Hermione's Riddle

The Hidden Letter

Abraxas stifled a yawn as he looked out onto the dancefloor. Purebloods laughed and danced around him. "I can't believe I agreed to this," complained Fleamont.

Abraxas chuckled at his equally bored friend. They may have grown up in this lifestyle but it most certainly did not appeal to them. "We only have to stay for a little while. A small appearance then we can depart from this debacle."

"It certainly is one," chuckled Fleamont in agreement. In all honesty, the party was successful. It was just boring.

Every year, the Malfoys' would throw a party that was exclusively for purebloods. And every year, all but two families would show; the Potters and the Weasleys. This year, Abraxas was able to convince Fleamont Potter to join him. The main reason for this action was so he wouldn't have to suffer alone-and Fleamont provided a much needed comic relief.

"Can we leave now?" Abraxas nodded. "About time," sighed Fleamont.

The two boys brushed past partygoers without having to converse with anyone. They even managed to avoid Parkinson. After crossing the large foyer, they finally made it to the grand staircase.

When they reached the top floor, Fleamont released a whistle. "Blimey, this place is big."

Abraxas shook his head. Sometimes it was easy to forget that others did not live as his family did, even other purebloods.

He led them down the hall, heading toward his room. When he opened the door, Fleamont released another whistle. Abraxas had to agree that his room was something to be impressed with. It was a grand room with a large black iron bed shoved in one corner. An entire wall was made up of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Running across the marble flooring was a dark, lush green carpet that matched his silk bedding. In front of the bookcase was a small sitting area.

Abraxas went straight for the small, black chair that sat underneath a window. It felt good to finally be somewhere comfortable. Fleamont wandered over to where Abraxas was sitting with large eyes before taking the seat in front of him.

Fleamont adjusted his position until he was facing the bookcase. He ran his fingers along the tops of the books on one of the lower shelves. "Have you read every one of these?"

"I have." Abraxas grabbed one of his favorite books before sitting back into his seat with his legs crossed. He ran his fingers along the edges of the pages. "Ouch!"

"What?" asked Fleamont, leaning forward in his seat slightly, concern etched onto his features.

Abraxas looked down at his finger. A small sliver was cut into the top of his index finger. A small drop of dark, red blood beaded to the surface of the cut as he looked at it. "I cut myself?" Abraxas muttered in confusion.

"What is that?" Before Abraxas could ask what Fleamont was talking about, the Gryffindor swiped the book from his lap. "There's something in here." Fleamont opened the book to reveal a folded letter. He opened it. "It's in your handwriting."

"What does it say?" asked Abraxas in curiosity. He did not remember placing a letter in that book, or any of his books for that matter. He wondered what was written on it. Fleamont's eyes grew with each passing second. "Well?"

Fleamont looked up at him with confused filled eyes. "You'll have to read it for yourself." He handed the letter to him. Abraxas took it in shaky hands. Why were his hands so unsteady? Did his body know something that his mind did not?

He carefully smoothed out the letter before reading it.

Dear Kathleen,

I know that if I did not write this down then I would smoothly, and confidently avoid the matter. I also believe that you will take my proposal more seriously if it were written down.

Kathleen, you have been the shining light within the darkness ever since I had the pleasure of meeting you. You quickly became my friend and my confidant, my co conspirator and my rock. You are my light, my hope. You have given me the pleasure of allowing me to pursue you, though you would deny it.

I have always known that just pursuing you will not be enough. I wish for your hand in marriage and pray that you will say yes, hopefully without slapping me. Falling into my arms with tears of joy will work just fine.

From your (hopefully) future husband.

What the bloody hell? Why didn't he remember writing this love sick nonsense? And why the bloody hell could he not remember being close to Kathleen?

"When did you write this and how come I don't remember you being close with Kathleen?" asked Fleamont.

He couldn't answer his friend because he didn't know himself. "I don't know," Abraxas whispered. "Why don't I remember?" his voice broke.

"Do you think someone made you forget? Made us forget?"

Why would anyone erase their memories? Abraxas' hand balled into a fist, crushing the handwritten letter. He didn't know why anyone would erase his memory but he will find a way to undo the spell. One way or another, he would regain his lost memories.