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Finding True Happiness	By : CeliaEquus Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 19445 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the Harry Potter franchise, and am making no money from any of my fan fiction.

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“The Story Continues”

Back to present day

Hermione gazed around the Great Hall. She couldn’t find anyone with whom to connect the voice from last night. Had they been using a Voice Altering Charm she wouldn’t have recognised it; and she did recognise it.

That was the problem.

“You all right, Hermione?” Ginny asked.

“What? Oh. I’m okay,” she said. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“I’ve…” She looked around, blushing. “I’ve got a secret admirer.”

“Really?” she squealed. “Who is it?”

“Ginny, the point of a secret admirer is that I don’t know who it is.”

“Oh yeah.” She looked sheepish. “But you haven’t worked out who it is yet?”

“No. I can’t tell how he’s getting into my room…”

“Your room?”

“Long story,” she mumbled, looking down at her breakfast.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A… a couple of months now,” she said. “Almost since school started.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Well, not really. You know what your brother’s like with anyone who happens to fancy me,” she said. “I heard his voice for the first time last night. We even had our… our first kiss.” Her blush deepened as she remembered what else happened.

“And you still don’t know who it is?

“He’s invisible.”

Ginny scowled as she glanced down the table at Harry. It was still a sore spot with her that Harry was with Luna, since she still held a candle for him. Hermione shook her head.

“It’s not him,” she said. “He’d never betray Luna. Besides, even if he removed the wards on my door, how would he replace them with my magical signature?”

“Could he fly in through the window?” Ginny said, still staring at Harry.

“It isn’t big enough for anyone to get in… except perhaps a house elf, and I can’t see any of them using a broomstick. Besides, I’m virtually persona non grata to them, thanks to my SPEW campaigning. And… he didn’t sound like an elf.”

“Aha! So you’ve heard him,” she said.

“I told you that.”

“…Oh yeah.”

“I recognise his voice, but I can’t work out from where,” she replied, looking around the hall again.

“This is a real mystery,” Ginny said, suddenly pleased. Hermione was glad. Maybe this would distract her from Harry. “What clues do you have?”

“It has to be someone who can make themselves invisible, has a reason to make themselves invisible, can get into my rooms without me knowing how and… is really artistic,” she added, thinking once again about some of her presents. She told her friend about the gifts of roses, origami, drawings on her walls and even painted vines on her bedposts.

“He sounds really romantic,” she said. “You’re so lucky, Hermione.” She looked down the table again.

“Don’t start that, Gin. This is the first time someone’s made me feel so special and I need your help.”

“Okay,” she said. “What do I do?”

“That’s the thing; I don’t know what to do! Should I dress differently? Wear makeup? Try to find something to give him in return? I don’t even know why anyone would want me.” She gazed down at her hands sadly.

“Has he written anything? You might recognise his handwriting.”

“True,” Hermione said. “That’s a good idea. Thanks, Gin!”

“Well, I’m hardly an expert in this,” she said.

“Yes, but you’ve been in actual relationships before. I haven’t.”

“So you do want a relationship with this person?” Ginny asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I think so, but I don’t know how serious I want to be. I won’t know until we meet properly. Although I suppose I should be grateful that somebody wants me.”

“You don’t think it’s some kind of practical joke, do you?”

“I hope not,” she said. “Harry and Ron thought that someone might have placed a curse on the first bunch of flowers, but I checked them thoroughly… you know, later on. It’s all safe, but I haven’t told them any more since then.”

“I can understand that.”

The piece of parchment lay on her desk. At the end of the day Hermione returned to her rooms to find a long quill resting beside it. She gasped when she read the note that was already written there:

My dear Hermione,

After last night I felt that this should be the next step. It will be the easiest way to get to know each other. Until the time is right I wish to remain anonymous.

Yours,

A secret admirer.

Hermione beamed. She didn’t recognise the writing, but maybe now she could get some hints.

She picked up the quill. It wasn’t one of those metal-tipped ones from Scrivenshaft’s; in fact, if she didn’t know any better she would have said that it was made by…

“Oh my,” she whispered. She sat down, opened an ink bottle, dipped the nib of the new quill into the dark liquid and began to write a reply.

Dear friend,

I don’t know how else to address you. You’re my only secret admirer, so I desperately want to meet you. Why do you want to keep your identity from me? And please tell me: did you make the quill?

Hermione.

She started to unpack her book bag when she heard scratching. Whirling around she saw a scrappy old quill running across the parchment. She recognised it as one that she had thrown out after she received new stationery for her birthday. Had her admirer taken it because it belonged to her? He must have done!

The night of her eighteenth birthday he had visited her. His present had been a life-sized portrait of Crookshanks on the wall above her desk. It made her cry at first, since he had passed away only two months before she returned to school; but she had been holding in most of her grief. Now she only smiled when she saw the drawing of her old half-kneazle.

She was woken during the night, of course, by the increasingly familiar sensation of being touched by her phantom lover. He had kept pleasuring her until she passed out from ecstasy, gripping his unseen fingers before relaxing into unconsciousness.

Now she waited until the quill disappeared again before walking forwards.

“Hello,” she said. There was no reply.

My dear Hermione,

I will tell you who I am one day. Until then I would prefer to continue as we are.

Do my actions and gifts displease you or make you uncomfortable? If so, tell me. Last night was the first time I dared to be intimate in so personal a way; I consider kissing to be more personal than the liberties I have taken.

Yes, I made the quill.

Yours,

A secret admirer.

Peeves waited while she read his note, taking in her blush of tainted innocence. A few tendrils of hair had escaped to rest against her forehead, and he had to force himself not to stroke them away.

“Hello,” he murmured. She swivelled around in her chair, eyes wide.

“You’re still here?” she asked. He was reluctant to reply.

“…Yes,” he said. She smiled brightly.

“I’m glad,” she said. “I look forward to your visits.”

“Really?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew she couldn’t see him, but she blushed all the same.

“Only because you make me feel… sexy,” she confessed, turning even redder at the word. “No one else ever has. To tell you the truth,” she looked at her hands, “no one else has ever made me want them so much. You make me feel beautiful. And even if this really is only a joke, or a plot on the part of some Death Eater…”

“No!” he said sternly. She frowned. “Neither.”

“Oh.” It turned to a smile. “But I do wonder about your motive.”

How could he be honest about this without losing his chance? He floated down behind her and breathed gently on her neck. She visibly shivered.

“I want to get to know you,” he said. “I want you, Hermione Granger. I need you.” To become human, he thought. “To live.” Then he moved around so that he could kiss her cheek.

“A name,” she whispered. “Please. Tell me your name.”

“Not yet,” he said.

“Keep talking to me.”

He shook his head, pulling back. “Not anymore.”

“Would I recognise your voice?”

“I won’t take that chance.”

She sighed and turned back to the parchment. “Very well.”

They kept exchanging short notes until it was time for Hermione to go to bed. She was shocked that she had forgotten about studying, but consoled herself with the fact that she was always ahead in her work anyway; and as long as she didn’t waste time by correcting Harry and Ron’s work she was free to learn more about her secret admirer.

Peeves learnt a great deal about Hermione. He discovered that she had an odd love for Muggle television show themes, regardless of whether or not she watched them. It didn’t matter what year or what country they came from; if she liked the tune or song that was all that mattered. Her favourite colour was purple (so was his, though she seemed sceptical when he told her that), she was this close to giving up trying to impress Professor Snape, she always wanted to learn horse-riding but hated the threatening height that came with it…

She made him promise that next time he would ‘talk’ more about himself.

“Don’t leave,” she said, holding out a hand. “Stay with me tonight.”

“You’re eager, aren’t you?” He was smiling.

“I just want you to stay with me.”

“I could never restrain myself,” he said. She blushed furiously again, biting her lower lip. “Go to bed. I will return later.”

He was looking forward to using the barbs of the quill on her sensitive skin.

And so it goes. More mini-letters coming up, where I’ll make up a whole bunch of things about Peeves, drawing on psychology (I suppose) to give him more depth. We need to have something for Hermione to like; after all, she’s supposed to fall in love with him! (Mind you, I think she’s well on her way there.)

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Finding True Happiness