I know these letters are supposed to be anonymous but I think we should use pen names. You can refer to me as Lioness, if you would like.
This is a bit awkward, I must say. Since I donít know who will receive this letter, I have no idea where to begin. But I didnít want to disappoint my professors so I made sure to be the first to volunteer. I suppose I should begin with myself.
Iím a girl with brown hair. I like to read because knowledge is the best weapon. My favorite course is potions but no one would suspect it because I donít get along with my professor. But I have always been fascinated by the art.
Anyway, what is your favorite subject? Do you have any pets? What do your parents do for a living? What is the weather like where you are? I hope to hear from you soon.
She smiled brightly as she signed her penname and sat back in her chair. It was a decent first letter, she thought, considering she had no idea who would receive it. When her professors had first talked about the pen pal program for extra credit, she had thought that she might not have the time, what with all the classes she was taking this year. But she decided to make an effort at least and went ahead and volunteered.
She re-read the letter another time to check for errors before she folded it and tucked it into one of her many school books spread out around her. She had been in the library for more than an hour, though that was not uncommon, and chose to take a break from studying to write the letter.
She checked her watch and noticed that it was rapidly approaching dinner time. If she was going to send off her letter before she went down to eat, she would need to do so now. She gathered up her books and parchment, tucking everything neatly into her backpack. Before she left, she made sure to place all of her borrowed books back where they belonged on the shelves, much to the pleasure of the librarian who often had to go around, picking up after the laziness of a majority of the students.
She hefted her weighty backpack on her shoulders and headed off in the direction of the Owlry, which was quite a trek for her. She realized now that she should have left a bit earlier if she wanted to make it to dinner on time.
She sighed and headed along the many hallways and staircases that would take her to her intended destination. She met quite a few familiar faces along the way; housemates, classmates, and the occasional mortal enemy. One such meeting, as she neared the Owlry caused her to be furious as she tied her letter to the leg of one of the schoolís owls.
Who was he to look down on her? Who was he to decide that she wasnít good enough to be here? Were her grades not the highest in their class? Had she not proven her courage and strength on numerous occasions in the past? Had she not excelled in everything she put herself into? What did her parentage matter when it came to her ability to do magic and out-perform nearly every one of her classmates?
She sighed and decided it didnít matter. He did these things to get under her skin. If she let it bother her, he will have won. She gave herself a little shake and watched as the brown school owl flew out of sight in the darkening sky. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to smile. She headed off to dinner with no intention of letting her friends know of her most recent confrontation. They werenít as patient and she didnít want them to get in trouble. They loved her well and hated to see her upset, so she was determined that they wouldnít.
Iíve decided to use the pen name Silvertongue. Iíve just received your letter. My father has requested I play a part in this program though I have no real desire to do so.
As for your questions: potions also, an eagle owl, parents are too important to tell you about, and the weather is perfect for Quidditch, which is what Iíd rather be doing right now.
So this is the part where I ask you questions, right? Letís see. What is your Quidditch team? Do you have a boyfriend? How old are you? What is your favorite book?
That should be enough.
He pushed his chair back from his desk and folded his arms behind his head. There, he had written the stupid letter and placated his father. His father had insisted he participate in this silly letter writing campaign, saying that it was very important to have contacts in other countries, wherever possible. One never knew when they would need to have foreign allies, according to him.
He groaned and leaned forward, picking up the letter he had received earlier that day. He decided that whomever had written this letter knew English very well, so she couldnít have been too foreign. He figured it was better that way anyway. He didnít want to have to dumb down his vocabulary just because someone else didnít have a grasp of the language. That was one of his many pet peeves.
He was sure to get an angry reply to his short letter, but he didnít really care. He thought it would be interesting to see how riled up a person could get through just letters. If he could make her mad, that would make this whole pen pal thing more fun. She must be a terrible dork, in his opinion, just because of the comment about wanting to not disappoint her professors. Who was she to be the first one to volunteer? How utterly disgusting.
The small dungeon window over his desk allowed a single shaft of autumn light to fall across the letter he had written. He stood, looking out the window at the perfect Quidditch conditions. He hadnít lied in his letter. He would much rather be outside playing Quidditch than anything else. He stretched and moved across the dormitory room to gather up his Quidditch robes.
It was a Saturday, he shouldnít be closed up in the dorms writing letters. He grabbed the letter on his way out, deciding to take it to the Owlry on his way to the pitch. He tucked it inside his robes because he didnít want any of his housemates to see that he had been writing letters. They had all made fun of the pen pal idea in the common room, just hours ago. He had neglected to tell them that his father was making him participate and he would hate to see their reactions when they found out that he was one of the terrible dorks who had to correspond with foreign students.
He passed a few of his housemates in the common room, not bothering to extend a greeting for he was on a mission. The fewer people to see him in the Owlry, the better. He didnít want to have to answer any stupid questions. He didnít come across many students in the halls or on the stairs along the way. He figured they must all be outside on such a beautiful Saturday afternoon.
There was one person he always seemed to run into, however. Never failed, as he passed the library, that she should stumble out and bump into him. She never paid attention to where she was going, and he made sure to comment on that to her. She glared at him, like she always did, and went on some lame diatribe about how this school belonged to everyone, he didnít own the halls, he should be more considerate, blah, blah, blahÖ
He hit her with a few harsh words and watched as her face contorted as if she wanted to cry. My work here is done, he thought as he lifted his chin and continued on his way.
A/N: I know that itís pretty obvious who the people writing the letters are. But Iím not saying their names, and they wonít say them either. Or the names of anyone else for that matter. This is a challenge to myself, to see if I can make the story believable without names or dialogue. Please let me know if I donít succeed! Thanks for reading and please review.
Disclaimer: I donít own anything. J.K. Rowling is the genius behind Harry Potter and those things related to Harry Potter. I just enjoy tormenting the wonderful characters she has created for us.
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