Dear Stranger

Chapter Three

Hermione was lying in bed, staring out the window at the foggy London Sunday that waited just outside. She glanced at her clock to see that she had satisfyingly slept in until 8:15. It had been a long week and Sunday was the only day of the week that the shop didn't open, so Hermione was going to savor it. Ron had gone home to the Burrow for the weekend so she had her flat to herself again. She loved Ron, she really did, but she didn't know just how much. She often found herself to be quite relieved whenever he went home. He had never officially moved in but he spent so much time at Hermione's flat that he ended up just sort of living there. She wasn't even really sure if they were dating. After the War, everyone had just expected them to end up together, and for a while Hermione was sure that was what she had wanted to. But now she realized that she had been looking at her relationship with Ron through rose-colored glasses for an awfully long time. They were just together because they thought they ought to be.

A tapping at the living room window stirred Hermione from her thoughts and by the time the second tap came Hermione had shot out of bed and sprinted across the length of her flat. Hermione pushed the window up and reached out to take the letter from Henry. "Thank you, Henry." She said with a smile before he flew off.

She pulled the window back down as the air outside was much too brisk to keep it open and grabbed a blanket off the couch before sitting down at her desk. She unfolded the letter with as much care and enthusiasm as was simultaneously possible, her smile widening as she started to read the scrawly script.

Dear Stranger,

Another interesting something, huh? Let's see. As I've said I'm sure many times before, I'm a very introverted person. I have a pretty small group of friends and I like having time to myself. I've noticed lately that I prefer to spend a lot of my time alone. I've come to enjoy the quiet instead of hiding away in it. I don't seek it out so I can hide from the outside world or from things I wish to forget. I like the quiet, I like being alone, I like just sitting and thinking. I didn't used to be like this actually, I was pretty outgoing in school and I knew a lot of people. I didn't mind attention and in my younger years I craved it. But when the War was picking up pace and things started getting serious, I hid away a lot of the time. I didn't want to face the War and I certainly didn't want to face the fact it might hurt someone I love. I saw being alone as something I shouldn't do for a long time, but now I've come to accept my lone-wolf tendencies. Whenever I have time off I like to lock myself up in my room and read or go to the little tea shop not far from my home. It's always quiet there and it seems so picturesque. If I ever had the chance to take you there I would. It's a lovely place. Although lately, I spend a lot of my alone time writing to you, or rereading your letters. They make me smile and they make being alone not quite as lonely and the quiet somehow more peaceful than before. Thank you for that.

Anyways, I'm getting carried away and just now realizing that that probably wasn't all that interesting. I'm sorry if you are sitting at your desk utterly bewildered about why on earth I would write something so terribly dreary. I guess it suits the weather and that's why I thought of it.

Until we write again,

Your Stranger

Hermione sat at her desk quietly for a few minutes as she tried to take in every word. It was so beautifully sad and she didn't know whether to feel heartbroken that he was so lonely or positively elated that she made him as happy as she did. If she were not in a relationship with Ron, and telling this man exactly who she was and that she wanted nothing more than to meet him wasn't directly against the rules of Medicinal Mail, Hermione would have written right back and told him where he could find her and to do so immediately. But alas she was not a rule-breaker, quite the opposite actually, and there was a little part of her that was afraid of possibly meeting her stranger. What if meeting him ruined everything? What if their chemistry was only through words on paper? Her mind was reeling with what-ifs that ended in heartbreak and a multitude of constructed scenarios that ended in disaster.