Revelations

Revelations of the Mind:

Sometimes the heart sees things that aren't there...

Chapter One: The Mail

The letter had come abruptly that morning, fluttered in on the beak of a pale-lemon colored owl. The envelope was plain, white and unadorned. On the front, a scribble of black ink that named its intended recipient:

To: Mr. Harry Potter

Black Mansion

Grimmauld Place

London, England

It felt thick and heavy in the hands of the addressee, who then turned the parcel over to its back, reading the sender's name for the eighth time in a row.

He whispered, "Ronald Weasley."

How long has it been? Almost ten? Almost. Since August 12...that's the last correspondence wasn't it? Last letter, or was it a conversation? Why was this letter here, after ten years? Some joke? Some party invitation for him to attend? He hardly thought so, that wouldn't be appropriate, not after nearly ten years of silence. But then again, it was Ron, and perhaps the pretense of a formal recognition would be lost on him.

Not lost, more like not necessary.

Harry Potter positioned his shoulders against the back of the leather monstrosity he was reclining on. The Black family did know what the Dark Lord's tastes were, and somehow found every piece of hideous furniture in the universe. Not only ugly, but somewhat uncomfortable.

"Who sent it?"

The voice whispered in a light, girlish tone. Harry looked up from his confounded expression into the face of the girl who resided here with him- a face lost within a ruffle of auburn tendrils that wandered out of their roots on her head. A pair of inquisitive brown eyes settled into his own.

"It's...from Ron, Hermione."

"Oh...ohhhhh" she wistfully sighed, and digressed herself into the twin of the monstrosity of a chair across from Harry. A swirl of her finger and a deck of playing cards rotated listlessly above their heads like insipid seagulls, languidly watching the waves. "I guess cards are out for the night, huh?"

Harry stared intently at the girl sitting beyond his feet. She sat reclined with one leg propped on the small low table before them and her hair flowing around her, like a lion's mane. Her brown outfit seemed even dowdier in the dense light. It registered in Harry's mind that they both were in their late twenties, but to him, she seemed so childish sometimes, such as now, thinking only of their game of cards when, in his very hands, held the remnants of a friendship that was established long ago. She even looked the same as she did when they left Hogwarts, with the same haircut, same wistful expression and same focused intensity that crossed what seemed like a never aging face of his childhood friend. Harry swore that sometimes Hermione even wore her Hogwarts uniform.

It was strange to him that somehow, Hermione Granger, the most likely to succeed out of their class, would end up here with him, wasting away, a relic of their time.

"Well, that's what it is, isn't it? A remnant," Hermione snipped back. Harry had no idea he had just said that out loud. "If I'm so childish, then why don't you get a nanny to look after me, or better yet, put me into a home or such."

"I...I was just thinking...that's all, I didn't mean to..."

"Say it out loud?" She arched an eyebrow that was so classically Hermione, that Harry had to almost weep to contain the smile crawling up his mouth.

Harry sighed. There's no way of winning since Hermione had become talented enough at reading his thoughts just from his face after these ten years that he didn't want to start an argument that she could already interpret. He sighed again.

"So, what does it say?" Hermione inquired, all of a sudden forgetting the argument and perking up.

Harry didn't know. He had received the envelope about four hours ago. He had assumed it was another Ministry letter, asking for his assistance in some new blatant disruption in the magical world. He had long resigned from that, but still, they persisted, every few month. He suspected it was Neville Longbottom's fault, the new Chief of Operations there, using the invite as an excuse to poke about Harry, to see if The-Boy-Who-Lived was still around, alive. Only about an hour ago had he turned the envelope over to find the name of his best friend scribbled on the parchment. Since then, he's been sitting here, wondering.

"Ugh, you are so full of assumptions. No wonder you failed so many exams- you always just assumed they'd be on certain things and refused to study others," Hermione chided. "If you aren't going to look, then I am." With that, she jumped up and tried to snatch the unopened enigma from Harry's hands.

He instinctively jumped up and twisted around. "All right, all right! Bloody hell....".

Slowly, he tore open the delicate parchment and opened the folded letter inside. The paper was pale white, thick to the touch. A thin texture of powder met Harry's fingers, and a small, neat rectangular piece of film fell to Harry's feet.

"Dear Harry,

How are you? It's been quite a while, hasn't it? I am writing out of great pride for Bill's first daughter, Emily, is graduating Hogwarts with top honors next month. She is extremely excited and wished us all to be there, us meaning the entire batch of Weasleys. I was wondering, if you didn't mind, if I could come for a visit while down there, since as how you are only a short drive away (Jenny is driving a Muggle contraption). Just me, if you would like, although Jenny and the rest are very, very interested in meeting you too. Please. Owl me with an answer. It'll be good to see you.

Sincerely yours,

Ronald Weasley

Sports Editor In Chief

Daily Prophet

"

Harry chuckled. How like Ron to never mention the unmentionables and the excruciatingly painful. He looked down to his other hand at what he had picked up. It was a picture, a moving picture.

There was Ron, at the center. Even with ten years between them, Harry picked him out right away. Tall, redheaded, with a beard. And a slight belly Harry noticed. Ron was always been more keen on the Butterbeer and cookies than anyone else. Beside him stood a lovely woman, short blond hair, peering out of two black ovals on her heart-shaped face. She smiled and kept looking up at Ron every so often. Jenny. He knew her from Hogwarts and had been infatuated with her for most of their last year, then losing touch after the Fall of Voldemort. But later on, he met her again during one of his trips as a traveling journalist with the Cannons, the Quidditch Team, and married her within a year. She was the sister of one of the famous Keepers of the team and the news was plastered on every newspaper in the magic lands. Harry had kept a clipping of the wedding somewhere in the house, with Ron and Jenny smiling broadly, looking lost in each other's arms. Harry had wished he were there with them.

Standing in front, and boasting of his new truck, stood a young boy about five years of age with a tousled head of blond curls, and a dripping nose. Jenny kept kneeling to wipe his face, whisper something, then wiping the grime off of the young boy's jeans. Allen, Ron's first son. Finally, behind Ron stood a young girl about three or four, long, straight red hair, shyly peering out from behind her father's protective arms. Lora. Ron stooped and pointed to the photographer and smiled. Lora smiled as well, reminding the viewer of Ginny at that age, Ron's younger sister, who died....

Harry sighed and fell upon the ottoman behind him. He shook away in his head of images that were long singed into his mind. What a life Ron had assembled. A wife, two children and what looks like a house with a large yard and a white picket fence. Beautiful. Harry looked up at the ceiling of the Black Mansion and contorted his face to the grim goblin and elves carvings that surrounded the molding up top. Everything here was dark, gloomy, foreboding, while there, everything was light, bright and shiny. He chuckled....

Behind him, his other companion looked at the picture over his shoulder, then returned to her original seat across from Harry. Harry gestured to Hermione to take the picture for closer inspection, but she aggravatedly shook her brown curls and flattened herself against the leathery back of the chair. For a while she fiddled idly at the hem of her dress, where a white thread was dangling, which she was making worse with every tug.

"So, Ron's coming?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't know if he should let him.

"If he's coming, tell me because I really should stay out of his sight."