Liham

Liham /ˈli.ham/
noun • Filipino (Tagalog)

- letter; a written message.

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Hello, Mother,

You might be wondering why I suddenly owled you. Well, let me start by wishing you a wonderful day and that I hope your tea is at the perfect temperature.

Of course, that is not the reason for this letter, but I felt it's appropriate to tell you so through this so you can't cut me off. I just need to tell you something, and I have a lot of words, so here it goes. You remember Hermione Granger, right?

Hermione Jean Granger. You know, bucktoothed, bushy-haired, swotty know-it-all, and of course, Gryffindor's Golden Girl.

Let me remind you that she bested me in every exam, it frustrated me because I know how disappointed you and Father will be. Or that time when I called her a slur, she became more beautiful in my eyes, it felt so wrong. Or how when she punched me in the third grade, I fell harder than I hit my head on the stone behind me. That during the Yule Ball, I was seething with rage because now everyone saw her like the goddess she's always been. Hoorah for me, now the queue towards her is longer.

Let me tell you about how in the fifth year, she helped heal me from the Bat Bogey Hex the Weaslette gave me. She didn't ask questions mum, she just found me in the tower and quietly reached out. I let her. Don't get mad, Mother. I was fragile. And her hands were soft. It was rather nice.

Let me tell you about how worried she was for me when we were in the sixth year, and I was forced to become a sworn follower of Voldemort. She noticed me. Noticed it. That I wasn't alright.

Or when she was almost tortured to death in our living room—and dying in a living room sounds bad, anyway—she looked at me and faintly shook her head while Bellatrix wasn't looking because she knew I was on the verge of apparating her away. We both know how much we regret not helping them when we could have. And we should have.

Or how after the battle, when we attended the bereavement ceremony, where everyone looked at us with disdain, she met my eyes and lent me her light. The sweet witch offered me friendship, company, and trust. Nobody has fully trusted me even before the war. You know how cunning we are, but she did. Wholeheartedly. Even when her friends chastised her for it. Made her feel bad about it. Ignored her for it.

Let me tell you how she trusted me—too much, I think, if I may say—to go see her parents. She said she needed someone to help ground her and keep her sane once she restored their memories. It was a fragile moment. I felt like I was intruding on something very intimate. There was a heated argument, and she held my hand rather too tightly as we both sat at the couch and she swallowed her father's hurtful but reasonable words about erasing their memories. An hour later, I was sandwiched between Hermione and her mother, Helen. Hermione was showing restored photographs of them, her father looking at Hermione fondly. The lovely Helen was rubbing Hermione's arm over my back, the other rubbing my wrist. I guess that's how a real family felt like. I figured I wanted something like that in the future.

Let me tell you about Hermione Granger. Because she's more than what I could put in this parchment.

Let me tell you about Hermione Granger. Because some lucky stars worked out for your wonder of a son.

Let me tell you about Hermione Granger. She's gonna be a Malfoy soon.