It was a quiet afternoon in late September. The sky was a clear, bright blue and the sun was shining in a mixture of yellow and orange, sending warm rays through the sitting room windows of a beautiful English country cottage.

Inside, the room was spacious and comfortable furnished. A young woman was sitting in a brown leather armchair, her head leaning back slightly, her eyes closed. It seemed that she had fallen asleep while reading a letter, the small piece of parchment tightly clutched in her hand. There were stains all over the neat writing, like someone had cried while reading it. There were also small tears and dents, proofs of the letter being folded and unfolded one too many times. What did it say you may wonder? Well, it was to this effect:

Granger,

To be honest I don't even know why I am writing you this or if I am ever going to send it. Call it madness or foolhardiness, but I find myself in a rather complicated situation. For a while now, I cannot seem to stop thinking about a certain bushy-haired, know-it-all witch, who pushes all my wrong buttons and annoys me to no end, but who's genuine smile can melt even the coldest of hearts. Though I am sure she will never grace me with one, I cannot stop but hope like a fool that one day I might be deemed worthy. Perhaps in the next life she will look at me, see me for who I am, see behind any masks and any walls I might put up.

I know that during all these years we have fought for and believed in things that were as different as night and day, but despite all that, despite all our complicated and dark history, I feel my heart being drawn to her... to you, Granger. You, with your warmth, kindness and bravery make everything I stood for seem trivial, stupid and very wrong. Now that Voldemort is gone, I realize that silly things like glory, prestige and blood purity really meant nothing. That without love, all is futile.

Being on the run from both the past and the present has made me look back numerous times at all the early years of my life and it has made me realize one very important aspect: you, Potter and the Weasleys always had your hearts in the right place, and that was with the people, with the weak and with the just. Whilst I always believed that my obligation was towards upholding the family name and beliefs. How wrong have I been! How mislead had my childhood years have been! But it's done and nothing can change the past and the future doesn't seem to have any hope in it for me. I will probably never see you again and with this realization my heart shatters, stabbed by a million knives called regret and sorrow.

Now, I must end this missive, still unsure whether it will ever reach its destination. Many red flags are popping inside my mind, warning me against this, but there is something I must tell you now at the end, something that, even if you never read this letter, must be said and admitted. This, at least, is the beginning of my redemption towards you, even though I may not deserve it. I love you, Hermione Granger! I love you so much that even words fail me, and even if I am sure you will never love me in return, I will love you for both of us.

I shall not sign this, for I know not how to name myself. Just a poor soul who yearns for a warm ray of sun to melt the ice in which it slumbered for too long. You will forever be my ray of sun, Hermione, and may you never waver, and your bright light may never be extinguished.

A bird landed on the windowsill and sang its beautiful, yet sad song. At that moment, a man entered the sunlit room, carrying a beautiful yellow-flowered houseplant in one hand and a warm, loving smile on his lips. His white-blond hair shone in the light, giving him the brightness and beauty of an angel, while his grey eyes were like molted steel: hot, intense and full of passion. He stood there for a few moments, gazing at the woman sitting in the armchair as if in a trance, watching her chest rise and fall with the soft breathing of sleep, mesmerized by the beautiful image of peace and calmness she portrayed. Her soft brown hair shimmered with auburn flickers; the long curls spread around her head, framing her face beautifully.

Suddenly she let out a soft sigh, the letter slipping slowly from her hand. A ball of ginger fur quivered at her feet. Not fully waking up, the cat curled up even more, covering its eyes against the light coming from the afternoon sun.

The man snapped out of his daze, as something inside his mind urged him to move. He carefully placed the houseplant on a nearby table, careful not to make a sound, and strode slowly towards the armchair. Once there, he leaned over the woman, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. At the touch, she scrunched up her face, opening her eyes and slowly focusing them on the man in front of her.

"How's my sleeping beauty?" he asked, love and tenderness laced in his voice as he looked down at his beloved wife.

"Sleepy." she replied with a content sigh, returning his loving smile.

"What are you doing reading this again?" he said, slowly picking up the letter from her hand and perusing it. "Didn't you say it always makes you sad?"

"It does" she said, taking back the letter and gazing at it fondly. "But it also makes me feel grateful."

"Grateful?" he asked in mild confusion.

"Yes." she said with a soft smile. "Reading it reminds me how close we have been to miss each other in this lifetime and how lucky we are for being together now."

He gently picked her up from the armchair, sitting down with her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her small figure protectively. He leaned forward and gave her another tender kiss, one which she returned.

"I love you, Hermione."

"And I love you too, Draco" she said, smiling into the kiss, letting the letter fall from her hands.

The letter reached the floor and a gust of wind made it sway slightly. It remained there, a fragment of the past and a promise for the future.