Love From, Your Secret Admirer || Harmione

Part 2

Nevermind.

The next morning, Harry and Ron made their way down to breakfast. They approached Hermione who was reading an incredibly thick tome called The Art and Allure of Arithmancy (Mega-Deluxe Edition). Probably just a bit of light-reading. Sitting either side of her, though a particularly observant outside observer would see that Hermione scooched a little closer to Harry, the two boys began to fill their plates.

It didn't take long for the owl post to arrive, and a... pink owl covered in love-hearts dropped a bright red envelope in front of Harry before immediately flying off again.

Harry glanced towards Ron and Hermione, who had a small blush on her face.

"Do either of you know what this is about?"

Both of them shook their heads, though Ron looked a little exasperated, before Harry batted that ridiculous idea away. Why would Ron be exasperated? Harry hadn't done any exasperation-worthy lately.

'...I think', Harry thought.

Shrugging, Harry carefully opened the letter. Unfolding the parchment, Harry read the letter.

Dear Harry,

This will be my first love letter to you. This is exciting, isn't it? I'm not sure how Professor Flitwick's anonymity charm will affect what I write, but hopefully I've done a good enough job to prevent any major changes. It's a really fascinating spell that he's used, I'll have to quiz him on it after... Anyways, I'm really excited to be writing this. Nervous as well, obviously. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking a little, you might be able to tell. So here goes:

I love you.

I desperately hope you'll return the feelings I have for you, but just getting these feelings out there is such a great relief for myself. If when you find out who I am it turns out you don't return the feelings, that's fine. Truly. I won't lie and say I won't be hurt, but I've endured worse pain. I think. I haven't endured heartbreak just yet, and I pray I never will, but I hope it's not as bad as other forms of pain. Oh, look at me, getting all glum. You don't need my glumness, just my love. The truest, purest love there is, I reckon. I want you to know I'm not a fangirl, don't you worry. I'm not vapid, or soulless, or gold-digging. I don't worship you or the ground you walk on. Someone like that couldn't hold a torch to you. I can't, either, but I think I can hold that torch a little higher than others. Unlike them, I don't love you because you're Harry Potter, but because you're just Harry. You're special to so many people, but I like to think that you're the most special to me. You've affected my life in such a profound way. I don't want to write too much, as much as I'm itching to do so, since I need material for my next letters (and anything else I write might be affected by the anonymity charm, of course)!

I really do love you.

Love from,

Your Secret Admirer

"What does it say?"

Harry looked up from the letter with a pleased smile on his face. Hermione looked nervously at Harry, the blush from earlier yet to disappear. This was concerning to Harry. Hermione didn't get nervous, she was courageous, brilliant, and the strongest person he knew. A nervous Hermione was like an unobservant, stupid Harry: it didn't exist.

"It's really lovely, actually. They sound sweet and caring, but also strong and confident. I'd love to meet them," Harry said.

He passed the letter to Hermione who laid it down on the table. Ron was looking over her shoulder to sneak a peek.