Sorrow Nonetheless
A/N: This is actually a real
entry in my, er, diary. Depression always leads me to writing
extensive compositions while studying for complex, four-syllable
words. (You'll have to excuse this.) Upon completion of this
entry I read it again, and with surprise noted that Hermione
could write the very same thing if she were to hold deep
affection for Harry, and if Cho were to suddenly return
Harry's attachment. I have changed very few things, like the
names (i.e. Time magazine to Witch Weekly), and adjusted some
personality-concerned stuff. But essentially it's the
same To clear a few things up: This letter was supposedly
written before the start of seventh year, in which, as Mio will
tell you soon, Hermione will be going to Beauxbatons. Emma is her
Muggle friend, or maybe cousin, whom she trusts more than anyone
else. Lavender has access to a phone in this one, by the way.
Disclaimer: The characters used
below belong to Mrs J. K. Rowling. Some quotes are taken from
books, like the second paragraph and last sentence being from my
favourite tome. Also, there are a few references to Sense and
Sensibility, a first novel by my favourite author. The idea of
sending Hermione to Beauxbatons belongs to some author, the name
of whom I forgot.
Sorrow Nonetheless
My dearest confidante Emma,
I'm ever so sorry to have
written only now; personal issues that will later in this message
be related to you were the cause of such a delay. In advance I
must apologise; in my consternation and hurry (I must leave for
King's Cross today) I cannot arrange my sentences properly,
and you will have to content yourself with my influent accounts.
Sorrow comes. A gentle, somewhat
baseless sorrow, but sorrow nonetheless.
I have received news from a
reliable, though fairly perverted, source, that Cho Chang has
begun to accumulate a certain interest in my best friend, Harry
Potter. For the previous twelvemonths I have written you enough
letters regarding the two of them and Harry's unrequited
passion for the older, dark-haired girl, for you to be aware of
my hidden animosity for her and my feelings for him. Surely you
know what this new bit of information means?
Grief is beyond expression.
Someone unfamiliar with the events of the last year concerning
Harry, Cho and myself will doubtless not comprehend the tumult of
my emotions and the reasons I have for having sobbed at the
telephone when I was speaking with my informer. (She, of course
noticed, but attributed my tears to the picture show I was
viewing at the moment; deep, sincere concern for another is
atypical of Miss Lavender Brown, who began speaking of highly
lascivious articles in Witch Weekly after telling me.) You
of course are one of the lucky few who are unaware of all that,
and I am sorry to say that your ignorance must no longer be. Or
at least your unawareness of the full gravity of my situation
must dissipate, for I am not in proper humour to recount all
those important affairs in the previous year in good detail, for
they pain me. Very much.
I will be vague in my account,
then; this may occasion you with more than slight surprise, but
Harry knows of my feelings. Misses Lavender Brown and
Parvati Patil, my insufferable roommates, had told him so.
Fortunately Harry did not seem to mind at all, and my fears that
this would destroy our completely platonic acquaintance were
assuaged when he did not react very drastically to it. I assume
this was so because Harry, whom as you know is the most famous
wizard below twenty alive, is so very used to having girls
obsessing over himself. He finds it annoying, but it does not
bother him so very greatly as to be repulsed at me for liking him
so. (Though he did ask, with a rather joking look to his
countenance, why I would regard him so affectionately. Needless
to say I could not answer.) I've not told you this—I
mean Harry's knowledge of my fondness—for shame of my
carelessness of keeping such an important piece of information to
myself; I had been so obvious in my admiration as to have
unconsciously informed my giddy dorm mates of my regard. Now I
must apologise to you for having kept it a secret from
the best friend that ever walked the planet.
Still, thanks to the babbling
mouths of Parvati and Lavender, the whole school knows of my
affections. It was quite humiliating, and I will not give you
details as to how greatly I suffered, for merely thinking of it
pains me so much I can barely breathe properly.
To make matters worse, this was
the very year Harry had finally (though I suspect not very
fluently) told Cho of his feelings for her. Cho was very much
flattered, indeed, but told him in no uncertain terms that she
did not return his attraction. Harry, who (bless him) had told me
that he had not expected her to anyway, had bid her good-bye (she
graduated almost immediately after) with a saddened heart, though
one expectant of sure recovery. Privately, I confess, I had been
rather glad at the assurance of Cho's not liking Harry the
same way, but it was so very selfish of me to feel so, and I did
not acknowledge such emotions any further.
I must end these recollections
here. I am on the verge of casting a potentially dangerous curse
on myself and, wishing to avoid injury that may prevent me from
going on the exchange student trip, am to inform you of how
Lavender Brown found out and called me right before term started
instead. As you know, Harry's godfather and my very good
friend, Sirius Black, has offered to take my beloved under his
wing by adopting him. Fortunately for Harry and unfortunately for
me, they had taken residence in a village called Godric's
Hollow, in an abode very close to the Changs', which in turn
rested near the Brown residence. Lavender, being the very sly,
artful gossiper she is, somehow received news of this very
personal sort.
This whole thing should occasion
me not too much distress, for I am, as you very well know, going
on an exchange trip to another magical institute along with (to
my repulsion) Draco Malfoy for the next two semesters (supposedly
my—our final ones in a magical school). —Thus I
am not going to have too many opportunities to see and pine after
my best friend again until a very long spell has passed, for I am
to attend magical grad school for the next few twelvemonths. (In
fact there is an immense possibility that we may never meet
again, for regrettably the closeness in our friendship has
started to fade. Of not seeing him too oft I am not too sorry,
for separation as such might be useful in dissipating my romantic
regard of him.) But I, as a girl of that age in which feminine
emotions and proper sense begin to appear antonymous, am afraid
that it indeed does. I had long hoped, as anyone in love does
wish of his or her beloved, that he, namely Harry, would return
my affections. He had clearly no intention of doing so, and
though I have to admit that this caused (and does cause) a great
deal of agony, I have grown, though rather gradually, to accept
it. Still at times of great desperation I cannot help but wish
that one day, when I am tall and slim and have long glorious hair
(all this the work of perhaps a year of studying magical beauty)
he would notice me and finally esteem me; for a lovely appearance
is all that is wanting of me.
That is of course in his
standard of perfection. Cho is his idea of impeccable; of this I
have no doubt. Therefore I think I am correct in saying that
outward beauty is the only thing wanting; after all, Cho is very
like me in behaviour. Her conceit and mine are very much there
and alike, are they not? She thinks very highly of herself, and I
do as well. (This conclusion comes from other individuals'
comments, for obviously any conceited person is not aware of his
or her conceit. However the part of my conscience that I from
years of experience have learned to recognise as the most just,
unprejudiced one has told me that I am rather vainglorious.) Cho
and I are both great academic achievers and artists (though she
is more esteemed than I am in those categories not for the actual
amount of talent but for her physique). Her physical flexibility
and capabilities in sports my extensive knowledge of various
topics and impressive literary work, judging from my peers and
age, makes up for. (I beg you not to judge this as a semblance of
conceit, as this corollary was likewise derived from the fair
part of my brain. Compared with writing of others my age, is not
what I put to paper considerably more expressive and eloquent
than theirs?)
I shall arrive at my point very
soon. Please be patient with this so emotionally oppressed of
hearts. (A/N I wrote that, yes, and it perhaps needed removal,
but I couldn't take it out. Sorry!)
If I look at it in a sensible
prospect, I will surely admit that I have no more chances of a
romantic relationship with him, what with the best friend thing
and the fact that I'm not sure if I'll ever see him again. I had
failed to contort myself into his conviction of supremacy, and
must deal with the pains such negligence of chief pursuits
brings. But the romantic, insensible, Marianne-esque part of me
refuses to lose hope of ever winning his heart, and keeps telling
me that someday he will love me for who I am.
The frail hopes of such are
dashed by the information of the mutuality of Harry's and
Cho's affections. This is immensely pathetic of me, but with
her as my rival, I stand as much of a chance with Harry as a
snowball has in the fiery tongues of the Underworld. Did that
make sense, dearest Emma? I, so famous for my rationality and
easy composure, suddenly feel I may go insane. Embittered, I had
found myself earlier today, while preparing my things for my year
at Beauxbatons School, crying inconsolably and violently throwing
Harry's framed picture, which was before so loved and
treasured, against the wall. It was done so vehemently that the
glass had shattered and the Harry in this moving wizard picture
was cut in half, as well as the frame itself and the backing.
It is amazing that the whole
point of this excruciatingly long letter was stated in just one
paragraph; the one above. For this I must apologise—you
could have just read that section above without enduring the rest
of the letter.
Dear friend, what am I to do? I
never before knew the meaning of inconsolable', and
this personal experience to show me its definition is not exactly
one I am very fond of enduring. It is not as violent and angry an
emotion as a broken heart (which I had regrettably experienced
before), but I feel is merely a deep sadness no amount of
reproach against the supposed offender or consolation from anyone
can subside.
Dear God, Emma, if you could see
me now I am but a lovesick fool, something I had resolved
as a child never to fall prey to be! Am I so jealous of Cho as to
be so mortified at the prospect, at the mere thought of
what she and Harry might do when I am gone to grad school? For
there is no guarantee at all that they will get
together But the biting possibilities make me extremely
uneasy. Jealousy, perhaps, other than depression, is the most
prominent of my emotions. I did not care at all when Parvati and
Lavender shared this crush on Harry, but knowing of Cho Chang's
feelings is somehow different. Why is that? Perhaps it is because
Harry likes her too... Why is it that I am relieved as to not
have to face Harry on the train today? Oh, how pathetic you must
think me! I know, because I myself think I am pitiable and
wretched. Abandoning my study for four-syllable words, why am
I making such a big deal out of this?
Lavender Brown, immediately
after informing me of Cho Chang's change of heart (and this
before the excruciating excerpts from her magazines), had asked
me what I thought of it. Assuming a voice of forced calm I tried
to put to words with what emotions I regarded it, besides
dejection and fervent hopes that Harry's fondness of her had
not survived the past year
Harry is just too great a
boy, that it is impossible for any girl to really hate him. Even
Slytherin (the supposed evil' house here) females
would agree to that. What else would you look for in a person?
He's thoughtful, and modest (too modest sometimes,
actually), brave, heroic, and naturally intelligent; and his
occasional reserve stems only from deep oppression rather than an
insult to propriety or any intrinsic gloominess of temper. And
despite of my deep repulsion of the girl, I really don't want to
blame Miss Chang for liking him, even though she is unwittingly
destroying every prospect of happiness for me in the future. In
fact I wonder why she did not want him before. --He is so
perfect, despite all his flaws, that the good opinion of everyone
of his disposition is justified. If you yourself were to meet
him, Emma, have no doubt that you will instantly take a liking to
him.
I am increasingly sorry that
Lavender told me of this at all, for I could have lived without
hearing it as you could have lived without taking pains to read
this letter. Thanks ever so much for perusing it for me, and I
will thank you in advance for your reply, for I know your
disposition so well as to be sure that you will send me one as
soon as possible. And you will no doubt have your say in this
matter. Emma, please do write to me, and make me comfortable
again
Your friend,
Hermione Granger
A/N: I am well aware that very
few people talk like that. I do, and there's nothing you can do
about it! ::pouts insolently:: Frankly, I do not care if anyone
appreciates this or not. It was not an effort at a fic to begin
with, and you mustn't blame me if it is so very bad. Review or
don't review -- but I do prefer the former.
