Lost And Found

LETTERS TO OLD FRIENDS: PART 1

It was late night.

Dinner was over.

For the first time in weeks, the environment at  the dinner table felt normal.

There was no more tensions between the master and the mistress of the house.

Even the children could feel that something shifted in the relationship between their parents, well, something good, that is. The silence that surrounded them all was comfortable and content. Also, the surreptitious glances exchanged between their parents didn't go unnoticed.

In general, the whole family left for bed with a lingering happiness.

The children went to sleep without making much fuss.

Draco bade goodnight to Hermione with a gentle kiss on her cheek.

And Hermione, after completing her bedtime routines, found herself sitting in front of her bedside drawer, contemplating whether to open the lower most drawer or not.

To some outsider, this might appear strange. And, no, there was no dark or powerful object inside the said drawer that she was afraid to open it.

Rather, there was something more unique. Inside the drawer, in the darkness, rested her past, an unknown era about which she was almost fully clueless. It contained a bunch of letters to old friends.

When Ginny gave her those letters at the initial stage of her memory-loss, she was sceptical about opening them. At that time she was too afraid to open that unknown chapter of her life where, apparently, almost every law of nature seemed to be defied. She was afraid to peep into a past where Ron was no more, where she married to Draco Malfoy, not only married, but married for love!

But, at this point, after all these weeks, months and after the whirlwind of unexpected events, she started to understand the woman she was in this alternate universe (or rather, this was reality and her memories of Ron was a dream, a mind trick played by a psychopath). She now wormed up to the notion that in a strange world as this, it was not altogether impossible for her to fall in love with her long-time enemy Draco Malfoy.

With shaking hand, she opened the drawer.

There it was. The battered pieces of parchments.

Taking a deep breath, she brought them out in light.

And without wasting a single moment in fear of anymore protest from her mind, she dove into her past.

******

12th August, 1998

Dear, Harry and Ginny,

I am really sorry that I am not a very frequent correspondent these days. I apologise if I caused you to worry about my whereabouts. And, yes, I am profusely sorry for not answering all your letters for last two months.

But in my defence, I had already told you beforehand that I wouldn't be available for a few months and  not to worry about me.

Can I request you one thing? please stop asking me if I am fine in that overly cautious tone each and every time we meet. It makes me more anxious and in turn, my mind protests against meeting you altogether. I am not being rude. I am being honest.

And I am not ready yet to talk about Ron.

Please stop worrying about me. I just need some time and space alone. I promise to meet you soon enough.

Take care of yourselves and others. How is everyone fairing at The Burrow? Give my regards to all.

Love,