The Dead Letter

The Dead Letter

Chapter One: You Were Supposed to Be Here

It was raining when Hermione woke up. A light drizzle hit her bedroom window, the gray morning staring back at her, cold and lifeless.

She had no reason to get up.

The bed had lost its warmth hours ago. The sheets and quilt were tangled and wrinkled, a sign that the bed's single inhabitant hadn't slept well, if at all. Yet Hermione didn't get up. It was a weekend in late March, so there was no work to be done in her office anyway. Besides, the threat of evil had finally been conquered, and all of His minions were locked away to rot in a big stone fortress in the middle of the cold sea.

Hermione glanced out her window and watched the light rain drip down the pane of glass. She lived in a muggle village, down a forgotten dirt road away from the small town. Here, she could still act like a witch, but to the general public, she was exactly like them in every way. It was fairly quiet here, not far from her parent's home, and it was a near-perfect place for her to live, with solitude and sanctuary. She was alone.

And therefore, she lay awake in bed on this rainy morning, seeking the warmth that her bed didn't give her. It was already mid-morning, and fearing that she'd have far too much to do if she didn't get up, Hermione crawled out from under the covers and put on her dressing gown to prepare for another ordinary day. There was cleaning, and paperwork that she hadn't finished the day before, as well as chores she had to run into town to do. But the sight of the light falling rain had her changing her mind.

The daily bathroom rituals followed, although she passed on the shower. She wasn't planning on going anywhere in this weather, and she definitely wasn't planning to impress anybody right now. So once she left the bathroom, she proceeded down the stairs and to the kitchen to make some tea.

She saw that the mail had arrived through the slot in the front door when she was halfway down the stairs. She slowed her progress as the letter on the top of the pile immediately caught her attention.

There lay a letter for Miss Hermione Granger, and it was obviously from the wizarding world.

She took the last few stairs at a snails pace, creeping towards the letter that lay before the front door as if she were afraid it was jump up and bite her. She didn't avert her eyes though. What was a wizarding envelope doing in her regular mail?

She stopped just before the letters, and leaned down to take them into her hand. She stayed there a moment, hunched down on her knees on the floor. Who would have sent her a wizarding letter through muggle mail? Usually they arrived by owl post, not in her letter box. There was no return address on the letter though, and on closer examination there was no stamp either, but there was no mistaking the starchy-looking parchment of the envelope. Only her name was scrawled across it in black cursive ink, not even her own address. 'So it didn't go through muggle mail, someone just dropped it in my mail slot,' she thought to herself. 'But who...?'

She stood up, facing her front door, the heap of letters that had been on the floor were now in her hand. She continued starring at that one letter for a long moment, gazing curiously at it. Finally, she turned slowly and made her way into the kitchen, holding the mysterious letter in one hand and the rest of her mail in the other.

It had been nearly three years since Hermione had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Three years since Harry had defeated Voldemort in the Second Wizarding War. Three years since her friends and her had each gone their separate ways. She still talked to them of course; they had been her survival, her constant shoulders to lean on for many years.

Harry had married Ginny Weasley a year ago, and they were expecting their first child in the coming months. Hermione had been to the wedding and she'd been so happy for them. It had been right after Ginny had graduated, and after a good number of Voldemort's Death Eaters had been captured.

Ron hadn't lived through the war though. Hermione vaguely remembered the events that passed afterwards, of Ron's funeral, of her and Harry and the entire Weasley clan visiting his grave site. She'd watched as Harry and Ginny comforted one another, how they had grown so close because of the loss, and inside, Hermione missed him and wondered aimlessly on what could have been.

She wondered what might have been for a lot of things...

Neville, the brave young man who had rescued her from Death Eaters during the final battle, had sacrificed himself for her. He had been killed brutally, as she'd later been told. His mangled body had been found near the bottom of the hill, where he had saved her. Hermione had cried for weeks over his loss, as she had for Ron's and everyone else who had perished before and during the War.

Dumbledore had retired as Headmaster, and had turned down the option of becoming Minister of Magic as well. Hermione presumed his duty had been done - to protect Harry until Voldemort was gone for good. Professor McGonagall was Headmistress now, and a mighty good one at that, although many still missed the eccentric wizard in whose footsteps she followed.

Severus Snape was also no longer at Hogwarts, although he had better reason for not being there, as he had died in the final battle by the minions of evil. A simple curse had done him in, but for those few people who had watched, they said he fought until the end against many who secretly knew he had betrayed them by flanking Dumbledore and the light side.

Tossing the mail onto the kitchen table, Hermione prepared herself a cup of tea, the mountain of memories coming back, hitting upon emotions that she tried hard to keep buried. She kept glancing back at the table, at the spot where that one envelope lay in the center. The smell of the tea she was making eased her into better consciousness. Finally, she sat down at the table, the warm cup clutched in her hands, and the letter before her.

She wasn't sure who had delivered it. It was odd that a wizard would bother with the old fashioned muggle way when there were plenty of owls around for usage. Thinking a little more clearly after sipping the hot tea, Hermione got up from the table and headed back to the front door. Opening it wide, she looked around at the wet ground, hoping to see footprints in the mud, or even mud on her porch, some indication that the letter had been dropped off by human hands. The only thing she saw coming across the road were paw prints.

Closing the front door, she went back to the kitchen table and continued with her tea. She picked up the letter, examining it closely. It was definitely wizard's parchment, and that was certainly ink from a quill scratched into the paper. The handwriting was familiar though, and as she stood glancing at it, memories of her years at Hogwarts came back to her....

And then she suddenly knew where she'd seen that handwriting before. But...no, no of course not. That was impossible, surely it was! He...he had been...he was dead, and he had been for a long time now. Certainly he hadn't sent the letter to her!

But Hermione didn't know what to do with it now. She was afraid to open it, absolutely terrified to be exact. It couldn't be from him...she knew it couldn't. But the handwriting...the parchment that only a wizard would normally use...and what was even more peculiar was that it hadn't been sent by owl post. It had come the muggle way, and there were no footprints in the rain soaked earth.

Memories of her last year at Hogwarts, of the final battle, of everything that had transpired in less than a decade came spiraling back at the sight of that letter. Thoughts of should haves and would haves, of maybes and what ifs...it was a cruel reminder that she was alone and that she no longer had his friendship, after all that time and all those arguments and long talks. He was gone; she had repeated that to herself for many sleepless nights. Except now, it seemed that he wasn't gone, in some strange, ghostly way.

The letter lay there, separated from the rest of the mail. The black ink sparkled in the dull kitchen light. Hermione leaned forward in her chair, absentmindedly resting her elbows on the edge of the table. There sat the damned letter, staring back at her, away from the rest of the mail. A corner of the envelope looked travel worn. A thin smudge of mud was underneath her last name. It was the only signs that the letter was alive.

What would that letter say? What feelings would it confess from his grave? He'd died so long ago, but Hermione had cried more than half of those nights away. She was full of regret, wondering what would have been different if she'd only been honest with him, if she'd told him the truth on that early morning as they say by the window and watched the fateful and irrevocable dawn coming closer. It had been her last chance, her only time to reveal all to him and to not have to live with this pain. She had hidden so much away after awhile, and the guilt of this knowledge ravaged her subconscious.

Standing up abruptly, Hermione left her tea and the letter alone on the table. She had now decided what to do with it. She'd stick the letter in the box with all the other memories of him. But as she was climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she realized how ludicrous that was. She didn't even know if it was from him! Shaking her head, she scolded herself, and decided she'd just get dressed for the day and decide what to do with the letter later.

The wardrobe greeted her with warm clothes, telling her that although it was spring time, the season was early yet. She scanned her clothes, pulling out a comfortable pair of muggle jeans. Her hand reached for a white sweater next, and she stopped as soon as her fingers touched the sleeve.

He'd given this to her...

She pulled the sweater out, feeling the soft fabric glide over her fingertips. She took three steps back, without realizing what she was doing, and sat down on her bed, obviously in a daze. It had been their last Christmas together. She'd been surprised by the gift, and even more surprised to find such a simple yet pretty sweater, especially from him.

Of all the things she had wanted to forget, his death had been the hardest. She had been hysterical for so long, and there was no one she felt she could turn to. Harry tried many times to coax her out of her house, but after awhile he started sending Ginny. Even the red-headed girl had been unsuccessful. Neither of them could understand why she had suddenly become elusive again. Ginny had not known the true depth of Hermione's feelings for that lost young man.

Pulling on the clothes, she made her bed and started rummaging around the top of her closet. Finally, the grey box was in her hands. Picking up her wand, she cleverly tapped the lid twice and then a third time on the side. A little purple light flared underneath the lid and in a moment it had disappeared. Hermione lifted the lid off slowly, and peered inside.

A light layer of dust covered everything, even though it had been sealed shut. She hadn't opened the box since her days after Hogwarts. Running her fingers over its contents, she started picking out random things. She came across his old school tie, one she had nicked from their many outings. Although musty and crinkled, it still smelt like him in the slightest of ways. A single pearl earring lay in a corner, an object they used many times as a portkey. She remembered vaguely that he had the other one. Small slips of parchment lay folded near the earring.

"Midnight, meet me at our usual spot." That was all it said. Another piece of parchment, when opened, read, "I think Harry knows. I think a lot of people do. Lay low for awhile, I'll be in touch."

There were more of these little notes scattered through-out the bottom of the grey box. A single blue flower, now wilted and aged, was also piled in there. The flower had reminded her of him when she'd seen them, the color a vivid resemblance to his eyes. She'd bought a bouquet of those flowers, the day before the funeral. To remember, she'd kept one of those flowers and stuck it in here, along with everything else. Those days no longer seemed so far away.

Her fingertips grazed the box's contents lazily, almost as if she were sweeping over her memories. With a jolt of pain and heartache, Hermione slammed the lid on the box and carried it back down to the kitchen. She left it there next to the mail, unwilling to continue. She decided she'd attempt to clean until her conscience was better equipped.

But the cleaning and the household chores did nothing to soothe the ache the mysterious letter had brought. She finally threw down her wand, tired of cleaning windows, and marched to the closet to retrieve her cloak. She had errands to do, and she might as well get them down now since her house felt so much like a prison on her mind. Leaving the house as quick as she could, she locked and warded the front door with her wand, looking around quickly to make sure no muggles were within view.

She proceeded down the dirt road, side-stepping puddles and muddied banks. The rain had stopped, although the sky seemed to promise more. Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head, Hermione walked on slowly towards the village. She glanced at the road, again seeing the paw prints of a dog zig-zagging this way and that. There was obviously a stray one roaming around, or someone from the village had lost one.

Studying the paw prints, she noted that they were going in the direction of her house. There didn't seem to be any prints returning, which at first she thought was odd, but then reminded herself that it was a dog. It was perfectly logical that he could have wandered away somewhere else.

It was quiet on the road, with only the occasional drip-drop of the rain coming down on the forested path around her. Her feet made squishing noises in the mud as she skirted puddles. Finally, a small line of buildings came within view and Hermione hurried forward.

It was a small town, with a single main road with side paths that led to houses with picket fences and children playing within their boundaries. Very few people were out on the street, which wasn't odd considering the weather of the day. Hermione wandered in and out of stores for a little while, buying food items and necessities she was running out of. With her purchases bought, Hermione headed back down the muddied road towards her lonesome little house.

As she began walking, she began to think of the letter again. How had in come to her? He was dead; surely he hadn't risen from his grave? No, that was utterly impossible, and Hermione scolded herself for thinking such preposterous things. Shoving all thoughts of the letter and the paw prints out of her mind, Hermione continued walking back home, through the muddy road and the light rain that had begun to fall again.

But the sight of the letter on the kitchen table brought back all those thoughts, as she set down her grocery bags and began to put items away. Cursing herself for lack of curiosity and bravery, she finally snatched the letter up from the table. Only to chicken out all over again. She dropped the letter as if she'd been burned, and watched it land on the table again.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione said aloud. Shoving the rest of her grocery items and the other contents of the mail aside, Hermione sat down at her kitchen table, finally willing herself to get this over with. 'There's a mystery, and the answer is probably in that letter,' she told herself.

But she side-stepped the letter again. Instead, her hand reached for the rest of the mail and she prepared to sort and open it. There was a letter from Harry and Ginny, and, distracting herself, Hermione opened it and began to read. It was simple message, one to see how she was doing to talk about Ginny's pregnancy. She put it aside, sorted through Ministry fliers and advertisements, and then found that she unfortunately had no more mail to open.

She stared now at that single letter, glaring at it as if it had abused her. In Hermione's mind, it had. It had brought back pain and regret and abandonment. Standing up again, she started putting away the rest of the groceries, unwilling to face the reality the letter brought, even if it would provide answers. She still, after all these years, had more questions than answers.

In a few minutes the grocery items were in their proper place and she had made another cup of tea. The table was clear, all expect the letter. Hermione made up her mind, to just get it done and over with and to rid herself once and for all of this gut-wrenching ache.

She picked it up again, feeling a little apprehensive, but the thought of finally getting answers steadied her to go on. She read her name on the envelope, studying the handwriting. She remembered the notes in the box, which was now sitting a few feet to her right on the table, the rest of the mail scattered around it.

Ever so slowly, Hermione picked up her wand and tapped the envelope once. It unsealed and Hermione saw the piece of parchment inside of it, staring back at her with hidden promises and secrets, and of course, answers.

Taking a deep breathe, she pulled out the parchment and began to read the dead letter from Draco.