Dear Luna,
I imagine Ginny has already written you telling the following story; nevertheless, I must write. It was absurd. You would have loved it.
I apparated over to the Burrow on the morning of Lupin and Tonks' wedding to find the place in a horrible uproar. Mrs. Weasley was having a fit; the garden gnomes had launched an attack on the kitchen, stolen all of the silverware, and taken bites out of all the food! Mrs. Weasley was in hysterics, blaming it all on Ron and the twins who had been up in the attic toying with the ghoul when they were supposed to be working in the kitchen. Doing what, I don't know; each of them is perfectly useless in that room. Anyway, Ginny was steadying Mrs. Weasley and trying to keep her from seeing Tonks chase the gnomes through the garden in her wedding dress. Poor Tonks...she tripped....and you know how the Weasleys' garden gets when it rains....
When I arrived, the first thing I saw were a gaggle of gnomes standing over a collapsed, claggy Tonks, laughing; Mrs. Weasley, screaming; Ginny clutching her mother, looking very bewildered; and the stupid boys looking down on the kerfluffle from the attic window, trying to see but not be seen.
I rushed to Tonks and to help her stand, but was promptly attacked by the gnomes! Have you ever been attacked by gnomes? They have sharp fingernails! They claw and scratch! I wished I had brought Crookshants; he'd have shown them. Ginny forced Mrs. Weasley to sit down inside, then rushed to help me. She pulled Tonks out of the way while I used locomotor mortis on each of the gnomes in turn. Tonks' hair flashed rainbow, like a nighttime neon ad in Picadilly....never mind, don't ask what that is.
Needless to say--although you'll hate me for this--we did not stuff the gnomes in bags and swing them around in circles and then over the fence. Oh no. We tied them in burlap sacks and threw them into the fen. I'm sorry to offend your sensibilities, Luna, but if gnomes had plotted to destroy your wedding day, how would you have acted?
Anyway, we were all quite covered in mud. And Tonks' dress, for all we could see, was not going to be easily salvaged. Remarkably, it was the twins who came to our rescue. They'd come up with some gadget that could duplicate clothing instantaneously--and perfectly unsullied (which geminio, unfortunately, can't do). In a minute, they'd made Tonks a pristine new dress. We thanked them and then shoved them out the door to go hang with the gents. They'd spent too much time with that ruddy ghoul. I couldn't believe they were up there when their friend Lupin was getting married!
So we kicked them out, all prepared to do some food transfiguration to replace the stuff the gnomes had eaten. Ginny and Tonks were laughing about defeating the gnomes--it's amazing, their senses of humour--and I was about to start brewing a potion (learned from our dreaded former potions master. I hate that man.) to calm Mrs. Weasley when another unthinkable happened.
There was a three-inch cocroach on the kitchen floor.
I said, "Bug!"
Mrs. Weasley screamed. Tonks got out her wand. "Epoximise," she said, and....the cocroach was not stuck to the floor as it should have been. The spell hit it in a jet of yellow light, but the bug just scuttled away underneath the counter! At that point, I think we all were screaming. Ginny ran for a shoe and Mrs. Weasley climbed on top of a chair. Tonks and I took turns pointing our wands and shouting at the brogdignagian insectoid fiend: "Confundo!" "Fera Verto!" "Ducklifors!" "Immobulus!" "Deprimo!" "Incarcerous!" "Confrigo!" "Lacarnum Inflamare!" "Petrificus Totalus!" Desperate for anything that might stun the cocroach with its stupid exostelaten's inherent impervious charm.......we had no brilliant ideas, but kept screaming and scampering away from the bug. Mrs. Weasley dumped the potion I was brewing on it; Tonks, holding her white dress' hem above the floor, tried trap it under a bowl, but it shoved the bowl off its back! Ginny reappeared with a sneaker wrapped in toilet paper and began whacking the bug enthusiastically...until it ran towards her. Then she screamed with the rest of us.
Three wands and one TPed sneaker were pointed at the bug. Four females in their best dresses stood on the kitchen counter, holding each other and gasping. Finally I remembered a spell we hadn't used yet. I don't know where it came from....I hadn't heard anyone try to use it for years.... "Peskipiksi Pesteroni!"
And it actually worked! The cocroach vanished!
Apparently Professor Lockhart did know one spell that worked. He just tried to use it on pixies when it was meant for cocroaches! Not that there's much of a difference between the two.
Besides this adventure, everything went off splendidly. I'll let Ginny tell you all the sappy stuff about the wedding. If she hasn't already.
Wish you'd been there,
Hermione
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Dear Ginny, July 9
Dearest Ginny,
I'm wondering what we are going to do next year without the DA Meetings.
I think I'll miss it a bit. I think DA Meetings felt like spending time with friends.
I know that you've liked Harry for just about forever, and I have a question for you. When you know that Harry has important things to do and can't be with you, how do you keep it together? I'm sorry if I'm prying too much. You don't have to tell me.
I'm just wondering because, well, would you like to have tea sometime? It may be easier to talk to you about this over tea and pudding and scones. I've never talked about this sort of thing before. I've never had this problem before. I'm suspecting that Wrackspurts may have burrowed into my mattress. I think I'll beat it out tomorrow.
Did I tell you that I saw a Dementor on Stoatshead Hill a couple nights ago? I didn't have my wand with me and I've felt all out of sorts ever since. I've been having rather unpleasant dreams ever since.
I also am starting to suspect that I may have encountered a creature I've never heard of before. One that makes it hard to sleep and eat. This morning I didn't even feel like having any pudding.
Perhaps I'm overreacting.
Have you been playing much Quidditch this Summer? I suspect Harry will be coming to the Burrow soon, for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I'm rather looking forward to the wedding as well. I've started planning my outfit. Do you think a Sunflower would be festive? If you need a break from all the wedding plans, feel free to sneak over here anytime. Daddy is starting a fascinating new project, and I'm sure he'd be pleased if you wanted to help us.
Speaking of which, I'm going to go help him now. I hope you're doing well and that I'll see you soon! I'll send Ellowyet over with a fresh Dirgible Plum Tart for you.
Love,
Luna
I'm wondering what we are going to do next year without the DA Meetings.
I think I'll miss it a bit. I think DA Meetings felt like spending time with friends.
I know that you've liked Harry for just about forever, and I have a question for you. When you know that Harry has important things to do and can't be with you, how do you keep it together? I'm sorry if I'm prying too much. You don't have to tell me.
I'm just wondering because, well, would you like to have tea sometime? It may be easier to talk to you about this over tea and pudding and scones. I've never talked about this sort of thing before. I've never had this problem before. I'm suspecting that Wrackspurts may have burrowed into my mattress. I think I'll beat it out tomorrow.
Did I tell you that I saw a Dementor on Stoatshead Hill a couple nights ago? I didn't have my wand with me and I've felt all out of sorts ever since. I've been having rather unpleasant dreams ever since.
I also am starting to suspect that I may have encountered a creature I've never heard of before. One that makes it hard to sleep and eat. This morning I didn't even feel like having any pudding.
Perhaps I'm overreacting.
Have you been playing much Quidditch this Summer? I suspect Harry will be coming to the Burrow soon, for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I'm rather looking forward to the wedding as well. I've started planning my outfit. Do you think a Sunflower would be festive? If you need a break from all the wedding plans, feel free to sneak over here anytime. Daddy is starting a fascinating new project, and I'm sure he'd be pleased if you wanted to help us.
Speaking of which, I'm going to go help him now. I hope you're doing well and that I'll see you soon! I'll send Ellowyet over with a fresh Dirgible Plum Tart for you.
Love,
Luna
Monday, September 27, 2010
Dear Hermione, July 7
Dear Hermione,
If I get you on a broom doing a sloth grip roll, that'll be a story to tell my grandchildren, if I ever have them. Can you imagine Ron's face?
The twins have been spending a lot of time with the ghoul, too. I think they're trying to transform it. I got a peek in once. It's dreadful. They've made its hair red. I guess it felt like it didn't fit in with the Weasleys?
Yes, the basilisk was rather traumatizing, but it seems so very long ago. When so much is going on now, it feels odd even thinking about way back when I was eleven and twelve.
You haven't heard anything conclusive about Lupin and Tonks? Well, they do have to keep it quiet, but I thought you'd know. They're getting married tomorrow, here at the Burrow. I'll send this by express owl and you can apparate here for the wedding. It's at 2pm. Hardly anyone will be there, so I'm sure they'd be thrilled if you came. I wish Harry could come.
Anyway, thanks for offering to play Quidditch with me. We don't have to fly, we can do something else fun. I think I would like to be Quidditch captain, but I'd rather Harry was. I'll do my best at it anyway. Maybe, when everything is normal again, I'll try for the Holyhead Harpies.
I hope to see you tomorrow, if only for an hour.
Love,
Ginny
If I get you on a broom doing a sloth grip roll, that'll be a story to tell my grandchildren, if I ever have them. Can you imagine Ron's face?
The twins have been spending a lot of time with the ghoul, too. I think they're trying to transform it. I got a peek in once. It's dreadful. They've made its hair red. I guess it felt like it didn't fit in with the Weasleys?
Yes, the basilisk was rather traumatizing, but it seems so very long ago. When so much is going on now, it feels odd even thinking about way back when I was eleven and twelve.
You haven't heard anything conclusive about Lupin and Tonks? Well, they do have to keep it quiet, but I thought you'd know. They're getting married tomorrow, here at the Burrow. I'll send this by express owl and you can apparate here for the wedding. It's at 2pm. Hardly anyone will be there, so I'm sure they'd be thrilled if you came. I wish Harry could come.
Anyway, thanks for offering to play Quidditch with me. We don't have to fly, we can do something else fun. I think I would like to be Quidditch captain, but I'd rather Harry was. I'll do my best at it anyway. Maybe, when everything is normal again, I'll try for the Holyhead Harpies.
I hope to see you tomorrow, if only for an hour.
Love,
Ginny
Dear Ginny. July 6.
Dear Ginny,
You’ve been looking at old pictures. Good grief. My hair. Your freckles! I hope you don’t cover them up for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. They’re so cute. Besides, Harry thinks you have nice skin.
What has Ron been up to? Last week, he wrote me a letter about how he was having tea with the ghoul in the attic every afternoon. Making it Earl Gray. I mean, really. I suppose he’s trying to mysterious or something equally insipid and idiotic, but brewing loose-leaf Earl Grey for a ghoul?
Just hang on five more days, and I’ll come to the Burrow. I plan on having all my projects done before then so I can spend all my time helping you and your mum get ready for the wedding. And yes, I’ll play quidditch with you. You can show me how to do that turn-upside-down-and-hang-on-the-broom-with-one-hand-to-avoid-the-bludger move without actually falling off. Who knows? If we sneak out at night when your mum hasn’t come up for any more chores for us to do yet, we might get to play a lot—so much that maybe by the time Harry comes next month, I’ll be so good and that he and I will beat you and Ron! It’ll be like last summer….never mind. We can’t really get last summer back. But it’ll still be good.
Just think—you could be quidditch captain in the fall. The first female Gryffindor captain in history! Or maybe I’ve got it wrong…hold on, I’ll look in Quidditch Through the Ages….
Huh. It’s not in there. But I did find the name of that move…the “sloth grip roll.”
Don’t shortchange your experience with the basilisk. It wasn’t minor; it was very traumatizing for everyone involved, especially for you. And it ought have traumatized you. If a twelve-year-old kid came out of that completely nonplussed, there’d be something wrong.
And don’t spend too much time alone. We need to stick together, now more than ever.
Five days! Five days!
With love,
Hermione
P.S. I don’t know which is worse, either. But he loves you, Ginny, I swear. That’s a fact.
P.P.S. So when are Lupin and Tonks getting married?!? Different Order members tell me different things!!
P. P. S. S. Don’t forget that since I won’t be at Hogwarts this year, we have to do something fun for both of our birthdays this summer. Put on your thinking cap of mellifluous jollity. Oh dear, that’s not how one should use “mellifluous.” Oh well. It sounds nice.
You’ve been looking at old pictures. Good grief. My hair. Your freckles! I hope you don’t cover them up for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. They’re so cute. Besides, Harry thinks you have nice skin.
What has Ron been up to? Last week, he wrote me a letter about how he was having tea with the ghoul in the attic every afternoon. Making it Earl Gray. I mean, really. I suppose he’s trying to mysterious or something equally insipid and idiotic, but brewing loose-leaf Earl Grey for a ghoul?
Just hang on five more days, and I’ll come to the Burrow. I plan on having all my projects done before then so I can spend all my time helping you and your mum get ready for the wedding. And yes, I’ll play quidditch with you. You can show me how to do that turn-upside-down-and-hang-on-the-broom-with-one-hand-to-avoid-the-bludger move without actually falling off. Who knows? If we sneak out at night when your mum hasn’t come up for any more chores for us to do yet, we might get to play a lot—so much that maybe by the time Harry comes next month, I’ll be so good and that he and I will beat you and Ron! It’ll be like last summer….never mind. We can’t really get last summer back. But it’ll still be good.
Just think—you could be quidditch captain in the fall. The first female Gryffindor captain in history! Or maybe I’ve got it wrong…hold on, I’ll look in Quidditch Through the Ages….
Huh. It’s not in there. But I did find the name of that move…the “sloth grip roll.”
Don’t shortchange your experience with the basilisk. It wasn’t minor; it was very traumatizing for everyone involved, especially for you. And it ought have traumatized you. If a twelve-year-old kid came out of that completely nonplussed, there’d be something wrong.
And don’t spend too much time alone. We need to stick together, now more than ever.
Five days! Five days!
With love,
Hermione
P.S. I don’t know which is worse, either. But he loves you, Ginny, I swear. That’s a fact.
P.P.S. So when are Lupin and Tonks getting married?!? Different Order members tell me different things!!
P. P. S. S. Don’t forget that since I won’t be at Hogwarts this year, we have to do something fun for both of our birthdays this summer. Put on your thinking cap of mellifluous jollity. Oh dear, that’s not how one should use “mellifluous.” Oh well. It sounds nice.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Dear Hermione
The letter which Hermione hasn't opened yet.
Dear Hermione,
I was looking at a few pictures of Harry. I don’t know what’s worse, being a little girl worrying about whether or not he’ll ever like me or being a grown up girl knowing he DOES like me and is trying to protect me by being away. I know you and he and Ron aren’t going back to Hogwarts.
I was looking at some picture from our first few years at Hogwarts. We were all so little then. Harry was rather cute. Everything seems so petty now. Even the basilisk seems minor compared to…well, whatever is going to pull you away from school has got to be pretty bad, and Ron’s been doing all kinds of strange things. You-Know-Who in a diary was bad enough. Now he’s the flesh.
With Dumbledore dead and you and Harry gone, and all my brothers gone, it’s going to be so strange at Hogwarts. I’ve already got my things, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to going. Everything is getting heavier. Everyone is acting different, and there’s the Order and all.
Well, I am looking forward to playing Quidditch again. That’s enough, perhaps.
I hope you’re doing well. I can’t wait until you come to the Burrow. Preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding are making the whole place wild. I savor my time alone.
Love,
Ginny
Dear Hermione,
I was looking at a few pictures of Harry. I don’t know what’s worse, being a little girl worrying about whether or not he’ll ever like me or being a grown up girl knowing he DOES like me and is trying to protect me by being away. I know you and he and Ron aren’t going back to Hogwarts.
I was looking at some picture from our first few years at Hogwarts. We were all so little then. Harry was rather cute. Everything seems so petty now. Even the basilisk seems minor compared to…well, whatever is going to pull you away from school has got to be pretty bad, and Ron’s been doing all kinds of strange things. You-Know-Who in a diary was bad enough. Now he’s the flesh.
With Dumbledore dead and you and Harry gone, and all my brothers gone, it’s going to be so strange at Hogwarts. I’ve already got my things, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to going. Everything is getting heavier. Everyone is acting different, and there’s the Order and all.
Well, I am looking forward to playing Quidditch again. That’s enough, perhaps.
I hope you’re doing well. I can’t wait until you come to the Burrow. Preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding are making the whole place wild. I savor my time alone.
Love,
Ginny
My Dear Hermionie...
(This is a follow-up letter to Hermione's letter to Luna in which she talks about LOTR)
(And for anyone's reference, Ellowyet = Luna's Owl, Horatio = Ginny's Owl, Andromeda = Hermione's Owl)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Hermione,
Ellowyet does have quite the habit of chiding Horatio for his klutzy and hyper-active behavior. I really should talk to her about that. I don't want her to hurt poor Horatio's feelings. She rather likes Andromeda though. I think she would enjoy having some tea and field mouse with Andromeda.
Your parents seem rather intuitive on wizarding matters for muggles. I would rather like to meet them. Perhaps I could interview them and get a muggle opinion on Harry Potter? I think that would do very well in an issue of The Quibbler. And do muggles call You-Know-Who by name?
Speaking of The Quibbler, my father is doing quite well. Thank you for asking. We're going to be in Scandinavia for a couple of weeks before the start of term, as someone wrote us with fresh evidence of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack population there. I've been ordering most of my supplies for this term, since the ministry has been watching Diagon Alley and the surrounding area very closely. It just isn't safe to go out in the city anymore.
I feel as if there is something not-quite-right about Dumbledore's death. Apart from the fact that he was murdered, of course. I don't think it can be as simple as it seems. I suspect nargles are involved in some aspect. I miss Dumbledore. It's rather strange to think about how such a marvelous wizard is just gone now. Do you know how Harry's doing? They seemed awfully close and I just hope poor Harry is taking it all right. He's had enough to deal with without having another person he was close to dying.
Ginny's spoken to me a couple of times about Harry, but she isn't very vocal about her emotions. It's only when she's extremely overcome that she's really told me how she feels. I don't think she'd be very vocal about any stress of concerns she has either. She's a lot like Harry in that sense. They both do their best to be strong to protect everyone they're close to.
This British muggle seems to know a bit too much about the wizarding world. Did the Ministry every modify his memory? It seems they may have failed in their jobs there. Hobbits sound like rather friendly creatures. I've never met one, but I hear they're very hospitable. Did you know that a hobbit got an acceptance letter to Hogwarts? Apparently she was having great luck with some natural magic in growing her plants at an alarming rate. I don't know if she'll be attending yet, but I doubt it with the prejudice the ministry has been showing lately. Daddy's going to run an article on it in the next issue of The Quibbler, and ask all our subscribers to mail howlers to the Ministry, demanding her rights to attend Hogwarts and be issued her own wand.
I'm going to miss you, Harry, and Ron a lot this year (I can only assume they aren't returning either). I'm going to miss the DA meetings. It was rather like having friends, you know. I don't think Ginny wants to return, and to be honest, I don't know how Hogwarts will be without Dumbledore. But we still have Professor McGonigal, and I'm sure she'll do wonderfully as headmistress.
Now to your musings about the muggle book. If poor Sam had to push Frodo into the fire? Well, the entire world would be saved, but Sam wouldn't be able to live. And by that I mean that he would shut down and shut himself off from the world. Sam would be the greatest hero of all time. But I think he would slowly descend into the recesses of his own mind, destroying himself. Eventually, he may even become what he set out to destroy. It's an ending that is plausible, but not proper. I don't think that can rightly be the end. For everything to really be all right, Frodo must live, sacrificing his deep connection to this ring. It will be very difficult and painful. He may come out of it barely alive. But he must come out alive. I don't think there can be another end.
And dear Hermione, it is just a book after all. And the ending is already written. No matter how much you may worry and stress over the conclusion, the story will conclude the way it was written to.
I'm sure you will feel better once you've read Ginny's letter. Treat yourself to some pudding, and rip open the envelope. Pudding will help it go down. I'm also sending a Butterbeer cork bracelet for you. The last thing you need right now is an attack by nargles.
Hermione, do you have any suggestions for curing the results of a dementor attack? I went up to Stoatshead Hill last night, and I forgot my wand so I couldn't cast a patronus. I've been feeling out-of-sorts ever since. And I had a terrible dream about Neville...and I haven't felt at all right since. I made a new pair of Dirigble Plum earrings, but they don't seem to be helping at all.
When you arrive at the Burrow, we can have a cup of tea and some pudding. Although I understand if you need to stay in hiding and remain unseen. In which case, I shall have a cup of tea and some pudding and think about you. If you need a pair of Spectrespecs to aid you in your journey, just let me know. We still have a few old copies of The Quibbler lying around that have the Spectrespecs in them.
With Love,
Luna
(P.S. Beware of giving your tella-shell a cold by not keeping it warm enough. It's been rather rainy here lately, and I don't know what the weather is like over there.)
(And for anyone's reference, Ellowyet = Luna's Owl, Horatio = Ginny's Owl, Andromeda = Hermione's Owl)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear Hermione,
Ellowyet does have quite the habit of chiding Horatio for his klutzy and hyper-active behavior. I really should talk to her about that. I don't want her to hurt poor Horatio's feelings. She rather likes Andromeda though. I think she would enjoy having some tea and field mouse with Andromeda.
Your parents seem rather intuitive on wizarding matters for muggles. I would rather like to meet them. Perhaps I could interview them and get a muggle opinion on Harry Potter? I think that would do very well in an issue of The Quibbler. And do muggles call You-Know-Who by name?
Speaking of The Quibbler, my father is doing quite well. Thank you for asking. We're going to be in Scandinavia for a couple of weeks before the start of term, as someone wrote us with fresh evidence of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack population there. I've been ordering most of my supplies for this term, since the ministry has been watching Diagon Alley and the surrounding area very closely. It just isn't safe to go out in the city anymore.
I feel as if there is something not-quite-right about Dumbledore's death. Apart from the fact that he was murdered, of course. I don't think it can be as simple as it seems. I suspect nargles are involved in some aspect. I miss Dumbledore. It's rather strange to think about how such a marvelous wizard is just gone now. Do you know how Harry's doing? They seemed awfully close and I just hope poor Harry is taking it all right. He's had enough to deal with without having another person he was close to dying.
Ginny's spoken to me a couple of times about Harry, but she isn't very vocal about her emotions. It's only when she's extremely overcome that she's really told me how she feels. I don't think she'd be very vocal about any stress of concerns she has either. She's a lot like Harry in that sense. They both do their best to be strong to protect everyone they're close to.
This British muggle seems to know a bit too much about the wizarding world. Did the Ministry every modify his memory? It seems they may have failed in their jobs there. Hobbits sound like rather friendly creatures. I've never met one, but I hear they're very hospitable. Did you know that a hobbit got an acceptance letter to Hogwarts? Apparently she was having great luck with some natural magic in growing her plants at an alarming rate. I don't know if she'll be attending yet, but I doubt it with the prejudice the ministry has been showing lately. Daddy's going to run an article on it in the next issue of The Quibbler, and ask all our subscribers to mail howlers to the Ministry, demanding her rights to attend Hogwarts and be issued her own wand.
I'm going to miss you, Harry, and Ron a lot this year (I can only assume they aren't returning either). I'm going to miss the DA meetings. It was rather like having friends, you know. I don't think Ginny wants to return, and to be honest, I don't know how Hogwarts will be without Dumbledore. But we still have Professor McGonigal, and I'm sure she'll do wonderfully as headmistress.
Now to your musings about the muggle book. If poor Sam had to push Frodo into the fire? Well, the entire world would be saved, but Sam wouldn't be able to live. And by that I mean that he would shut down and shut himself off from the world. Sam would be the greatest hero of all time. But I think he would slowly descend into the recesses of his own mind, destroying himself. Eventually, he may even become what he set out to destroy. It's an ending that is plausible, but not proper. I don't think that can rightly be the end. For everything to really be all right, Frodo must live, sacrificing his deep connection to this ring. It will be very difficult and painful. He may come out of it barely alive. But he must come out alive. I don't think there can be another end.
And dear Hermione, it is just a book after all. And the ending is already written. No matter how much you may worry and stress over the conclusion, the story will conclude the way it was written to.
I'm sure you will feel better once you've read Ginny's letter. Treat yourself to some pudding, and rip open the envelope. Pudding will help it go down. I'm also sending a Butterbeer cork bracelet for you. The last thing you need right now is an attack by nargles.
Hermione, do you have any suggestions for curing the results of a dementor attack? I went up to Stoatshead Hill last night, and I forgot my wand so I couldn't cast a patronus. I've been feeling out-of-sorts ever since. And I had a terrible dream about Neville...and I haven't felt at all right since. I made a new pair of Dirigble Plum earrings, but they don't seem to be helping at all.
When you arrive at the Burrow, we can have a cup of tea and some pudding. Although I understand if you need to stay in hiding and remain unseen. In which case, I shall have a cup of tea and some pudding and think about you. If you need a pair of Spectrespecs to aid you in your journey, just let me know. We still have a few old copies of The Quibbler lying around that have the Spectrespecs in them.
With Love,
Luna
(P.S. Beware of giving your tella-shell a cold by not keeping it warm enough. It's been rather rainy here lately, and I don't know what the weather is like over there.)
Dear Luna
(Although posted by Vanessa, this is by Elaine)
–I was posed with this question: How does fiction reveal truth? I decided to write a blog post in which the form reflected the content. For those of you who don’ t know, two friends and I have been role-playing as Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger from J. K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” novels. We pretend to be in some nebulous time after the books end. But in this letter, it’s early July, just after the end of the sixth novel. And so I, Hermione, write the following letter to my friend Luna.–
Dear Luna,
Oddly enough, Horatio arrived just as Ellowyt did, so they’re hanging out on the balcony right now with Andromeda, chattering on about who knows what. I suppose you would know. Watching Horatio collide with the window and hearing Ellowyt chide him in her high, breathy voice made my day.
You asked how my summer has been. Luna, you’ve no idea what it’s like, being here. Mum and Dad are clueless. I haven’t told them much. I told them that the headmaster died, so the school was in transition. I didn’t tell them that a teacher killed him, or that said teacher works for a dark wizard. They do know about Voldemort, though—I told them about him years ago, before any of this really started—and about Death Eaters. When I told Dad about how Mr. Malfoy put that diary in Ginny’s cauldron, he instantly knew that Malfoy’s with Voldemort. Sorry, You-Know-Who. I forget.
How’s your dad? The latest edition of The Quibbler was excellent. Your column on the wrackspurts’ war effort was especially fascinating. The coverage of Dumbledore’s death and funeral were touching. Touching isn’t the right word. But you know. People in wizard photographs move, unless they’re dead. And that picture of Dumbledore…he wasn’t moving.
I’m putting off reading Ginny’s letter, if you can’t tell. Not that I’m afraid of what she’ll say—I’m afraid of what she won’t.
Rather like me with my mum, I’m sure. Neither of us says much. But Mum took the last four weeks off, says she wants to spend more time with me this summer. And when I’m planning what I’m planning!
I’m reading this book my parents have. I read it a million times as a kid, before I knew I was a witch, and I hadn’t picked it up again until now. It was written by a British muggle in the 1950s, but I think he must’ve had wizarding relatives or something, because he knows too much. It’s a book about these little people called “hobbits” who live in a world called “Middle Earth.” They have furry feet and like to eat six meals a day. Yes, they like pudding. I think you’d like them. They garden and play checkers and run around outside all day. And then everything goes wrong—an evil being, an immortal, inhuman sorcerer, makes a magical gold Ring into which he pours all his cruelty, his malice, his will to dominate all life, even until the ending of the world. The evil sorcerer was killed, but not entirely: his soul lived on in the Ring.
Oh, Luna, if only I could tell you everything. If only you knew how much we Hogwarts students are like hobbits in the Shire. You ask, again, if I can tell you anything more about what happened the night Dumbledore died. I can’t. I’m sorry. I promised. But I can tell you this—I’m not going back to Hogwarts in the fall. You probably already figured that out.
It’s weird, thinking I’m not going to be at school in the fall. I’m reading constantly, just as if I were—and not just muggle novels, but every book of spells, potions, history, whatever I can get my hands on. I’ve been apparating around the country collecting books. Did you know there’s a wizarding library under a pub at Oxford? I stumbled on it when I was really hungry after copying down runes all day at Stonehenge. The pub’s called “The Eagle and Child.” Ironically, that’s where the muggle who wrote those hobbit books had a writing club with some other muggles.
So although I’m still reading, studying, planning….I’m not getting a grade. It’s strange. I came across a boggart when I went to Snowdon last week—I’d contacted a witch who had a six hundred year-old book on patronuses (patroni?) and psychology that I want to read—and anyway, it wasn’t McGonagall telling me I’d failed all my exams anymore. It was….well, I can’t really tell you. It was Dumbledore telling me something else, something that I’ve been so worried about for the last four weeks I can’t sleep. Something about defeating You-Know-Who. I can distract myself from it when I’m, you know, off reading runes at Stonehenge or Avebury or something. But then I try to sleep….and I can’t not be terrified that the worst, the absolute worst, might be true.
So that’s when I pick up the hobbit books again. You’ll tell me, I know, that I should get out my quill, ink, and parchment, and write you or Ginny a letter, but I can’t tell Ginny what I’m thinking. I just can’t! It’s like this wall has come down between us in the last four weeks. She’s so scared, but she won’t say it…and I can’t tell her not to be scared, because it’d be a lie.
I wish I could tell Mum.
Anyway, so that’s when I pick up the muggle novel. I just finished the second book in the trilogy. The two main hobbits, Frodo and Sam, are carrying the Ring into Mordor, the evil sorcerer’s stronghold, where they can finally destroy it by casting it into the fire from whence it came. But right as they’re about to enter Mordor, they get attacked by a giant spider, and Sam thinks Frodo is dead. When some goblins show up, Sam takes the Ring and hides, determined to press on and destroy it in spite of his grief. Then the goblins discover that Frodo really isn’t dead—the spider’s venom has just made him unconscious—and so Sam is furious with himself and decides he must go rescue Frodo. And so Sam carries the Ring into Mordor.
Luna, Sam is a gardener. He hasn’t studied magic like I have. And he’s not even four feet tall. But he presses onward, on his own, into Mordor. He has courage and loyalty that I just don’t have.
I know how the third book ends. Sam rescues Frodo, and they get all the way to Mount Doom where they can destroy the Ring. At the last moment, Frodo—who’s obsessed with the Ring at this point—refuses to throw it into the fire. There’s a scuffle involving a very creepy creature that ends with said creature biting the Ring off Frodo’s finger and tumbling into the fire with the Ring.
There’s a horrible moment that I’m dreading reading when Frodo nearly falls into the fire, too. And I can’t help but wonder—what if he had fallen in? What if Frodo had been unable to give up the Ring? What if, to save the world, it had been necessary for Sam to push Frodo into the fire?
You’ll tell me that while it may be necessary and honorable to sacrifice oneself to save others, it’s never necessary to kill another person to save everyone. But what if it is necessary for one person to sacrifice him or herself, and he or she doesn’t know it? What do you do, if you—
Never mind. I ought to burn this letter. But if I do, I’ll feel even more alone than I do now.
Luna, I wish we could have tea and talk in person. But you’re tied up at home with your dad’s restoration project, and I’m terribly busy, too. I’ll be going to the Burrow in another week, so you’ll have to send Ellowyt there with your next letter if you don’t write back directly.
I’m sending Andromeda back with Ellowyt today. Thanks so much for agreeing to take her for now. I don’t know what I’d do with her otherwise. She’ll likes you and will enjoy being at Hogwarts again. You and Ginny will take good care of her.
Ginny. I should read her letter. Have you heard from her? Has she said anything?
Well, I should go. I’m writing a new undetectable extension charm. None of the existing ones are good enough; I can’t fit enough stuff in a hand-held bag for three people. I need to have it done before I go to the Burrow.
Hope this letter finds you and your dad well.
With love,
Hermione
P.S. I saw a golden snidget yesterday in the Yorkshire Dales! I took a picture of it on my—well, you call it a “tella shell” but it’s not a shell, it’s a cell phone. I’ll have to show you sometime since I can’t exactly send it to you. No, I’m not going to explain; it’d take another whole letter.
–I was posed with this question: How does fiction reveal truth? I decided to write a blog post in which the form reflected the content. For those of you who don’ t know, two friends and I have been role-playing as Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger from J. K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” novels. We pretend to be in some nebulous time after the books end. But in this letter, it’s early July, just after the end of the sixth novel. And so I, Hermione, write the following letter to my friend Luna.–
Dear Luna,
Oddly enough, Horatio arrived just as Ellowyt did, so they’re hanging out on the balcony right now with Andromeda, chattering on about who knows what. I suppose you would know. Watching Horatio collide with the window and hearing Ellowyt chide him in her high, breathy voice made my day.
You asked how my summer has been. Luna, you’ve no idea what it’s like, being here. Mum and Dad are clueless. I haven’t told them much. I told them that the headmaster died, so the school was in transition. I didn’t tell them that a teacher killed him, or that said teacher works for a dark wizard. They do know about Voldemort, though—I told them about him years ago, before any of this really started—and about Death Eaters. When I told Dad about how Mr. Malfoy put that diary in Ginny’s cauldron, he instantly knew that Malfoy’s with Voldemort. Sorry, You-Know-Who. I forget.
How’s your dad? The latest edition of The Quibbler was excellent. Your column on the wrackspurts’ war effort was especially fascinating. The coverage of Dumbledore’s death and funeral were touching. Touching isn’t the right word. But you know. People in wizard photographs move, unless they’re dead. And that picture of Dumbledore…he wasn’t moving.
I’m putting off reading Ginny’s letter, if you can’t tell. Not that I’m afraid of what she’ll say—I’m afraid of what she won’t.
Rather like me with my mum, I’m sure. Neither of us says much. But Mum took the last four weeks off, says she wants to spend more time with me this summer. And when I’m planning what I’m planning!
I’m reading this book my parents have. I read it a million times as a kid, before I knew I was a witch, and I hadn’t picked it up again until now. It was written by a British muggle in the 1950s, but I think he must’ve had wizarding relatives or something, because he knows too much. It’s a book about these little people called “hobbits” who live in a world called “Middle Earth.” They have furry feet and like to eat six meals a day. Yes, they like pudding. I think you’d like them. They garden and play checkers and run around outside all day. And then everything goes wrong—an evil being, an immortal, inhuman sorcerer, makes a magical gold Ring into which he pours all his cruelty, his malice, his will to dominate all life, even until the ending of the world. The evil sorcerer was killed, but not entirely: his soul lived on in the Ring.
Oh, Luna, if only I could tell you everything. If only you knew how much we Hogwarts students are like hobbits in the Shire. You ask, again, if I can tell you anything more about what happened the night Dumbledore died. I can’t. I’m sorry. I promised. But I can tell you this—I’m not going back to Hogwarts in the fall. You probably already figured that out.
It’s weird, thinking I’m not going to be at school in the fall. I’m reading constantly, just as if I were—and not just muggle novels, but every book of spells, potions, history, whatever I can get my hands on. I’ve been apparating around the country collecting books. Did you know there’s a wizarding library under a pub at Oxford? I stumbled on it when I was really hungry after copying down runes all day at Stonehenge. The pub’s called “The Eagle and Child.” Ironically, that’s where the muggle who wrote those hobbit books had a writing club with some other muggles.
So although I’m still reading, studying, planning….I’m not getting a grade. It’s strange. I came across a boggart when I went to Snowdon last week—I’d contacted a witch who had a six hundred year-old book on patronuses (patroni?) and psychology that I want to read—and anyway, it wasn’t McGonagall telling me I’d failed all my exams anymore. It was….well, I can’t really tell you. It was Dumbledore telling me something else, something that I’ve been so worried about for the last four weeks I can’t sleep. Something about defeating You-Know-Who. I can distract myself from it when I’m, you know, off reading runes at Stonehenge or Avebury or something. But then I try to sleep….and I can’t not be terrified that the worst, the absolute worst, might be true.
So that’s when I pick up the hobbit books again. You’ll tell me, I know, that I should get out my quill, ink, and parchment, and write you or Ginny a letter, but I can’t tell Ginny what I’m thinking. I just can’t! It’s like this wall has come down between us in the last four weeks. She’s so scared, but she won’t say it…and I can’t tell her not to be scared, because it’d be a lie.
I wish I could tell Mum.
Anyway, so that’s when I pick up the muggle novel. I just finished the second book in the trilogy. The two main hobbits, Frodo and Sam, are carrying the Ring into Mordor, the evil sorcerer’s stronghold, where they can finally destroy it by casting it into the fire from whence it came. But right as they’re about to enter Mordor, they get attacked by a giant spider, and Sam thinks Frodo is dead. When some goblins show up, Sam takes the Ring and hides, determined to press on and destroy it in spite of his grief. Then the goblins discover that Frodo really isn’t dead—the spider’s venom has just made him unconscious—and so Sam is furious with himself and decides he must go rescue Frodo. And so Sam carries the Ring into Mordor.
Luna, Sam is a gardener. He hasn’t studied magic like I have. And he’s not even four feet tall. But he presses onward, on his own, into Mordor. He has courage and loyalty that I just don’t have.
I know how the third book ends. Sam rescues Frodo, and they get all the way to Mount Doom where they can destroy the Ring. At the last moment, Frodo—who’s obsessed with the Ring at this point—refuses to throw it into the fire. There’s a scuffle involving a very creepy creature that ends with said creature biting the Ring off Frodo’s finger and tumbling into the fire with the Ring.
There’s a horrible moment that I’m dreading reading when Frodo nearly falls into the fire, too. And I can’t help but wonder—what if he had fallen in? What if Frodo had been unable to give up the Ring? What if, to save the world, it had been necessary for Sam to push Frodo into the fire?
You’ll tell me that while it may be necessary and honorable to sacrifice oneself to save others, it’s never necessary to kill another person to save everyone. But what if it is necessary for one person to sacrifice him or herself, and he or she doesn’t know it? What do you do, if you—
Never mind. I ought to burn this letter. But if I do, I’ll feel even more alone than I do now.
Luna, I wish we could have tea and talk in person. But you’re tied up at home with your dad’s restoration project, and I’m terribly busy, too. I’ll be going to the Burrow in another week, so you’ll have to send Ellowyt there with your next letter if you don’t write back directly.
I’m sending Andromeda back with Ellowyt today. Thanks so much for agreeing to take her for now. I don’t know what I’d do with her otherwise. She’ll likes you and will enjoy being at Hogwarts again. You and Ginny will take good care of her.
Ginny. I should read her letter. Have you heard from her? Has she said anything?
Well, I should go. I’m writing a new undetectable extension charm. None of the existing ones are good enough; I can’t fit enough stuff in a hand-held bag for three people. I need to have it done before I go to the Burrow.
Hope this letter finds you and your dad well.
With love,
Hermione
P.S. I saw a golden snidget yesterday in the Yorkshire Dales! I took a picture of it on my—well, you call it a “tella shell” but it’s not a shell, it’s a cell phone. I’ll have to show you sometime since I can’t exactly send it to you. No, I’m not going to explain; it’d take another whole letter.