Hello !

I think I started at least like three different versions for this one, before I found an angle that worked with the idea I wanted to implement. Hopefully, I found something that works. I'm very proud that I managed to do post today. Life happens, as it happens for everyone, and I had a stressful week. Next week promised to be even more, so I don't think I'll have time to post an other chapter, and I have none in reserve. So, see you in two weeks!

I am still very French, and have no beta, so all mistakes are my own. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think of my stories, share any idea oy might have for a future one.

Have a nice read!

With quills, ink and parchment

"I wish I could pass my hand in your hair right now. When I saw you reading by the tree, the way the light made them glow in the evening sun, I was mesmerized. I could have watched you for hours. But alas, darkness came upon the day too soon and I had to finish my transfiguration essay."

"I hope those biscuits will please you. I saw you eat the cinnamon rolls at lunch."

"I know I never told you my name, but if you knew who I was, you would never read another word from me. Oh, how I so wish things were different and I could talk to you openly, but things are as they are, and my breaking heart can't change the whole world to accommodate my affection for you. I had to tell you, though, before you get married to some uncouth lord that somewhere, someone is madly, deeply in love with you. Please, if nothing else, hold me in your heart, as I will surely cherish what could have been if the Fate had looked our way."

"I passed you yesterday on your way to the Minister's office. Pardon my bluntness, but you looked raged. I know the trouble brewing in the [you-know-what] is bad omen, and combined with the signs of [things] in the south of [a country], things are not likely to get better before a war erupt, but you can't fight and win if you die from exhaustion before you had a chance to battle. I urge you to take better care of yourself, and to find allies, people you can count on. Enclosed in this letter, I offer you the place I go to when I need a moment of peace. Please use it as your leisure, along the tea I packed for you. It is a special brand that my family cultivates, it helps to release tension and offer a better sleep to people weighted by hardship. If you need more, you'll only have to put the empty pot in you bin and I'll procure another.

I urge you, take better care of yourself.

Love"

"Can you put a new pot of tea in Mrs Mulligan's office? She'll be absent from 9 to 11:30 a.m. on Tuesday. Her secretary will have a chat with Mr Allen around 10:15, you'll have about ten to fifteen minutes to do it discreetly."

"Well, now you know who I am, maybe it will be easier to just ask me next time you need a refill."

Auror McGregor neatly folded the stack of parchment he just read and looked at her.

"Missy, did you write those?" The man frowned. This was actually pretty good, all things considered. She had a talent for writing, that's for sure, but couldn't she use it for better things?

"Yes, master." The little elf answered. Her mistress, sitting next to her master, hid a smile behind her hand.

"Why?" The man asked again. Missy didn't like the way he was dressed, with battle robes, all wrinkled and patched up. She wondered if he had an elf. If he had, it wasn't doing a good job. Missy knew she could repair cloths much better, even if she hated stitching. She was proficient at it, but urgh… She much preferred plants and calculus. Potions too, because things could explode and her mistress loved her secret soup recipes. And match-making, of course.

"I was bored." She said truthfully. Her master had ordered her to be. Otherwise, she would have tried to invent something. Or not, because how do you justify the fact that you've been writing love letters and sending them to witches and wizards? Maybe he just knew about the ones he read. She wasn't telling him anything else until he specifically asked for it. She wasn't stupid.

"Did anyone ordered you to write them?"

"No." She was puzzled. Why would anyone do that? Did he think she was not good enough to do it by herself?

"You did this of your own initiative?" The frown was back, full force. If Missy hadn't been so proud of her letters, she would have worried about him adding ugly lines to his already marked face.

"Yes!" She bobbed her head. "Alone!" She added, because she really wanted to tell him that she didn't need help to write a damned love letter! She was a well-educated elf, as every elf should be to serve their masters well.

"Why did you send them?"

"Because they were letters!" Was he stupid or what? She didn't spend so long to write them to not send them! Lives were at stakes here! True love and all that was said in her mistress's romance books. She had a mission, and she pulled it off quite well, if anyone asked her. But no one asked her, and maybe they shouldn't because she knew why she did in secret in the first place. She didn't want to be in trouble. And wizards loved to find someone else to blame when things didn't happen like they wanted to. She upset some big plans with her letters, and her masters weren't so powerful that they could just shrug it off. She didn't want to bring misfortune on the household.

And now, the eggs were out of the basket. She would try to make the best omelette.

Well, three eggs (or couples) were off the basket. The basket was bigger than that, of course, and she wouldn't tell him that. She truly never thought that anyone would find out that there was a basket, and that she was the one holding it.

Or was it the cat out of the bag the right way to say it? She pondered the matter for a second, but only a second as the man kept interrogating her.

"Yes, but you wrote them. Why did you write letters?"

"I was bored." She repeated, annoyed. But then, she smiled innocently. Let him turn in circles. Her mistress told her once that when wizards where stupid, it was better to smile and do whatever we wanted behind their backs. She took this lesson to heart.

Many would think she shouldn't have. Others, would love her if they knew of her accomplishment. Which could happen if the man would wise up and ask the right questions.

It wasn't meant to be, as it seemed. It took him forty-five minutes, but ultimately, the man left. Missy kept making big eyes, and cute smiles.

He didn't learn much. To be true, he was a bit miffed that he'd been assigned this ridiculous investigation in the middle of a war. Yes, one of the Black kids eloped with a muggleborn, but he wasn't the first Pureblood to do so. The Aurors shouldn't have to do anything else after their -extensive- testing showed no tempering of the newlyweds. No potions, no charms, no hexes, no tricks. The ancient bond was valid, it should have been proof in itself. Nobody could be wedded the old ways when coerced. The marriage was valid. They should know by now, as it happened many times in the last three decades. The kid wasn't even the first Black to elope.

That Missy was the one to unearth the instructions to marry that way around thirty years ago was unknown to him. Wizards always underestimated elves, and she planned accordingly. Her mistress made sure she was well educated, maybe too well, or maybe perfectly so.

Once the man was out of the property, her master excused himself. He was one of those lads who thought that domestic matters should be left to the wife. She was part of the household, so she was her mistress's responsibility. Both liked it that way, actually, as they were kindred spirits. Running circles around wizards was one of the little joys of their lives.

"So, who did you write to?"

Mistress knew how to ask the right questions. Missy smile became predatory.

"Aurelius Potter, Evelyn Crate, Maryam Mannoli, Aloysus McCall, Siobhan O'Connor…"

The list was long. She had a good memory though, and recalled every 297 names.

"Merlin!" Her mistress exclaimed when she finished her litany.

"I didn't write to Merlin, he is dead for a long time." Missy cheekily replied.

"Oh, you!" Mistress huffed. "Wait, Dippet and…?"

"Yes!" Mistress was figuring it out! She was so excited; her ears were vibrating.

"Bring some parchment and write down all the names." The lady ordered, still under the shock of what she just uncovered. Soon, the walls of the room were covered in names hastily written.

"You mean to tell me that ninety-five percent of the marital scandals of the last three decades are…?"

"Yes!" Missy confirmed the half-formed thought.

"All of them are from…?" Mistress asked again.

"Yes!"

"How?"

Mistress knew how to ask the right questions, but it wasn't always the perfect ones. Missy could answer anything to such an open question, but she refrained. Telling "with quills, ink and parchment" would be funny, yes, but she also wanted very, very badly to share her accomplishment with someone.

"We elves are very good at feeling magic, our master's even more. Elves also like to gossip. How many times did I hear elves complaining that their masters magic didn't go well together and that their masters weren't happy because of it. Magic is the reflection of someone, so if their magic go a certain way together it means that they are made for each other, like the soulmates in your books. I was really bored, and I couldn't do much because the other elves forbid me to do much."

"I remember that" the mistress smiled fondly. "It was your experimentation phase, you almost blew up the kitchen twice, and your cross breed between horses and salamander was a disaster."

"I was young, and like I said, very, very bored. I was forbidden to do many things, but no one banned me from writing. So, I had the idea, what if I wrote to people trying to match them to their soulmate? It was easy to make other elves talk about their master's magic. They like to brag, you know, and the Hogwarts's elves are even worst. They love to gossip. If you need, I have a lot of blackmail material on a lot of people."

"I might take you one that offer a bit later. Phil is very bad at negotiating, so it might help. Continue your tale."

"I wrote letters, and I send them anonymously. After that, it was up to the humans to figure out who send it to them. I if they met the right one in the process… That was fate, right?"

"You wrote 297 letters in thirty years?"

"Oh, no, more! Sometimes, one isn't enough."

"So, you have access to one of the best espionage rings ever, and you used it to… write love letters?"

"Yes!" Missy was beaming.

"I knew I picked you right. Best wedding present ever!" Mistress chuckled at the obvious pride she was showing. "We'll just have to continue reshape the world, then. One couple at a time…"

From now on, Missy wasn't the only one writing love letters. Her mistress bought a new young elf to be trained, and wrote her fare share too. They, of course, branched out to the rest of the continent, and the next generations kept their secret mission.

Around two centuries later, when the magical human population had grown to more than tenfold the number when Missy was born, one Harry Potter was born as the first son of James Potter and Lily Potter, nee Evans. His grandparents, great-grandparents, three uncles, two aunties, five great-aunts, one great-uncle, and one great-grandma were all there for the Naming Ceremony led by the happy parents. There was no prophecy, no looming Dark Lord over the crib, as one Tom Riddle had never been conceived. The Gaunts were a respectable family, having emigrated in the USA when their heir married a lovely native over there.

Harry grew up showing off his talent at Quidditch and arithmancy, along his twin sisters and younger brother. The family's parties were epic affairs, where all the cousins were running around and wreaking havoc at the ancestral chateau, under the watchful eyes of the adults (some of which weren't so good at not blowing up things), and a myriad of very happy elves.

Amazing what quills, ink, and parchment can do.