Her Third Postcard
Village
Hermione had called up the administration staff at Hogwarts, but they had yielded no answers about the identity of the sender. They were just as puzzled as her, and did not recall anyone mailing out postcards. They had checked all correspondences sent out of the castle, and assured her there were none being addressed to her house by an "L.V".
Her week went by in her usual routine of attending classes at university, working at her part-time job at the local book store, and catching up with Harry, Ron and Ginny. In her free time, she thinks of other ways to trace back the postcards. Studying them, after all, is her speciality.
She warms herself by the heater on the floor, and clicking open a soft-leathered suitcase, spreads out her entire collection of postcards. They are then sorted into categories based on their location and date of purchase. Paris, Madrid, Istanbul and beyond, a postcard or two from each site she has travelled in her life so far.
From the village of Hogsmeade however, she had bought only a couple of cards, from exactly two shops. Perhaps she will contact the shop owners to inquire into who had been buying their postcards recently.
Crookshanks meows and rolls down next to her, and Hermione pets her between the ears, cooing to the the flame coloured cat to ask if he had eaten his food.
Her phone beeps on the counter, and she gets up to check the notification.
There's a text from Ron. She smiles to herself. For a while now she's had feelings for him, she admitted them to herself the moment he started going out with Lavender. But they were over now, and finally, she felt confident enough to approach him.
She's still surprised when she receives her third postcard. After all, there can't be anything more left to say.
When she tears apart the envelope this time, however, there is another attachment inside besides the postcard.
Her heart drops.
It's a Polaroid of the desk she sat at in the library at Hogwarts. Her little 'nook', as the librarian had referred to it.
Fingers trembling, she sets the photograph down on the dining table, and examines the postcard. It features a winter scene of Hogsmeade, covered in snow and warmed by golden light from the shops. She turns the card over to read the message.
Dearest Hermione,
I, myself, have always held a fascination for books. They have been my retreat, my solace from the banal existence of this world. And I know you also understand the appreciation of novels and academic journals alike. Really, anything with words is always something worth reading, to seek knowledge for its own purpose, and to even use it in one way or another is a valuable pursuit. It's one of the many ways we are so similar, Hermione. In time, you will know just how much.
P.S — In order to prevent my postcards being damaged by rainwater, I will now send them in waterproof wrappings inside the envelopes.
— L.V
The hairs prickle at the back of her neck and her throat goes dry.
So, she officially has a stalker. Who knew not just about her time at Hogwarts, but was close by to follow her movements. Right at this moment, even.
She tries to stay calm, and collected, she tries not to lose her mind so soon, because panicking will not help and in fact, perhaps make the situation worse.
Now was the time to contact someone for help, but who? Definitely not her parents, they were already too protective of her. Harry would also worry too much at once, and anyway, his father was a police officer who'd be notified of this ordeal, which she didn't want at the moment. Not Ron, either, he would flip out, and she couldn't bear to see him distressed about her.
Ginny was the safest bet.
She taps away at her phone, and then awaits Ginny's phone call.
-:-
"You're sure there's no one he or she could be?"
"No, I've scrounged all my links, and every person I came into contact with at the castle."
"Any weirdo who tried talking to you and wouldn't leave your side?"
"None at all. Everyone seemed so normal, Ginny."
"It's often the 'normal' who are hiding in plain sight. But also…What if it's not a person at all? I mean, it could be a ghost, or a spirit—"
"Ginny."
"Fine, sorry, I know you don't believe in the paranormal, but still, it might be the most plausible explanation when you can't think of anyone."
"I know, thanks for helping me, though."
They say their goodbyes, then Hermione hangs up.
She doesn't believe in that sort of stuff, full stop. Staying at an old castle for a short while gave no excuse to throw all logic and rational thoughts out the window. In the end, there is always a reasonable explanation.
Sighing to herself, she seeps a teabag into a cup of hot water, and reads through the postcard again. She had made no friends at Hogwarts, and was barely acquainted with anyone, students and professors alike. She thinks also about the people she meets at her university, which was a quiet affair on its own where she didn't interact with many, and left as soon as lectures ended.
Who had studied her movements with such closeness? Who had ventured so far as to state that they were just like her?
In time, you will know just how much.
The words spin in her mind as she ponders the meaning, and the downright intent.
Hermione later realises she doesn't own any postcard featuring Hogsmeade.
Things are getting serious now :o
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