Harry looked around the quiet AirBnB apartment, allowing the unfamiliar silence to wash over him. It had been a while since he had been all alone.
The children (well, they were teenagers by now) were with Ginny at the Weasleys' for their annual Christmas get-together. It had become their family tradition over the years, and he knew they would be missing his presence.
But he had no choice. He had to get away by himself, to come to this Muggle seaside town and meet the person who had sent him those mysterious letters. Ginny understands, he told himself for the umpteenth time. She had seen the way the letters had slowly worn him down, hadn't she?
He reached into his suitcase and dug around for the bottle of firewhisky that he'd managed to sneak into his bag at the last minute. His hand brushed against a thick folder that he had carefully packed at the bottom, bound together by a protective spell to keep it safe from prying eyes. He paused for a moment, then with a sigh, carefully took it out of the suitcase.
He dug around some more to retrieve his firewhisky before sinking down into the cosy living room sofa. The view outside his window, of the sun setting over the beach, was beautiful – but at that moment, he was more concerned with the contents of the bound folder on his lap.
He waved his wand and whispered the unlocking spell. The folder popped open with a barely audible snap to reveal a collection of handwritten letters inside.
There were twelve letters in total, one sent to him on the first day of each month beginning in January that year. He had filed them all in chronological order. Each letter was written with what seemed to be fountain pen ink on thick, quality paper. Aside from Ginny, Ron and Hermione were the only ones he'd shared them with, in hopes that they'd be able to help him uncover the sender's true identity.
All four of them had failed.
The letters themselves were completely harmless and devoid of any type of dangerous magic. It was what was written in them that was worrying.
Harry could feel his heartbeat quickening as he thumbed through the folder to the very first letter. He began re-reading it for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Dear Mr. Potter," it began.
"I must first send my congratulations to you. You've done the inconceivable, haven't you? You've destroyed Voldemort (though not without incurring heavy losses of your own) and as I have observed, you are now enjoying a simple life with your wife and children.
Who am I, and why am I writing now to disturb your well-won peace, you may ask.
Allow me to introduce myself: I am Cassie, a witch who has been living hidden amongst Muggles. We will meet when the right time comes – exactly twelve months from now. I know this is going to happen…it must, in order for you to maintain your sense of peace.
You see, I have already experienced all of this happening from the point of view of a greater perspective. You could call it divination or time travel. I will explain more in time to come, but for now, know that the issue I'm writing to you about has nothing to do with any of the terrible dark arts that wizards practise. Rather, I'm writing to you regarding a very different type of magic that Muggles wield – a more powerful type of magic than ours, in a way. A magic that YOU have become caught up in, much to your ignorance.
Lucky for us, most Muggles only ever experience glimpses of their own magic. Even then, they get in their own way trying to overanaylse everything...it's almost as if they're afraid of how powerful they could be! But I digress…
As you're very well aware, there are all types of magic in our world. There are the usual spells and enchantments, terrific hexes, useful herbs and all sorts of potions, lovely charms, transfiguration, and so on...and the most powerful of all, the oldest spells bound by love.
You, my dear Mr. Potter, were caught in one of those very spells when your mother gave her life to protect you. It was ultimately her love that allowed you to live and defeat the darkness that plagued us all. This power of love is at the core of the type of magic that Muggles experience every day, even though they are completely oblivious to it and often misuse it in their clumsy attempts at truly understanding what love really is...
I am writing because there is one more such "love" spell that you are bound to, Mr. Potter.
This spell involves a different type of love from the one between your mother and yourself. This is a romantic type of love, between two soulmates…
You cast this spell yourself, in a different time and place. You do not recognise or remember it yet, but the person that you have cast it on – your soulmate, so to speak – has awakened to the truth of his destiny...one that you have played a direct hand in shaping.
Now, I have a lot of respect for you, Mr. Potter, but I'm not writing this because I personally care about your happiness.
No...rather, I am writing this because your soulmate – the person that you have cast this spell on – is someone I have pledged to guide, and Muggle magic – the magic I spoke of earlier – dictates that neither he, nor I, can truly be at peace unless he experiences the happiness that lies in your coming together as one…
I will write again when the time is right.
Cassie
Harry felt anger and frustration bubble up within him as he finished reading.
Why is it always me?
The thought broke free before he could stop it, instantly accompanied by a strong feeling of disgust mixed in with the anger.
No self-pity. I'm not a bloody victim.
He took a big gulp of firewhisky and turned to the next letter as the liquid burned down his throat.