II

Part II

19 March 2025

Dear Mr Smith,

I couldn't sleep tonight, so where do I turn? Here. To my parchment, my inkwell and my quill. I am, once again, turning to an anonymous person who I like to pretend is reading my letters.

Over the last few weeks, I have tried other methods. My dismal attempt at journal writing has equated to there being ten sheets of parchment addressed to nobody that have been engulfed by the flames of fire. And I found that the process did me no good.

So, here I return. To you.

I'm sure that you're not pleased to know that, but quite frankly, I don't care. I have kept your secret. I've only sent you a handful of letters to which I've never received a reply. In my own convoluted mind, that equates to the fact that you owe me. And by God, I need someone right now.

My house has never been this quiet. Before I married, before I had children, I used to revel in the silence. I loved it. I had grown up with that, you see. It had been very difficult for me to transition to a school where I was forced to room with other girls. The only time I ever found any solace was in my books.

For whatever reason, my mind won't let me concentrate on my books now. Believe me, I've tried.

My husband died.

Three weeks ago, there was an accident in the lab above the store he ran in Diagon Alley. He was taken to St. Mungo's immediately, but he never woke up. After four days in a coma, he finally passed away.

Services were Friday last, and this morning I took my children on the Knight Bus back to school. And when I returned home this evening, it was to a truly empty house. The scent on his pillow has faded and I have been tempted to spray it with his cologne to maintain the illusion that he's still here, alive, just on a short business trip or away visiting family. It's a foolish wish, but one that I find myself believing each morning ... in that time between dreams and being fully awake. Then, with the cold air of the morning comes the realisation that I am, in fact, alone.

And it hurts.

I need to know... Does the pain ever go away? Will I ever be able to wake up in the morning and know that my life is still ahead, waiting for me?

I know that you know how I feel. I saw your memories. I saw how it hurt you to lose the one woman that you loved. I saw your face after you learned of her death.

I know.

You moved past it, didn't you? Weren't you able to finally go forward? Because right now, I feel like I've lost my own life and I don't know if I'll ever be able to get it back.

Please ...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

27 April 2025

Dear Mr Smith,

Over the last few weeks, I have learned that there is a huge difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is where I can spend time alone, but there is someone available when I need them.

And loneliness is simply excruciating.

My children were home for the Easter holiday, and I had to once again put them back on the train this morning to send them back to school. Does this mean that I'm going to turn to you every time I feel alone?

Nothing personal, but God I hope not.

It's nearly the end of April and now my children won't be returning home until the end of June. That means that I have to make it through the anniversary on my own.

Ginny wrote to me, inviting me to dinner with her and Harry to commemorate the day together quietly. At first, I wasn't going to go, but now I think that I may. It's a far better option than sitting here alone.

I've tried throwing myself into my work, but as of yet I haven't been able to. Going to the office is almost worse than being at home.

I am finding mundane things to worry about. Like how my children are going to do on their end-of-year exams or if it's time I tried a new soap for washing the laundry.

And as I'm writing this, I'm finally realising that none of this is getting me anywhere. It's been coming up on two months since my husband died and it's just getting.... Maybe I just need a change.

Hermione

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

16 July 2025

Dear Mr Smith,

Well, my children are home from school. We... I mean... I received Hugo's test scores yesterday and I just have to share with someone how upset I am with his marks. It was enough to make me wonder if the discipline at the school is anything like it was when I was a student there. I am grateful that Hugo scored 'acceptable' rather than 'dreadful' on most of his exams, but it pains me to be thankful for such mediocre marks. I have such a difficult time relating to him. He'd rather play Quidditch, Exploding Snap or Gobstones than read or study or learn to do something useful.

I don't know if he's rebelling simply because he's a teenager, or if he's rebelling in response to his father's death. I tried speaking with my mother-in-law...she always did have a knack with dealing with teenage boys...but she simply cooed about how much like Ron he was and gave him an extra serving of pudding.

Rose, at least, did extremely well on her N.E.W.T.s, but that doesn't make me any less irritated with her. She has the potential to do anything that she wants. Anything! So, what does she do? My only daughter has decided to take her father's place in the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes organisation. The very idea of her working in the same capacity as her father scares the shit out of me.

When I told her how I felt, she tried to argue with me. She expended litres of breath trying to convince me that she wouldn't explode any cauldrons or labs or shops. But how can I know that? I didn't spend the last eighteen years raising her simply so she could go out and die the same way as her father.

After several hours of discussion, I finally got her to agree to study for her Potioneer's license first. Granted, I'm hoping that by the time she completes the apprenticeship that she'll want to do something else entirely, but if she doesn't, at least she'll be safe. Or safer.

Now she simply needs to find someone to apprentice under. Any suggestions?

I know, I know, it's pointless for me to even ask. I don't know why I even bother; it's not like you'll ever answer me.

And on that note, I have some work that I need to catch up on.

Hermione

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12 December 2025

Dear Mr Smith,

I hope that you have a pleasant Christmas holiday. I would imagine that your little shop does quite a bit of business this time of year, more so than any other.

I am eagerly awaiting both of my children returning home. This year we are going on holiday to Australia with my parents. It's a trip that my parents are very much looking forward to.

When the war was at its height, I modified my parents' memories and sent them to Australia. They lived there that year and when I went to restore their memories, they elected to stay for another few years. It was only when I finally married and had my own children that they chose to move back to England. I am glad that they did. I wanted my children to be exposed to the Muggle culture just as much as their wizarding heritage. I think that both were important in bringing them up to be well-rounded individuals.

Hugo will be arriving home on the 22nd and Rose was given time-off from her apprenticeship so that we can leave on our holiday. And, this is the first time since Ron's death that I've been truly excited about something. I am looking forward to the holiday, to the time with my family and, of course, to the warmer weather. Molly and Arthur aren't pleased that we won't be at the Burrow for Christmas, but after countless letters trying to explain it to them, I think that they finally understand.

Things have been quiet here. Quiet and lonely. I got a new cat to keep me company in the evenings. He's just a kitten, only two months old now, with a beautiful grey body with white on his feet; the white goes just a bit up his legs and makes him look like he's wearing socks, and a spot of white on his forehead. He was a gift from Minerva. I've named him Lamont.

Minerva brought Lamont by a fortnight ago. We had a wonderful visit when she stopped by. She nattered on about her projects, her garden and about the bit of tutoring she had been doing during the summer holidays. Ever since Filius passed on two years ago, I think that she's been a bit lonely, too.

Near the end of our visit, she started talking about you. She hated you, you know. Not always... not even now. But for a time she did. When you ran the school. I believe that it was the way that you allowed the Carrows to harass and torment the students. That was her biggest complaint. Although, when she was here, she simply sat in her chair, sipped tea, and told me that she believed with all of her heart that you only did what you thought was best for all of us.

After that, she went off on a rant about how Albus used and manipulated you. (And if you can't see that, then you're still far to close to the entire situation.) He used you by constantly opening your wounds and then pouring in a hefty dose of salt-laden guilt.

'Albus Fucking Dumbledore, Bastard Extraordinaire was certainly a man who knew what he was doing.'

Her words, not mine. But I must say that I wholeheartedly agree.

Maybe knowing that doesn't matter to you. I guess I just wanted you to know that it wasn't only me who felt this way.

Have a happy Christmas.

Hermione

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2 May 2026

Dear Mr Smith,

Somehow, the time ran away from me. I meant to write well before the approaching anniversary.

We had a wonderful time in Australia. I found a first edition of Toilers of the Sea, or more accurately, Les Travailleurs de la mer from the original printing in 1866 while we were there. It's in excellent condition and I think that the Fates were smiling on me when I found my way into that shop on the last day of our holiday. An incredible find, I was so thrilled.

I had never read the book before, so I ordered an English copy from the local bookshop to read. I speak a little French, but not enough to be able to read such a lengthy novel without either getting a headache or becoming confused. Nonetheless, the books gave me something to keep me busy for a time.

I never did tell you about my daughter's apprenticeship. She is apprenticing with Sherman Stillers. I was surprised that she was able to find someone. Rose didn't begin applying until late July and usually all of the good positions are snatched up well before then. Lucky for Rose, the student who was set to train under Master Stillers did not receive high enough marks on his N.E.W.T.s, so there was an opening. She is enjoying her work with him and is hoping to be done with her apprenticeship in two years. Thus far, however, she is still talking about nothing but working with her Uncle George.

I may just have to give up on that battle. We'll see.

The anniversary of my husband's death passed by uneventfully. I had a quiet dinner alone, opened a bottle of wine and drank to him. Nothing special. Though I received flowers from several members of the family. Honestly, it hurts too much to do nothing but mourn him. I can't go on that way.

When I saw my children at Easter, we discussed our next trip together and both Rose and Hugo expressed an interest in returning to Switzerland this summer. I am not sure why I'm even mentioning this to you. It has given me a wide variety of conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, I'd love to see you. To walk into the bookshop and see you shelving the tomes or ringing up a patron and not have you avoid me or sneak out of the shop.

On the other hand, I am afraid.

Not of you, no. Though, part of me thinks that's how you'd like me to feel about you.

No, afraid that I may go try to find your bookshop only to find that it is no longer there. To learn that you, in fact, closed up shop immediately after I found you and as a result, you've not received a single one of my letters. Perhaps I'd find that there is a new proprietor who has been reading my letters and now knows more about me than any passer-by should know.

I don't even know if we will actually take the trip and if I was being smart about this whole thing, I wouldn't even tell you about the intention in advance. This is giving you far too much notice to leave, even if you are still there.

Perhaps it's simply better if I convince my family to go somewhere else for our holiday.

And, no, I haven't forgotten, happy anniversary.

Hermione

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

6 August 2026

Mr Smith,

I'm not even sure why I'm bothering with this, but at this point I believe that you are, at the very least, receiving my letters and very likely reading them.

So, if you are reading this, I just wanted the opportunity to tell you that you are a bastard.

I don't really know what has been going through your mind these past two years, but I know that I deserve more than to be blatantly ignored. And that is the only conclusion that I can come to.

While we were travelling through Geneva, I stopped by the bookstore. You knew that I would, so I'm certain that this comes as no surprise.

Of course, you weren't there.

I had expected that, really I had. What I hadn't expected was that it appears that you left about the time when you would've received my first letter. Even after I'd assured you that I wouldn't say anything. And if you were going to run... why wait until after receiving my letter? Why not leave the very moment that I saw you?

Even more infuriating was when the new proprietor told me that she had never seen one of my letters arrive at the shop. She also told me that the gentleman who had owned the shop before her had left no forwarding address.

Do you know what that tells me?

That you set a forwarding spell on your post. So much for you living as a Muggle.

I didn't expect this to upset me so much, but it does.

I believe the shining moment was when she told me that the previous owner had owned a simply stellar collection of early editions of books written by Victor Hugo and she was holding his copy of True Crime for someone matching my description.

Apparently it arrived in the shop only a couple of months ago. Naturally, the package held no return address.

You must have made Mrs Thomas a screaming deal because she didn't even think twice about keeping the book for herself.

So, was this just a one-time occurrence, or have those lucky finds I've had been because you've placed them there?

I don't want a friend who stays hidden and refuses to speak to me, thank you very much.

I won't be writing again. Quite frankly, I can't deal with it anymore. I have had too many emotional upheavals in my lifetime to play a game with someone who I genuinely tried to befriend. I may as well go back to the journal writing. For this has been no better. At least with a journal, I won't be sitting here hoping for a reply.

Sincerely,

H Weasley

A/N: The final part will be added on Friday, but please note that there are two different endings and they will be posted simultaneously.