The Desk
Four years have passed since Voldemort was vanquished by Harry Potter, and normal life returned to the Wizarding World, to which everyone couldn’t have been happier. On this particular beautiful Friday afternoon, Harry and Ginny, their hands entwined, stepped into a mysterious new antique shop in Diagon Alley. The shop, with its intriguing name, ‘Lost Treasures,’ seemed to hold secrets and wonders within its walls. Ginny's eyes were immediately drawn to a stunning dress on a mannequin in the shop window. She couldn't resist its allure and broke free from Harry's grasp to inquire about it from one of the workers.
Harry was on a mission of his own; he needed a desk for at work, since he’s the Chief Auror now, to write and close up his files. He made his way to the writing desks and carefully examined each one. The first one was too dark for his taste, the second desk was much too girly with flowers and angels decorating it, and the third one was too light in color, but the fourth one was just right. The desk reminded him of the one he used at Hogwarts. It was a cherry-stained mahogany wood, and it had many compartments, giving the user the necessary storage that he/she needed. A man walked by and noticed Harry taking an interest in that desk.
“What a nice piece of furniture. We just received that one from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They are redecorating the boys’ and girls’ dormitories, so that means out with the old desks, and in with the new desks for the dorms. It is to your liking, Mr. Potter?” the old man inquired, knowing how Harry loved Hogwarts.
Harry replied, “Yes, it is to my liking. I need a desk like this one for work. How much is it?”
“Fifteen galleons,” the old man listed the price.
Harry had a lot of money, so he wasn’t too concerned about the price and answered confidently, “Okay,” giving him the money for the desk.
Ginny walked up to Harry empty-handed and kissed him on the cheek.
“You found a desk?” she asked, examining the desks in front of her.
Harry smiled at her, “Yeah, I did. I’ll bet you can’t guess which one I bought?”
Knowing her fiancé well, Ginny picked out the cherry-stained desk, and Harry nodded.
“Harry, it is beautiful! Let’s have it delivered to your office, and you can go start getting yourself organized,” Ginny said as she admired the desk.
Harry agreed to it, and the desk was delivered to the Ministry of Magic Auror Office by four o’clock that afternoon. Harry walked into his office, and noticed the desk sitting in his office. He walked in and closed the door. Harry moved his swivel chair to behind the desk, and began arranging his belongings in the many compartments. When he finished, he began dusting off the work surface. The rag passed over a switch, and a compartment on the left inside part where the shelves were connected popped open. He opened the flap, and some brownish parchment was sticking out. Harry reached in and grabbed the parchment. Since this captured his attention, he opened up the envelope. It was a letter…from Hermione. He looked up in the upper right-hand corner, and it read November 6th, 1994. They were in their fourth year at Hogwarts when Hermione wrote that letter. Being nosy, Harry began reading it.
My Dearest Friend,
I write tonight because I am worried of what’s to become of my dear friend, Harry Potter. He is in the Triwizard Tournament, and I fear for his safety and his life. Without him, I am nothing. He is the sun in my morning sky, the rainbow after the rain, and the beating heart that allows the blood to flow through my veins.
I hope, and I pray, that he will pull through each task so I can see those beautiful green eyes again for as long as I live. Yes, my dear friend, he is my secret love that no one knows about. I refuse to let anyone know about it except for you. Since he clearly doesn’t share the same feelings for me, I know I have your love and support.
Hermione's words echoed in Harry's mind, her unrequited love for him laid bare in her heartfelt confession.
Lavender and Pavarti are now used to my late-night writings; therefore, they don’t question my actions anymore. So, I am free to write as long as I wish or until I begin to fall asleep. I really do love Harry. I love him so much that I would die for him. I just wish that Harry feels the same for me as I do for him.
Alas, dear friend, sleep is calling, and I must close this letter. I will write again tomorrow.
Yours truly,
Hermione Jean Granger
Harry couldn’t believe what he had read; Hermione secretly loved him all those years! But it’s much too late now, however, because she is dating Ron, and Ron told him that he would pop the question to her soon. Neville knocked on the door and entered the office.
“Hi, Harry. Did you get a chance to look at that case file I placed on your desk,” he noticed Harry had some aged parchment in his hand, and Neville questioned, “What’s that?”
“No, I didn’t get to the case file yet, sorry. I was arranging my things into my new desk, and I found a secret compartment. It had a letter dated back to when we were in our fourth year at Hogwarts. Do you think I should answer it just for fun?” Harry asked, knowing Neville would pick at him for thinking such rubbish.
Neville shook his head, gave Harry a look saying he was crazy, and answered, “Do whatever you want, Harry. I can’t really stop you, can I?”
Harry stared at the letter, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. Should he respond? What could he possibly say after all these years? He took out some parchment, along with his ink well and quill. He dipped his quill into the ink and began writing a response, unsure of where his words would lead him.
When he completed it, Harry folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, addressed it, sealed it, and slipped it into the secret compartment. He closed the door to it and put his things away. He got up, walked to the door, turned off the light, and opened the door. He walked out, shutting the door, and started to make his home to his eagerly waiting fiancé. Harry thought it would be amazing if the letter somehow reached its destination, but what if it did; how would he react to it?
