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Dear Ophelia , 

Christmas is only a week away , and today you and I went to Hogsmeade to shop for gifts. It took me two weeks worth of silently gathering spunk , and I was finally able to ask you out. I did not presume that you would be at all eager to go with me , but your smile sufficed to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

We walked , hand in hand , looking at the brightly lit shops , fairly lights that dangled from the shingles and wreaths that embellished the doors of the shops. For a short while , we parted ways - and you went to buy something from Zonko's as a gift for your brother - while I rambled through the streets for something to buy for you.

I wanted to gift you something that held meaning to it , for you to know that I cared enough to know what you liked. I wondered if you cared enough to know what I liked - but it isn't about me. It's about you.

I was aware that you were looking for new paintbrushes , as your old ones had worn out with the passage of time , the hairs fraying out and making it almost unable to paint. I ended up buying a bewitched brush. Once you dip it in water , and imagine a colour within the safety of your mind - it produces the flawless shade of it , bearing similitude to the one in mind. You wouldn't need paint anymore , and the brush was good enough to be used for years.

I also bought a book for my father , a pair of earrings for my mother and a small piece of jewellery for you. For the boys , I got Sirius a new leather jacket ; for Peter a new pair of mittens and a bit of all kinds of sweets from Honeydukes ; and for James , a new hair brush and a prank set from Zonko's.

Later , as we took a walk up to the school , you made an analogy. The exact words were -

"Every person is an enigma within themselves. A beautifully complex piece of art. The artist sketches different pictures for each and everyone of us , each beautiful like the petals of a flower , but each tumultous like its prickly thorns. Beautiful , yet painful. Sweet , yet difficult. And within that pain , the only solace we find is in another soul who suffers the same as us. Someone we can relate to , open up to - without the fear of being judged. And when we finally meet them ,  that is when the artist adds colour to the otherwise black and white portrait.

You , Remus , have added colour to my life. Previously , it was bleak - and I was on the lookout for a kindred spirit. And now that you are here , the artist has finally started adding colour to it."

"And who is the artist ?", I asked.

You giggled , and replied ,"Fate , of course."

I swear I forgot how to breathe. I have memorised the words , because I love them so very much - and maybe because a part of me feels at ease knowing that these words form an important part of you.

Love , 

Remus.



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