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“You complete me with such incandescence- and I ache to do the same for you.”
- ________
7th March, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Mr. Thomas Riddle
Though we have not yet had the opportunity to make one another’s acquaintance, it seems most proper that I should be the one to initiate correspondence, given that the arrangement between our families has now been formalized.
Allow me, then, to express my sincere wish that this exchange may prove agreeable to you. While such matches are often matters of practicality, I believe it entirely possible for two strangers to cultivate mutual respect, and perhaps even friendship, through honest communication.
I must admit I am unsure what one ought to say to one’s intended before ever having shared so much as a handshake. If I offend by clumsiness, I hope you will attribute it to inexperience rather than discourtesy.
Should you consent to write in return, I should be glad to learn something of your interests and your life in Little Hangleton. I, for my part, am employed modestly in my godfather’s legal chambers and lead a quiet existence, interrupted mainly by books and the occasional disagreement with my colleagues.
With every good wish,
Harry James Potter
11th March, 1894
Little Hangleton
Mr. Potter
Your letter arrived this morning, and I thank you for its civility. I confess I did not expect our first exchange to be so promptly undertaken, nor so considerate in tone. Many in your position would feel no need to reassure their correspondent of respect, but I find myself appreciating the gesture.
You requested a few particulars about my life. I fear they are hardly worth recording. My work is clerical, though I hope not to remain in so humble a position forever. My leisure hours, few though they are, are spent reading what I can afford, or what may be borrowed. I suspect my education is inferior to yours, though I have attempted to remedy this by persistence.
It is curious to write to someone whom one is expected to marry without any certainty of mutual goodwill. Still, your letter showed both goodwill and an unexpected frankness, which I shall endeavour to reciprocate in time.
In the meanwhile, I should be glad to know what books most often interrupt your quiet existence, and with which colleagues you most often find yourself in disagreement.
Respectfully,
Thomas Marvolo Riddle
15th March, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Mr. Riddle
Your reply gave me far more pleasure than propriety permits me to admit. I was half afraid I should receive a single line acknowledging the arrangement and nothing further, which would have made our future meetings exceedingly awkward.
I am relieved to find you not merely polite, but thoughtful. And, if I may be so bold, rather sharp in your observations. You will deny it, but your writing betrays an attentiveness far above what most men possess.
As for your concerns regarding education, quantity matters very little. I have known many gentlemen with grand tutors and poor minds. You strike me as one who has made far better use of his lessons, whatever their form.
You ask about my disagreements at the office. They are always the same. My colleagues prefer arguments won by volume rather than sense. I take the quieter approach, which appears to irritate them profoundly.
It has now occurred to me that in answering your questions, I have neglected to pose any of my own. Forgive me for correcting that now: what books do you borrow, Mr. Riddle? And what do you hope to pursue beyond clerical work?
I look forward to your reply more than seems entirely proper.
Yours sincerely,
Harry J. Potter
19th March, 1894
Little Hangleton
Mr. Potter
Your most recent letter suggests that you have mistaken me for someone who knows how to accept a compliment with grace. I assure you, I do not. Your praise of my, attentiveness, has left me looking at my own handwriting with deep suspicion, wondering what I might have accidentally revealed.
You also suggest my observations are, sharp. I fear this is merely a polite way of saying that I am prone to speaking too plainly. I will endeavour not to frighten you with undue candour until after our wedding ceremony, by which time it will presumably be too late for you to flee.
You inquired after my books. My tastes are regrettably inconsistent. I borrow whatever is available, which means I alternate between argumentative philosophers, sentimental poets, and the occasional dreadful novel about a plucky governess who reforms a dissolute baron. (For the record, I remain unconvinced that love triumphs over bad temper, but perhaps that is cynicism.)
As for my ambitions beyond clerical work. I should like to do anything that does not involve taking dictation for men with lesser minds and greater salaries. Whether this is a realistic hope, time will tell.
I trust you will forgive the length of this letter. It appears you have made the mistake of encouraging me.
Respectfully,
Thomas M. Riddle
24th March, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Mr. Riddle
Your suspicion of your own handwriting is unwarranted. It is perfectly respectable penmanship and did not, I assure you, betray any dreadful secrets. That you fear it did tells me far more than the script itself.
Regarding your alleged candour. Please do not trouble yourself on my account. I have endured far more frightening things than honesty during my years in legal apprenticeship. Most of them involving my godfather’s attempts at cooking.
Your reading habits amuse me. I cannot imagine you suffering a sentimental poet without making several scathing notes in the margin. Should we someday share a household library, I expect to find all my volumes annotated with your disapproval.
You mention disagreeable employers. I sympathize. I have found that those with the smallest imaginations often possess the loudest voices. If ambition is a fault, then at least you have chosen one preferable to complacency.
I should warn you that lengthy letters do not discourage me in the least; they only compel me to respond in kind. If you wish to silence me, you must be considerably more boring than you have been thus far.
Yours,
Harry J. Potter
31st March, 1894
Little Hangleton
Mr. Potter
I find your belief in the decency of my handwriting both generous and naive. Still, I will not contradict you further on the matter, lest you accuse me of impertinence.
You suggest that, in the event of our sharing a library, I would annotate your books with disapproval. On the contrary, I would confine my critiques to the margins of your dullest volumes, and leave untouched those few you seem to read for pleasure. I am not entirely without mercy.
I laughed aloud at your account of your godfather’s cooking, which startled my landlady considerably. She must think me prone to fits. If this engagement accomplishes nothing else, it has at least given her material for speculation.
You imply that ambition is preferable to complacency. I hope you will remember that sentiment should I, in future, display an excess of the former.
Should you continue to write with the frequency and warmth you have thus far, I fear I shall have no choice but to reciprocate. Until then, I remain-
Respectfully (and increasingly with interest),
Thomas M. Riddle
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5th April, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Mr. Riddle
I hope you will forgive the informality of this letter. I write it far later in the evening than is sensible, and after a day so tedious that I feel nearly compelled to inflict the entire account upon you.
I spare you the worst of it. Suffice it to say, a certain senior clerk, whom one might charitably describe as pompous, addressed me as, the junior Potter boy, not once, but five times in the course of a single meeting. I corrected him thrice. He persisted. I have now resolved to outlive him out of sheer spite.
In better news, I discovered your last letter tucked inside my case when I most needed the reminder that not all human conversation is drudgery. You mentioned laughing aloud at my godfather’s culinary failures. Pray do not be alarmed, it is a natural reaction. Even I, who have survived these meals, frequently lose my composure.
You wrote that you might reciprocate if I continue with warmth. Please consider this an invitation. I do not write warmly out of obligation, but because, though we have not met, I find you an unexpectedly agreeable correspondent. Sharp, yes. A little too observant for my peace of mind. But agreeable nevertheless.
Should you choose to reply in kind, I will not object.
Yours,
Harry J. Potter
9th April, 1894
Little Hangleton
Mr. Potter
If this letter feels uncharacteristically candid, I shall blame the same late hour you cited in your own. Perhaps there is something about writing by candlelight that weakens one’s resolve.
To the matter of your senior clerk, I am astonished at his nerve. Junior Potter boy, indeed. You show remarkable restraint. I would personally have resorted to far less dignified terms in describing him. If you intend to outlive him out of spite, I believe you entirely capable. You strike me as the tenacious sort, quietly so, and thus all the more formidable.
You accuse me (quite correctly) of being too observant. In my defense, it is a survival habit. When one grows up with little, one learns quickly to notice everything. Who intends kindness, who intends harm, who can be trusted with the truth and who most certainly cannot.
It is perhaps foolish of me to say so, but I find myself wishing, against my better judgement, that you are the first category rather than the second.
I should stop before I write anything even more regrettable.
Respectfully,
Thomas M. Riddle
Postscriptum: If my landlady hears me laugh again, she will assume madness. Pray do not make me laugh. (Or do. I find I mind it less than I ought.)
14th April, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Mr. Riddle
You need not fear candour with me. Indeed, I suspect a little honesty would do us both good. I should hate to discover, years into marriage, that my future spouse had restrained himself from speaking plainly because he thought me incapable of handling it.
You write that you hope I belong to the first category, one who intends kindness. I can assure you that I do. In fact, you may trust that anything I say to you is said with respect, and, increasingly, with something gentler which I have not yet found the courage to name.
Your account of noticing everything gives me the impression of someone accustomed to watching the world from its edges. I wish I could say something profound in response, but all I can offer is this. You are not on the edge with me. Not in these letters.
I apologise if that was too earnest. Please feel free to mock me at your earliest convenience.
Yours,
Harry J. Potter
18th April, 1894
Little Hangleton
Mr. Potter
I would mock you as invited, but find myself strangely disinclined. Your earnestness is disarming, and, worse, it seems to have the effect of making me honest in return.
You write that I am not on the edge with you. I scarcely know what to do with such a sentiment. In my experience, people like to place others in their proper categories and leave them there. Yet you speak as though categories might be optional.
You are mistaken in one regard, however. It is not that I believe you incapable of handling the truth. It is that I fear the truth might alter your opinion of me for the worse. I do not know how to reconcile wanting to be known with wanting to be acceptable.
I cannot imagine why I am writing this at all. It is late. Perhaps I am developing the same impractical affection for these letters that you seem to possess.
Do not think too highly of this confession. By morning, I shall regret it entirely.
Respectfully,
Thomas M. Riddle
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23rd April, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
(I hope you will forgive the breach of formality. Writing, Mr. Riddle, does not suit the tone I presently find myself in.)
Today I encountered a certain Mr. Dumbledore, who you may know has been instrumental in facilitating our families’ arrangement. I expected the usual stiff conversation about expectations and timelines. Instead, he chose to comment, quite carelessly, on your so-called modest upbringing, and to imply that this match must feel to you like a fortunate elevation.
I do not know what came over me, but I found myself contradicting him sharply, informing him that you possess more intelligence, ambition, and dignity than half the men in his circle, and that anyone who considers you merely, fortunate, is a fool.
Mr. Dumbledore choked on his lemon drops.
I ought to regret it. I do not. When someone speaks of you without understanding you, it appears I have very little patience.
I apologise if this seems improper to confess. But I thought you should know.
Yours sincerely,
Harry
27th April, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
(A reciprocal breach of formality seems fair.)
I am uncertain whether to laugh at Mr. Dumbledore’s discomfort or to feel a certain awe that you would defend me so fiercely after knowing me only on paper. I suspect either reaction would embarrass me, but here we are.
For your information, I have endured worse remarks than, modest upbringing. That is practically a compliment compared with what most assume when they hear where I was raised. But never, never has anyone contradicted those assumptions on my behalf.
You must understand something. People like Dumbledore look at me and see only the distance between my origins and my ambitions. They expect me to apologise for wanting more than what I was born into. They certainly do not expect a man of your standing to speak in my defence.
It is… disorienting. In a not unpleasant way.
I warn you, however, that if you continue in this manner, I may develop a hazardous level of fondness for you. At this point, I am uncertain who is expected to save whom at the altar.
Yours,
Tom
2nd May, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
Your last letter has sat on my desk for two days because I was unsure how to respond without sounding terribly sentimental. Since you have already accused me of earnestness, I suppose I may as well accept the charge.
It troubled me to read that no one has spoken in your defence before. I wish I could say I was surprised. People are often quite blind to merit when it does not arrive wrapped in silk and inheritance.
If it helps at all, I did not grow up in the polished Godric's Hollow household Mr. Dumbledore imagines. I lived with my aunt and uncle until my adolescence, in a place where kindness was considered a negotiable luxury. My godfather did not take me in until later.
I do not often speak of it. But your remark about origins struck closer than you knew.
I hope this confession does not disillusion you. You may mock me gently if necessary.
With honest regard,
Harry
6th May, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
If you truly feared disillusioning me, then you must think me far more foolish than I am. You mistake me entirely if you believe that your circumstances, past or present, could lessen my esteem.
I am not surprised that you understand what it is to grow up without certain comforts. It explains many things. Your inclination toward kindness, for instance. Your habit of writing to me as though you expect neither reward nor betrayal. As you can imagine, such an approach is… unfamiliar.
You grant me more trust than I deserve. I hope someday to earn it.
As for mocking you. I should very much like to, but find myself unable. Instead, I shall say something equally sentimental and equally regrettable.
Your honesty is a relief to me.
There. Now we are even.
Yours,
Tom
10th May, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
I believe we have reached a dangerous stage in our correspondence. I find myself awaiting your letters with a degree of anticipation that would shock my colleagues. I nearly smiled at the office today, and they looked at me as though I’d lost my senses.
If this continues, I shall be forced to blame you for the deterioration of my professional reputation.
In the interest of preserving my sanity, I ask you a question.
What quality do you most value in another person?
You need not answer if it feels too personal. In exchange, I shall offer my own. I value constancy. The sort of steady reliability that does not falter when circumstances shift.
Though I suspect you already knew that.
Yours ever so slightly too eagerly,
Harry
15th May, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
You ask what quality I most value in another person. My first impulse was to write intelligence, but that would be disingenuous. Intelligence alone does not suffice. Many clever men are cowards.
No, the quality I value most is courage. Not the dramatic kind sung about in ballads, but the quieter sort. The courage to remain decent when there is no reward in it, to speak truth without audience, to act kindly without recognition.
It is exceedingly rare.
(If you detect a compliment hidden within that definition, I assure you it was entirely unintentional. Or mostly unintentional.)
Yours,
Tom
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22nd May, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
Your letter did not come yesterday.
I mention this not as a reproach (though I admit the temptation) but in the interest of accuracy. I am accustomed to receiving your letters with such regularity that their absence creates… an inconvenience to my peace of mind.
To distract myself, I attempted to read one of the sentimental novels you insist is harmless. The heroine fainted twice in the first chapter, which did nothing to improve my mood.
Forgive my bluntness, but I trust the delay did not stem from some ill opinion of me. I realise this exposes more impatience than is wise. Nevertheless, I prefer honesty over silence.
I await your next letter with what I shall diplomatically call, interest. Though the word is a gross understatement.
Yours,
Tom
24th May, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
Please accept my apologies for the delay. It was not reluctance that held my pen, but a miserable head cold that rendered my writing incoherent, even by my own standards. You would have received nothing but blots and sneezes.
Had I known the chaos wrought by the absence of my letter, I might have made a heroic effort to write despite it.
Your impatience touches me more than propriety allows me to say. I will, however, say this. You have no cause to doubt whether I hold you in good opinion. I do. Steadily, and more than steadily.
If a heroine fainted twice in the first chapter, I can only assume she was overwhelmed by the depth of your concern.
(That is sarcasm, in case your pride attempts to take it sincerely.)
Yours,
Harry
28th May, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
You make light of it, and perhaps that is wise, but I will not pretend your absence was inconsequential. I have grown accustomed, and, regrettably, attached to hearing from you with a frequency that would embarrass me if I possessed any sense of self-preservation.
You say you hold me in good opinion. I find myself wishing, absurdly, for more than that. What that, more, entails, I am not yet bold enough to specify.
Your teasing is noted and appreciated. It is a strange relief to be mocked gently instead of judged harshly, and I begin to suspect that your sarcasm is a language I am becoming fluent in.
Tell me truthfully.
Has this arrangement grown as unexpectedly important to you as it has to me?
With impatience, and something else I will not name,
Tom
1st June, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
You were bold enough to ask the question. I will be bold enough to answer it.
Yes.
This correspondence has grown important to me, far beyond what I anticipated when I wrote that first dutiful letter. I look for your handwriting before I look for anything else in the morning. I think of your phrasing when I read the newspaper. I hear your voice when someone says something foolish.
I do not know what to call such a development, but dismissing it would be dishonest.
You wrote that you wished for, more. I cannot name it either, but perhaps we may continue toward it together, one letter at a time.
And Tom, if it comforts you at all, I have no sense of self-preservation either.
Yours,
Harry
5th June, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
I will make a confession, though I reserve the right to deny it later. Your letter disarmed me entirely. I read it twice, three times, if we are being truthful, and found myself smiling like a dunce.
I cannot recall the last time anything produced that effect.
You say you look for my handwriting each morning. I do the same with yours, though my post arrives inconsistently and often with the sort of damp corners that suggest it has travelled through a storm or a puddle. Or both.
You hear my voice when someone says something foolish. I fear you hear it often, as foolishness is abundant in this day and age.
And you propose that we continue toward this unnamed, more, one letter at a time. That prospect is far more tempting than any ambition I have entertained as of late.
If this continues, I shall be intolerable by the time we reach the altar.
Yours, quite sincerely,
Tom
10th June, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
You write that you smiled at my letter. Had I been present, I suspect I would have teased you mercilessly for it.
Since we will not meet until the day of our vows, I must imagine the expression instead. I do. More often than is proper.
I realised something this morning.
The entirety of our acquaintance exists in ink.
Every impression I have of you. Your wit, your pride, your vulnerability, your laugh, is confined to these pages.
And yet it feels more real than most of my past friendships.
I wonder what it will be like to hear your voice rather than read it. To see your expression rather than imagine it.
I wonder-
No. I should not write the rest. Propriety, after all.
Yours with restraint and a lack of it,
Harry
14th June, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
I admit it. I read your letter twice before I could trust my pulse enough to reply.
You wonder what it will be like to hear my voice. I have wondered the same about yours. Whether you speak softly or firmly. Whether you laugh as easily aloud as you do on the page.
You wonder what expression I wear when I write to you. I will tell you, though it embarrasses me. It is far softer than I allow anyone else to see.
And as for the sentence you did not write. I have my suspicions. I will not force you to commit them to paper. But you may know this.
The things I have refrained from writing are every bit as improper.
Yours in anticipation,
Tom
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20th June, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
It seems the wedding is now uncomfortably near. I find myself adjusting my daily schedule to account for writing to you, and yet I suspect this is merely an attempt to prolong the period in which I may communicate with you at leisure, rather than out of any sense of necessity.
The thought of seeing you for the first time, on the day we are promised to one another, both excites and unnerves me. You will be unavoidably real, I shall be unavoidably human, and all the careful imaginings cultivated in these letters will be put to the test.
I hope, somehow, that the man you are on paper is the man I shall recognize in person. If not, I trust your intelligence and your courage will at least make you tolerable.
Do not let my sarcasm fool you. I am eager, and I am glad, that this day approaches. Only the modesty of our age keeps me from writing otherwise.
Yours, with anticipatory restraint,
Harry
25th June, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
Eager, you say?
I should hope you are not so forward. I find myself both scandalized and delighted by the prospect that my letters have led you to such a confession.
The wedding day approaches, and yet I am frightened. Not of you, but of the peculiar hazard of discovering that a person whom I have only known through careful observation, wit, and inked words could be even more remarkable in the flesh. Worse, I suspect I shall find you more than remarkable. I fear you will seem, impossibly, exactly as I have imagined, and yet entirely different.
I have taken to rereading every one of your letters, not merely to anticipate your tone, but because it steadies me. It prepares me, in some small way, for the moment when ink must give way to presence.
And I must confess. The possibility that you imagine me as fondly as I imagine you is… intoxicating.
Yours in anticipation,
Tom
1st July, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
The post has been irregular this week. I find myself restless when your letters arrive late, as if your absence can be measured in the delay of the mail. Such absurdity! And yet I feel it profoundly.
It strikes me that I have not spent a day this week without thinking of you. Not in a distracted way, nor in expectation of propriety, but in the small, unspoken manner that is less obvious to oneself until it is undeniable.
I shall endeavor to maintain my composure when we meet. I cannot promise much beyond a steady handshake and a reasonable smile, though my heart threatens rebellion.
Ever yours,
Harry
4th July, 1894
Little Hangleton
Harry
I am compelled to admit that your last letter caused me to set down my pen and stare at it for longer than is proper. A dangerous letter, it seems, if only because it confirms what I have been attempting to deny.
That I have imagined you in my mind far more vividly than any acquaintance might permit.
I do not know if propriety can survive our first meeting. I suspect it will strain against the reality of our anticipation. And yet, I am eager to see if the man I have known only in ink will find my thoughts familiar, or entirely unexpected.
Until that moment, I remain,
T. M. Riddle
You have been cordially invited by,
Mr. Harry J. Potter & Mr. Thomas M. Riddle,
to the solemnisation of their marriage.On the twenty-first day of July, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and ninety-four
at St. Augustine’s Church, Kensington, at half-past three in the afternoon.Reception is to follow at the Potter ancestral residence, Godric's Hollow.
Your presence is requested to witness and celebrate this union.
Formal attire is requested.
21st July, 1894
Godric's Hollow
Tom
The day has arrived. The letters that once bridged our distance now must give way to reality.
I am seated with pen in hand, attempting to capture a fraction of what I feel. Your letters have been my constant companion, my confidant, my challenge, and my solace. Without them, I would not know the person I am about to marry. Not in words, not in heart.
I imagine you preparing in your own space, perhaps smiling at the memory of something foolish I wrote, perhaps wondering as I do how it will feel to finally meet.
I have no certainty except this. The anticipation of seeing you, the knowledge of your wit and resolve, the memory of every line you have written to me. All of it swells in my chest. I cannot tell if it is joy, nervousness, or longing, but it is undeniably full.
May this day honor all the letters, laughter, and confessions that led us here. And may the first moment we see one another, standing at the threshold of everything, be everything these pages have promised, and more.
Ever yours,
Harry
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And so, the day arrived.
They had never seen one another, yet every line written, every confession and quip, every teasing remark and hidden truth had carried them here.
The ink had bridged the distance between two hearts long before their eyes ever met. In the quiet before the ceremony, they were at once strangers and intimately known.
Bound by words, by expectation, by the fragile ache of waiting.
And in that suspended breath of a moment, the world seemed impossibly full, and impossibly small, until the first step toward the altar promised to turn anticipation into a lifetime of discovery.
With the one they so ardently loved.