Chapter Text
Nicholas was a screech owl like no other – quick on his wings, sharp of the eyes, and tempestuous of temperament – he took great pride in his swift delivery of letters and, in exchange, demanded the due payment for services rendered. So like his owner, who had been gifted with him by her eldest brother. Nicholas was named after one figure that was most commonly associated with the period he was gifted: Yuletide, respectively. As it happens, Ginny wasn’t particularly religious, therefore she couldn’t possibly know how suitable the name would be. But Nicholas knew, he had heard the human his owner called Dean to comment on it, once. You see, the human he was named after is a saint, commonly associated with happy marriages.
Nicholas, the owl, should be associated with at least one successful couple for, in the first semester of ‘99, he flew over forty-five thousand miles, Hogwarts-London back and forth, to carry the words penned by each half of that couple – a sum of eighty-six flights, in the end, a daunting task that could only be performed by the finest of the owls. Needless to say, the aforementioned owl demanded his prize in finely crafted owl treats, mice-flavoured.
These, are some of those letters:
11 January 1999
Dear H.,
I should’ve definitely taken a note out of your book, and gone full-on school dropout.
It’s been just a morning and I’m already missing the sweet idleness of the holidays (preferably, by your side). People here are going crazy about the N.E.W.T.s, as if suffering five months in advance could increase their chances of doing well (let’s not talk about Hermione). Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here most of the time. I don’t need to know anything about conjuration to play Quidditch. If it wasn't for mum’s nagging, I wouldn’t have even considered it (she needed to have a daughter with a Hogwarts diploma way more than I don’t). At least, there’s Quidditch. Being the captain of a team to get the Cup will definitely increase my chances of getting to a top-tier team. But yeah, I think I’ve outgrown school, you know what I mean.
Merlin, I’m whining, aren’t I? In my defence, we got drunk after the Welcoming Feast, and I had to endure four hours of D.A.D.A with a monstrous hangover (are you jealous, yet?). Derwent is alright, I guess, better than Umbitch/Lockhart, worse than Snape/Moody (Crouch? I know it was him, but I got used to thinking of him as Mad-Eye). Way worse than Remus. Why can’t all our professors be like you? I suppose it’s for the better, I’d end up with a teacher kink.
Speaking of riding, it’s time to get back on the saddle/broomstick. This team of lazy tossers (and I speak most lovingly) have gone for too long without real practice. I’m sure my arse has gotten a pound fatter since my accident. I’d invite you to weigh it for me but you’re still refusing me dick, so no. I spoke with Hooch, our first match will be on the third Saturday of February. I think we have a good chance, but I’ll know for sure after tomorrow’s practice. I’d love for you to come if you are not too busy chasing down Death Eaters (which I’m perfectly aware you might be, and I commend you for it).
How are things down your end? I spent a lot of time yesterday picturing Dawlish’s face when you told him about Rowle, so thank you for providing the entertainment for my train ride. I know he's your superior and everything, but that’s one good arsehole specimen.
Everyone back to asking me about you, so I guess they know. Merlin, seven years and it still surprises me how quickly gossip spreads around this place. I told them we are together, like we agreed, but didn’t expand too much on the subject. There are times I wish to yell to the world, how much I love you, but you are right, it wouldn’t feel right.
The world doesn’t deserve a peek of the tiny perfection we can create together.
The one and only,
Ginny Weasley
29 January 1999
Dear Gin,
You really should do it, any source of confidence it’s good for players like Peakes, and it’s Quidditch, so it’s fair. Do you know about the time I fooled Ron into thinking he had drunk Felix Felicis? To this day, I think it was my greatest accomplishment (even if it caused the great rift of Fall ‘96, which must not be confused with all the others before and after). You don’t need my opinion on that, you’re a better captain than I could ever hope to be (but if you really have it, go for the Hawkshead).
Ron took the habit of nagging me about how I’ll always take your side, now that we’re dating again. He’s all yours to deal with, after all he was your brother before becoming my friend. I’ll even take Hermione, to free you up. Sure, it’ll be a bit hard, you two living in Hogwarts and me and Ron in London, but I’m not that eager to deal with her either. You were right – I asked Ron about it, and he told me they’re fighting. He isn’t sure what he has done, but we think there’s something to do with her parents.
Things here are frustratingly slow. We’re still working to get the cooperation of Minsk, while Rowle runs amok. Yaxley’s trail went dead three months ago, and we haven’t heard any signs of him since then. It feels like I’m failing. God, the Minsk situation – we know where he is, we know what he has done, we know he is capable of doing – and still, we have to sit on our hands, waiting for international approval. I know the bureaucracy it’s important, don’t worry, the whole situation with Sirius’s taught me that, but how I wish I could just...fix it. They wouldn’t put me in prison if I just went there and caught him (bad press, y’know). I’d most likely just be sacked, which is really bad, but not worse than letting a murdering psycho out there. I only don’t because, considering how absurd the courts are sometimes, some solicitor may be able to get Rowle free after all that. Or maybe I’m just afraid…isn’t that pathetic?
This letter turned drab very quickly. I hadn’t realised I had so much to say on the matter, and now I want to vanish all the last paragraph. I won’t though. You should be able to see my failings, and if you decide to stick around…well, good for me. At least, you can’t say I won’t tell you the secrets I share with Ron and Hermione. I didn’t tell them any of that. I don’t think I could, really. There is something about you, Gin, that makes me lost…makes me loose.
Thy humble lover,
Harry
15 February 1999
Dear H.,
Have I already told you how much I enjoyed our date yesterday?
I’m an easy girl to win over: take me to a Quidditch match and I’ll be yours. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone else take me. I think the threat of my other Voldemort-defeating boyfriend it’s enough to keep most away, you’re the only one who isn’t cowered, but I think you’ll once he sees that picture of us in the Daily Prophet. We’re quite fetching, aren’t we? We should do a photoshoot. I’m kidding, by the way, if you failed to notice. Merlin, letters ruin my sass – there’s no deliverance.
I didn't tell you before I left, but you shouldn’t bother yourself too much with George. It’s not your duty. For any of them, really. I love that you care about my our family, and I know you don’t do it for me. Loving, caring, supporting – that’s honestly all you can do for them. The rest is in their own hands. George won’t be the same, and we might find it sad, but it won’t change anything. How many of us are the same people as we were five years ago? We all change, and there’s something pretty on that, too. I bet you disagree with me on several points here, but I hope you find a bit of truth here too – don’t change your mind, but add those ideas to it, will you?
Yesterday’s rain has made the snow start melting on the courtyards, so you can imagine everything is a bit grey and disgusting around here (kindly reflecting my mood now that I’ll have to wait three weeks to see you again). Merlin, I shouldn’t have said you’d be hunting Death Eaters on my first match back. I was cursing myself, wasn’t I? I suppose you’re happy about your all expenses paid holiday on the continent, you self-sacrificing fool. Be ready to be nagged about your safety for the next week and a half, love, not only I’ll be doing that in writing, as I got representatives on your home. We call ourselves the Alliance to Keep Alive Ginny’s Bae, and I figure we’re a bunch of sad fuckers. Be careful, if you die, we’ll have to kill you.
Missing you already,
Ginny
P.S.: I don’t know if you found it, but I left a jar of biscuits on the entrance bookshelf. I had to hide it there before the strays you let in your house found me with it and devoured all of it. I baked them myself, which means that they’re either terribly good or terribly bad, though probably the latter.
3 March 1999
Dear Gin,
I wish you had told me what Ron’s gift was – I’d have made sure to keep a camera at hand, so you could see the face he made. I wish you were here to see it. Not that you missed much, matters here were subdued. Your mum and dad came here for lunch, and some of the guys swung by in the evening – nothing much, Ron’s request. He and Hermione are going through a rough patch: things weren’t exactly right between them at this time last year, and I guess it must be affecting them. We are all remembering things from the war we don’t really wish to. At least, that’s what Luna says (and if she says it, I know she’s right, she was there for part of it, after all). Still, I was there for it all, shouldn’t I see more?
I feel like a blind moron, sometimes. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for them, for you. Everyone insists it’s not my responsibility and that may be right – but it’s my place to support, as you have said before too. I was there for it, and I have a hand in the whole situation.
Tomorrow, the court will start hearing testimonies for the Malfoy trial (Draco Malfoy, that’s it). I’ll be the second witness, though they don’t know that. God Gin, I never thought there would be a day I’d speak on his behalf and yet, here we are. It feels like the world has gone off rails and yet, it’s still spinning. It’s very little, what I have to say, I don’t know how much impact it’ll have. All the same, it’s the right thing to do – acknowledge the hand I had on the situation, or better, the hand he had on preventing it from spiralling.
He may be a pathetic ferret (and that’s an insult to the ferrets) but he’s not a murder. That is what one of the last things Dumbledore said, on the Astronomy Tower. I think Malfoy might have betrayed Voldemort right that night if things had gone differently. It’s been nearly two years however, who knows what Malfoy has turned into. I don’t think he’s evil, at least, I guess the trial will reveal it. I have no idea what to do with the idea that I'm defending a killer – you are way more insightful than me on these matters.
What would Gin do? I wonder. You say you admire the way I see right and wrong clearly, but that’s really seeing the world black and white, isn’t it? Everyone uses that phrase followed by the idea that the world it’s actually painted by shades of grey – which I guess it’s what you do. It takes more subtlety than I have. I reckon that makes us a good match.
I can’t believe I still have to wait another month to see you again.
All my love,
Harry
1 April 1999
Harry,
I don’t even know why I’m writing this, we’ll meet in a few hours. I just needed to speak with someone, with you.
Everyone has gone to sleep, it’s so quiet here, like any trace of mankind has vanished to another dimension. All I can think about it’s that Fred died a few corridors down. He’s everywhere here – I’m trying to come up with memories of him outside Hogwarts to no avail. Here in the common room is worse, but I’m afraid if I leave I’ll forget him. It’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond school.
You know, the worst howler mum ever sent me was the one from when McGonagall found me with a drinking firewhiskey on the Yule Ball. Fred was the first one to try to cheer me up. He promised me they would throw the most memorable birthday party for themselves as soon as I were of age, and mum wouldn’t be able to say a word. I didn’t realise until now but, for those next six months, I fantasized a lot about my early adulthood – and then, Cedric’s dead and you’re hurt, Voldemort’s back and the Order’s reinstated.
I don’t think I missed out. I’ve had enough hangovers by now to know they aren’t what my thirteen-year-old self was promised. But tomorrow (well, today) is the date – their twenty-first birthday, the first one after my coming of age. Fred never got to see it. I’d have two brothers turning twenty-one, instead only one has reached the age, and George isn’t in the partying mood.
I miss him – I miss them together.
How I wish you’re here. Or I was there. Lying in bed by your side would take my mind of this (no innuendo here this time, I don’t think I’d be able to). We could make a spoon, ha.
Love,
Gin
P.S.: Bring something funny tomorrow (today), will you? I feel we might need a bit of humour.
29 April 1999
Dear Gin,
If you think things were crazy here last week when you left, try to imagine how it is now. I imagine Hogwarts isn’t that awesome either, with the preparations for the memorial ceremony. From the study window, I can see three reporters lying in ambush at the front street, right now. Every day when I leave the house, I’m swarmed by them. It’s insane.
Things inside aren’t that peaceful either – though this craziness is more of the welcomed kind. Hermione has gone mad with the A.L.M.S. and the A.L.T.E.R., dragging Dean and Hannah with her. Hell, she’s not even her and they’re managing to raise hell on their own. It’ll be announced Saturday – it’s the only thing I’m looking forward to honestly, aside from seeing you.
Saturday. I’m glad you guys will arrive tomorrow evening, ‘cuz we won’t manage to have a reunion on the next day. Kingsley has me posing like a good poster boy for the whole day – the whole thing annoys me greatly but I don’t think I’m at my wit's end yet. It’s kinda surprising: I know if it was anyone else, I’d have already told him off, but Kingsley has done a lot for me, and the ICW has done a lot for us. I don’t think I have in me to be a politician – I mean, I just have to be by Hermione’s side to see how unsuited I’m, and to see how suited she is. Still, it could be impossible, like it is for Ron. For me, it’s just a torturous thing that needs to be done, and really, it’s just one more to the several others we have done. The reporters following me around is really the worst part of it – I can’t even poke my nose or tie my shoes without them taking a bloody photograph.
Still, it isn’t my choice of a Saturday. I’d have much preferred to have a quiet night in with you, and try not to think of what was happening a year ago. You’ll like it, I think, you’re never blinded by the light of the spotlight, ‘cuz you shine brighter than it.
Yours always,
Harry
P.S.: Andromeda told me she will bring Teddy to Hogwarts on Sunday. Be warned, he has been blabbering your name non-stop, ever since you left.
25 May 1999
Dear H.,
How does it feel, to be the boyfriend of the most fantastic Quidditch captain in the entire British Isles?
I got a letter from the editor of Seeker Weekly. They want to do a profile on newcomers to watch for, and they want to include me. I mean, it’s most likely due to my ties to the war than anything else, which is frustrating, but I’m sound enough to recognise an opportunity when I see one. Do you know how many players were written about in an international magazine before they left school, in this half of the century? One: Viktor Krum. If the article comes out, I’ll have teams lining up to hire me. That’s the good side of fame, Harry, the one you are always ignoring. Not that I blame you – your fame is just too dreary, darling, nothing exciting and glamorous like mine.
Merlin, it’s been three days, and I’m still riding on victory. I mean, life started to catch up yesterday, ‘cause it was a Monday and N.E.W.T.s are starting next week, so the whole class has gone crazy. I mean, it’s like these itty-bitty exams could give the Death Eaters a run for their money. Hermione is at her wits’ end and all I want to do is to ask her if she is still the same person who fought fucking Lestrange with me and Luna. I won’t, as I believe she gets off on being stressed out and Merlin knows that she needs every orgasm she can get, dating my brother and all.
Yes, I’m still pissed at Ron. I can’t believe he had the nerve to suggest I should live with mum and dad when he has been rooming with his girlfriend every weekend for the past year. As if he and her didn’t go to Australia for a month, just last August. Can you tell me his schedule for the next few days? I have some things I want to be delivered at 12 Grimmauld Place, and I want to make sure he’ll be there to see them come. Trust me, you won’t regret – and I promise to reward you later if you open them right under his nose.
Wish me luck on my N.E.W.T.s, the soon I get them over with, the soon I’m out of this school and back to your beautiful, wonderfully soft bed, which, let’s face it, I should only leave to fly on a broomstick. Well, I can think of other things to be done on one – some I wouldn’t even need the bed for.
The queen of your heart,
Gin