Hermione Granger heaved down onto her bed with an audible sigh, she was open mouthed as her eyes wee swiftly filled with fresh tears. She read the letter over and over again. "Since when did Harry become so poetic!", wondered Hermione before smacking herself in the face with the following realization.. "Harry was asking her out". To say that she was excited would not do justice for how elated she truly was.
Hermione Jean Granger had been pining for the Potter since the night he had saved her from the troll, any feelings she had for him had only been amplified the night she grabbed Harry close as they zoomed through the night sky on BuckBeak. Her obsession with all things books, led her to find out that Hipogriff's were a sign of romantic love, a notion which made her giggle without control as she imagined a life with him.
Alas all was for nothing, Harry had never truly showed her attention in the way she so desperatley wanted him to. Hour's spent pretending to read next to a whining Harry, complaining about having no date for the ball was exhausting. Not due to the subject matter but because a small part of her wished he did see what was right in front of him all along. Hell, she had even tried on a touch of makeup and sat directly in front of him in the library in an effort to gain his attention. Not that the strategy ever worked mind you... she ended up having to go with a boy who was four years older than her.
"Well, that's in the past", gushed the hyperventilating witch. "Harry likes me back, he likes me back!", blabbered the witch loudly.
"Well, well... Seems like you finally got a letter from your boyfriend", quipped a voice from behind Hermione.
Hermione's heart leapt out of her chest as she around to see Emma Granger leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile on her face, her hands holding onto a warm cup of coffee.
"MUM!", yelled Hermione as she stuffed the letter into her pockets.
"Hey, don't blame me alright, I am the one who had to read paragraphs about Harry's favourite type of jam over the years!", snipped the older woman playfully.
Hermione blushed at the content of the letters she had sent back to her parents every week. As much as she did like to deny it, it was true... Hermione had been feeding her mother with scrolls of facts about Harry, a byproduct of her teenaged obsession. She did bet a good portion of her galleons, that her parents knew more about Harry through letters than Ron did after sharing a dormitory with the boy for half a decade.
Not that she did expect Ron to remember Harry's favourite leisure position or his preferred nib for his quills, the boy was as thick as the troll he had defeated in their first year.
"Well, he is not exactly my boyfriend. Yet-"
Hermione was cut off, when the slightly taller woman dashed towards the girl and snatched the letter from her pocket before running down the stairs.
The surprised Granger snapped out of her stupor when she heard a few cooes, a sound that her mother only made when she was reading something particularly interesting.
Her combed hair bobbed behind her as she followed the trail of spilt coffee before coming face to face with her target, who was engrossed in the letter which was meant only for her.
The young lass grew red, steam blowing out of her small ears as she stomped towards her mother who was now in a laughing fit.
"Mum! PRIVACY!", cried the witch for a second time. Her dainty hands grabbed the paper from the Granger by marriage, and held it protectively between her arms.
Minutes passed by without stop as Hermione stared daggers at her mum who looked like an older version of her, the rasps of laughter slowly faded away.
Emma Granger wiped the mirth away from her eyes before looking at her daughter who clearly did not share the same sentiments.
"Look I know your mad at me but you have to listen to me, that boy loves you!", commented Mrs. Granger
This caused Hermione to grin broadly before hugging the letter as if it would transform into a mess of black hair at any moment.
"So when are you going to write back, confessing your undying and eternal love for him", said Mrs. Granger with an exaggerated sigh. Her palm on her forehead as she imitated the expression of a damsel in distress.
Emma watched as her glowing daughters smile slowly faded away into something much more sinister, she didn't think the look suited her daughter well.
Hermione was now smiling with a sense of arrogance. "Well, he did make me wait four years.. didn't he?"
"Yes, but im not exactly sure where your going with this... WAIT", Mrs. Granger yelled the last part
"No, No, No... You can't do this to him Hermione. This isn't like you", chided the older woman.
"Mum! It's not going to be that bad, I'll just reject him over the letter and reveal my true feelings on the express! After this is all done and over with we can have a good laugh about it! And, a little revenge can't hurt right?", ranted Hermione
"Hermione...", whispered Emma Granger in a tone she only used when talking about serious matters.
"This is not okay, the boy has been through too much already and I suspect that I've only really heard half of how bad it truly is"
Emma raised her hand to silence her fast-tounged daughter who was already forming a retort in response. "Look its fine that you don't tell me what REALLY happens with you at school, but fighting a dragon at 14 years old is not healthy, Hermione... Your going to break his heart well at least whatever remains of it".
Although her daughter had assured her multiple times that she was telling the full story of whatever was happening at Hogwarts she knew that her only offspring had clearly brushed over more than a few things, she just refused to comment on this... due to the smile which adorned Hermione's face as she described her friends.. it was enough for her worries to melt away.
"Mum, I think Harry can handle it.. I appreciate your concern, but I'm a teenaged girl now and I can handle my relationships however I find most appropriate", said Hermione calmly before slowly walking back to her room.
Emma Granger watched her daughter's retreating form with concern.
"What is she thinking", muttered the woman to no one in particular.
From afar, sat a snowy white owl next to the window frame. Her expression darkening by the second.
Hermione sat back onto her seat before rubbing her hands to ease the sudden coldness she felt sprawling through her fingers. She grabbed her quill before scratching down a reply for Harry, making sure that it looked like she hadn't put any effort in. Five minutes of careless and floppy scratches of the quill ensued before Hermione was satisfied with a letter so sub-optimal that Ron Weasley would be proud of it.
She walked up to Hedwig who didn't respond to her calls, "Hedwig! Here's my reply for Harry" said the brown haired witch as she tried giving the owl the letter. Her hand was met with multiple stabs as the owl furiously poked at her hand with her beak, before crowing out of anger.
This caused the witch to scream out of pain as she shielded her hand from the attacking bird, she closed her eyes out of agony before snapping it open to give the owl a lecture for it's aggressive behaviour.
She was too late...
The snowy white owl had already taken off, the letter held firmly between her beak. Hermione watched as the owl flew far far away, the still noticeable tinge of pain in her hand was not as bad the dawning feeling of doom which now surrounded her.
"Is this a mistake"
This thought faded away in the winds, as Hedwig stormed through the clouds. Her wings flapped so loud, that the other birds paved way for her out of fear. If looks could kill, she would have gotten multiple life sentences and she wasn't even half-way done with her joruney.
A few miles away though, her human was laying down lazily on his slightly un-comfortable bed which didn't quite fit him anymore. The boy played with his thumbs as he sighed repeatedly, at times with a particularly loud one.
Harry wished that he had something to do, anything really. Anything to distract him from his waiting, an ordeal which he found much more awkward than Ron's blubbering proposal to Fleur during the Yule Ball.
"Enough", yelled Harry in his mind. He shot out of the bed in an instant and walked towards the very table that he wrote his heart-felt confession at not so long ago.
"How about we give drawing a go! eh?", muttered Harry. His hands grasping the crusty old black crayon he had fished out of Dudley's massive collection a few years ago. He started moving his metaphorical sword across his makeshift canvas which would look like a plain paper to the ordinary man, but for a boy who had nothing but his imagination to keep him company during his countless hours spent inside a cupboard under the stairs it looked like a premium canvas from the finest of manufacturers.
He tried drawing a flower, sketching a singe long line to represent the stem. The boy didn't draw leaves though, he drew another long line... giving it a base which looked oddly like feet until the drawing looked like a pair of legs.
He added shoulder length hair, an elegant nose with full lips. His drawing spiraled into an array of body parts until he finally stopped, his crayon was left to rest after the torture it had been through.. a quarter of it non-existent.
He held the picture up to his eyes and let his lips for the first time in a long while, twist into a true smile. A bushy haired woman was cradling an equally bushy haired girl and boy with her left arm as she pointed at the camera, her right hand rested securely within the comfort of a much taller wizard with messy black hair. Harry was sure that this was his new Patronus memory, this self-admittedly mediocre picture of a mere representation of "what could be" made Harry happier than anything else in his life.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by a soft knock on his window, Harry looked over to see his animal companion hovering outside of it. He slowly opened the window, careful not to make a sound to ensure that the Durley's didn't hear him for they had forbade him from writing to his friends.
Well, it wasn't like he was breaking the rules was he? He was writing to his BEST friend and not just a friend, a term that if he was lucky could change tonight...
Harry's hand quivered as he held the recognizable purple tinge that each letter of Hermione's had, it remind him of the lavender scent she wore on the day of the Yule Ball.
In an interesting parallel to earlier that morning, it was now Harry's turn to open the letter. To finally know if the witch of dreams (quite literally), held a secret fancy for him too. The letter unfolded seemingly by itself, Harry's heart started beating in his throat as he swallowed hard.
Harry,
I hope this letter finds you well. Your heartfelt letter arrived, and I must admit, it was quite the diversion from my usual studies. However, I find myself in a peculiar position— one that requires honesty and a dash of practicality.
Your unwavering faith, Harry, is commendable. Truly. But let's dissect this situation
Harry, my friend, let's not confuse camaraderie with courtship. We're comrades in this chaotic castle, bound by friendship and a shared disdain for divination. But love? That's something I have never considered to have with you, neither do I believe I ever will.
So, with all due respect, consider this my rejection letter. Not a Howler, mind you those are dreadfully uncivilized. Just a polite acknowledgment that our paths diverge.
P.S. The Black Lake is lovely this time of year. Perhaps you'll find someone else to share chocolate frogs with.
Regards,
Hermione
Harry's mouth fell open-