Disclaimer: I don't claim to own these characters. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and Pushkin.
Correspondence
Chapter Two – Hermione's Letter
It is late and I am alone in the common room. The rest of my housemates are asleep in their beds, but I can't sleep. Not yet. Not ever, perhaps, if I can't find it within me to do what I must. In my remaining minutes and hours here, I have come to realise that this is the only way.
Why did you have to come back to Hogwarts? Why did you come back here after all that's happened? I know it wasn't part of your sentence, and I'm certain that N.E.W.T.s weren't your motivation. I've tried and tried to work it out but failed to come up with any satisfactory answers. If this last year has held some value, some purpose invisible to everyone but you, then perhaps it has done some good, on balance. I sincerely hope that what follows doesn't destroy that, in your eyes.
Believe me when I say that writing you this letter is the last thing I wanted. I've done everything in my power to avoid it, to no avail; I've held my tongue in the hopes that my feelings would change, but they have not. I'm at my wits' end, but this was never a question of wit, I know now. By writing to you, I am putting myself at your mercy: if you so choose, you can use these words to punish me in a hundred mortifying ways. But my fear of what you may do is nothing compared to my fear of what I will become if I let myself run from this, what should be the greatest magic there is. In this, of all things, I refuse to be a coward. Which is why you must know that I'm in love with you. I have been for months. If you are tempted to speculate on the origins and motives behind this, don't. It's a pointless exercise. The workings of the human heart are governed by powerful forces, of which logic isn't one. My heart is no different. For all the reasons there are to love you, as I do, I can easily list twice as many reasons to hate you. Yet it is love, not hate, that I feel. Love, not hate, permeates my waking and unwaking thoughts, influencing my every word and deed. Hating you is no longer an option for me; I don't think it ever was.
I expect nothing from you. In fact, I would prefer no response whatsoever, if that is also your wish. By reading this letter and knowing the truth of my feelings, however briefly, you have already exceeded any expectations I could possibly have.
I wish you every happiness in life, and I hope that someday you experience the wonderful terror of loving someone as I do you.
Hermione J. Granger