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Dear Rosie,
“No…” Victor grumbled to himself, crumpling up the piece of mostly-blank parchment and tapping it with his wand, “Evanesco.”. The parchment disappeared, another of the many unfinished letters that would probably be surrounding him, had it not been for the Vanishing Charm.
“Surely it cannot be this difficult…” Victor covered his eyes with his palms as he leaned backward into the couch, thankful that no one else was in the Ravenclaw Common Room to see this shameful display. The dim evening of the room was normally relaxing, with the faint light of day still shining, but also transitioning into the night that he had learned to call home. Victor glared down at the leather satchel sitting next to him, filled with blank parchment, various letters he’d received from classmates and admirers, as well as a few romance novels that had been stuffed down at the bottom. Strange research materials, sure, but this was important.
Oh Rosie,
It seems the holidays are upon us once again.
“No, no, no!” Victor sighed, throwing the paper off the table. None of it was right, and he just couldn’t figure out why.
“Why is this so difficult!” Victor questioned the empty common room, “I’ve received so many! Why is writing one measly love letter this taxing?”. There was the shuffle of footsteps at the entrance to the Common Room as a few younger students shuffled in, and Victor hurriedly stuffed the remaining parchment into his bag.
His isolation interrupted, Victor threw his bag over his shoulder and strode out of the Common Room, intent on finding somewhere to write in peace.
Unfortunately, his search was less than fortuitous, as it looked like the whole castle was abuzz with activity for the holidays. Even the normally-quiet Slytherin Common Rooms, where Victor had charmed a student into letting him in, were unusually lively, and a particularly raffish individual with one eye told him to, “Beat it, Drac.”.
Not one to argue with the cyclops with a knife, Victor had left the area quickly, striding beyond Hogwarts castle as a whole, into the town of Hogsmeade, still in search of a place to write in peace.
“Perhaps the Three Broomsticks…” Victor mused, little more reaching his ears than the crunch of snow under his shoes, “Madam Rosmerta has always been rather kind, perhaps she can help.”.
The Three Broomsticks was, predictably, alive with holiday activity, but the overlapping conversation made for fairly effective background noise as Victor laid out another empty parchment in front of himself.
Rosie, my dearest,
With the holidays upon us again, I find my thoughts turning to you.
Victor’s eyes narrowed at the sentence-long letter. It was a good start, he thought, but where to go from there? What could he say other than this that didn’t come off as the same, cheap words that filled the letters he had received from his admirers?
“Holiday schoolwork, dear?” Rosmerta’s voice snapped Victor away from his writing, and he sighed.
“Far more important. I’ve been trying to write this letter for ages now, and with the holidays coming, the words keep escaping me…” Victor leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in frustration. Rosmerta smiled, “Tell you what, dear. Once I’ve cleared some of these folks out, I’ll see if I can help?”.
“You will?” Victor asked, and Rosmerta nodded, “Of course, dear, as soon as this place calms down a little…”.
So Victor waited. He sat at the corner table, watching the evening light darken into stars, and the half-full pale moon drawing free from the remaining light, standing proud against the night sky.
“Dammit!” Victor swore at his thoughts, “Where is poetry like that when I write?”. He thought to include the stars in the letter somehow, but his sudden spark of imagination would not cooperate, as he found even the opening line again impossible.
Dearest Rosie,
Rosie, my dear,
Rosie my beloved,
Oh Fair Mayfield,
Terrible, every single one. None could truly encapsulate the feelings, not a single of the quickly crumpled and vanished letters ever read correctly.
“Damn it all!” Victor cursed once more, a bit louder this time, though he quickly silenced himself as he saw Rosmerta usher the last few students out of the inn, and stride across the homely building to his table.
“No luck?” She observed, and Victor sighed, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t find the words!”. Rosmerta glanced down to the bag sitting on the bench next to Victor, and she asked, “Study materials?”.
“All the use of an altruistic Dementor,” Victor grumbled, “Kind words, but shallow.”.
“What’s the difference?” Rosmerta asked, though from her expression, Victor could guess that she already knew the answer.
“They do not see me the way she does… nor the way I see her…”.
“And how is that?”.
“…Imperfect,” Victor reluctantly admitted, “She sees me as… flawed. She does not fall for my stories, my looks, or my status…”. Though he threw his arms up defensively as he clarified, “Not to imply that she is anything but perfect! I could never-”.
Rosmerta’s laughter cut off Victor’s sentence, and with a smile, she simply said, “Wow.”.
“Wow?” Victor echoed, “What do you mean by that?”. Rosmerta stood, still smiling as she shook her head, “You’re in it now, kiddo. You’ve gotten her a decent gift, at the least, right?”.
Victor went pale. So much so that even Rosmerta noticed, and her smile melted, “Oh, Merlin, dear…”.
“Ambrosia Lily!” Victor yelled, stuffing his loose parchment and letters into his bag, only after he stood up and saw Rosmerta’s eyes widen did he realize that his outburst was nonsense.
“A fashion designer… That Rosie likes,” Victor explained, “She works in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds of fashion, and I found a bunch of old Muggle fashion magazines I don’t think she has…”.
“They’re waiting for me at the post by the train station! I need to get there before they close!”. Rosmerta clapped her hands together at Victor, “Well then run, kiddo! Go, go, go!”.
“But what about the letter?” Victor asked as he was ushered out, and Rosmerta responded, “The words’ll come to you, dear, stop trying to make them happen!”.
Before Victor could mention how that made no sense, he was back out in the snow, running back through Hogsmeade towards the post office.
Luckily, the stack of magazines were still there once he arrived, and even though they were a bit heavy, he managed to get the stack of paper back into the castle as the night became properly dark.
Walking through the dimming castle halls, Victor heard the shuffle of feet behind him, and he turned around to see Chiara wandering down the hall behind him.
“Oh… um, good evening, Chiara.”.
Cihara blinked, apparently only just now registering Victor’s presence, “Oh! Uh… hey, Vic. Up late?”.
Victor chuckled, “I’m afraid I’ve had to fill in for Saint Nick a little this year… Though neither of us could get the whole job done.”. Chiara cocked her head to the side a little, walking closer to Victor as she asked, “What’s that mean? Did the gift not come all at once?”.
His shoulders sinking, Victor mumbled, “No, it’s here, I just… I couldn’t write a good letter.”.
“Why?” Chiara shortly questioned, and Victor released what must have been the thousandth frustrated sigh of that day, “I don’t know… I just, I can’t find the right words, and it’s driving me mad!”.
“No, not why can you not write it…” Chiara clarified, crossing her arms inquisitive.
“Why do you need to write one at all?”.
Victor had no answer for a moment. Then another. Then several more.
“I… uh… because…”.
Feeling the weight still hanging from his shoulder, Victor found an answer, “Because it’s what I have the experience with? I mean, I have received a lot of love letters…”.
“But those are mostly confessions, right?”.
“Yes, I suppose so…” Most of the letters in the bag were indeed various admirers professing their love, loyalty, or both to Victor.
“Haven’t you and Rosie already done all that part?”.
“Well, I should hope so,” Victor answered, thinking back to his announcement in front of the Great Hall about his love, admiration and respect for Rosie, “I’d be rather upset if anyone was mistaken by now…”.
“So why bother with a love letter? Just say all the words you have.”.
“It’s not that simple! There are no words! And even then, how could I possibly say them correctly?”.
Chiara paused for a moment, “So… write that.”.
“Write what?”.
“Write about how you don’t know how to say things right.”.
Victor stopped for a moment, considering the idea, “But… wouldn’t that make a disappointing letter?”. Chiara made an “I dunno” noise, shrugging and walking past him, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not Rosie. But I believe in you.”.
Victor quietly thanked Chiara, and began to slink through the dark castle towards his common room, only to lay in bed until the stroke of midnight.
It was then that something clicked in Victor’s head, and he jolted upright.
“Write everything I couldn’t write.”.
A piece of parchment flew from his bag, onto his desk, and he began to write his first love letter.
Rosie,
‘
This letter is a rather old one, I’m afraid, as I’ve been writing it for years now. Forgive my laziness, I’m afraid I’m not as strong a writer as I wished.
Yet, after all this wait, there is still nothing. My mind is empty, full of ideas, yet none worth storing. If you would allow me, I’d like to explain.
I thought to compare you to the stars, to the sun and moon, and yet they did not shine bright enough to compare.
I felt to profess my eternal loyalty to you, that until I am no longer alive to give it, I will fill my heart with all my love for you, yet my life was too short, and my heart lacked the room for so much love.
Perhaps then, myth and magic? Still nothing, as the songs of sirens did not enchant me as your voice does, and the eternal beauty of the veelas and nymphs did not even come close to your beauty.
No scholar could match your wit, no poet meet your imagination, nor angel your kindness and warmth.
There are simply no words in any language, by human or beast, to detail just how… everything, you truly are.
But I could find these ones. Hopefully they will make a suitable replacement.
Rosie, I love you. Thank you for changing my life.
-Victor Ketsueki
And what a letter it was.