fact I noticed right away. I found strength during that confusing year in your intelligence and your fortitude, which counteracted the weakness I felt whenever I looked at Harry, with Lily's eyes in James's face. I think now that I knew you were aware of my...situation. Knowing that you still respected me and valued my teachings and opinions when you knew that most disturbing of things about me gave me such great faith in the ability of humankind to accept me for what I am. It enabled me, above all other things, to make it through the uncertainty and pain of the trial of that time.

Later in your life, you continued (and still do continue) to exemplify these same virtues and more than these, consequently and steadfastly taking my side against all the things I despised about people and their natures. But aside from that, you have always been intelligent and kind, willing to discuss with me for hours on end things that might not seem worthwhile to others. We share such an appreciation for such similar things that I've always felt an incredible bond between us. What I fear most in the world right now is that you never felt it.

What I'm trying to say, what I've tried to say for years, now that I've suddenly found myself far, far too late, is that I love you. I've loved you longer than I can say. I apologize if this comes as a shock and wouldn't wish you any discomfort or unhappiness in the world because of it, but it needs to be said almost as much as I need to forget it.

I know that you, with your caring and often guilty nature, will be worried, despite my advice against such an occasion. So I beg you, don't mention this. Don't ever tell Ron; he doesn't need to know, for there is no danger for him. And please, whatever you do, don't worry about me. As long as you're still there for me to talk to, to laugh with and share ideas with, I'll be just fine. But I couldn't go through the rest of my life unsure of your knowledge of this. Since I won't get to say it anywhere else, I'll say it again: I love you, Hermione. As cliché as it sounds, you mean the world to me.

Best of happiness,

Remus Lupin

Harry sighed. Good God, the man couldn't catch a break. Poor Remus.

He resolved to check up on him before returning to his flat that night and tucked the letter into his pocket. He'd keep it, just in case. He might even show it to Hermione some day.

Of course, Hermione never mentioned it, but Remus felt better after that, knowing that she knew.