Organizing Love

Dear Harry,

Love can be sorted into many different categories. There is the love you have for your family, the love you have for a favorite song or book, the love you have for a pet. These types of love, I believed in. I had experienced these loves without harm. It was romantic love I was skeptical about.

You know as well as I that I’ve never been much of a romantic. Up until last year, I daresay I didn’t even believe in “romantic” love at all. I’d watch on as happy couples strolled down the halls, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes, muttering “I love you,” just loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. All is well, until a week later, the same couple would be arguing in the Great Hall, one of the two having caught the other snogging in a broom closet. Hundreds of pairs of eyes would turn to the screeching people, eager for a new piece of gossip to devour. And even though the couple was supposedly “devastated” over their parting of ways, they never seemed to mind the attention they received from the “drama” of their break up.

So I thought that was all there was. Love was just a silly excuse to be in the spotlight among your peers. It was a show, a sport if you will, a ridiculous waste of time. I avoided it at all costs. It took you to show me how wrong I was. I knew that I loved both you and Ron; there was no question about it. Although we never said it out loud, the three of us knew our feelings for each other were like a family’s. We cared, we fought, we were there for each other, and that was that. Or at least, that was how it was between Ron and I. With you, there was always something different. My feelings for you flowed through my veins, causing my heart to beat rapidly. In fourth year you began invading my dreams, and the nights I wasn’t sleeping, I was tossing and turning, worrying about you. I can’t believe it took me until sixth year to realize that I loved you. Truly loved you, and it wasn’t a sisterly love.

Apart from being terrified, I was overflowing with joy. The one type of love I hadn’t believed in was real. More real and true and wonderful than all the other types put together, it was every type combined. Love wasn’t just a show; there was something more. All my fears while watching you play quidditch, my sleepless nights thinking about you--that was love. Our silent walks around the lake and our long talks by the common room fire--that was love. My unwavering confidence in you and the solace I found in you--that was love. And the best part was, I didn’t have to tell you. I didn’t have to chase you around and make you see that not only did I love you, but you loved me as well. You already knew. You already knew that hidden under our friendship was something more, something so complicated and beautiful and simple and amazing and horrible and real and true. You were just waiting for me to find it; you knew it would only be a matter of time.

And my God, I will never forget the day I finally understood exactly what you meant to me. I’ll never forget how you realized I knew I loved you, just by looking in my eyes. I’ll never forget how I fell into your arms, sobbing tears of pure happiness, my face buried in your chest as you kissed my hair. That day, everything became clear to me. I realized why neither of us had never really dated, I interpreted the funny looks Ron gave us the numerous times he found us alone, the rumors about us that floated through the Hogwarts air like ghosts suddenly became understandable. I felt slightly foolish for not realizing my feelings for you before the whole school did, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except you and me. Not the war, not Voldemort, not anything, as long as I was wrapped in your arms.

And now, here we are, about to graduate in a few weeks. Your battle with Voldemort has not come yet, but it is inevitable that it does. And when the day comes, I’ll be there, loving you, fighting beside you, willing to die for you. I worry, of course. If only you knew how many nights I lay awake, staring up at my canopy as my mind projects different scenarios of how that terrible day will go. But when this war is over, you will be alive. It doesn’t matter what I have to do, you will be alive. I promise you Harry that I will never let you die. Never. You mean too much to me. And if I die saving you, so be it, because one day you’ll be in heaven with me. No matter where you go, I’ll be with you. I am you and you are me, and that...is love.

Forever yours and so much more,
Hermione