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Inevitable as Tragedy	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3623 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Inevitable as Tragedy

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco, implied (and only implied) Harry/Ginny.

Rating: R/M

Warnings: DH Spoilers (ignores epilogue), violence, profanity, sex, minor character death. Heavy angst; some suicidal thoughts. Story told via letters.

Summary: Physical separation is possible for Harry and Draco. Mental separation is not.

Author’s Notes: This is a birthday fic for ravenqueen55, who requested I would love something from you where that shows the deep, impossible-to-ignore, intense connection between the two of them. Something that, regardless of what else is happening, is always there, and they're totally hopeless to do anything about it. I'd also prefer a developing relationship, as I prefer those over established relationship fics. It's the 'getting together' that always captures my interest. I took that request about “impossible-to-ignore” quite literally. Happy birthday, ravenqueen55, and I hope you enjoy this fic!

Inevitable as Tragedy

September 1^st, 1998

Malfoy:

I didn’t know you were coming back to school this year. It just occurred to me that you might need your wand if you are. Here it is.

Thanks for the loan.

Harry Potter.

September 3^rd, 1998

Potter:

Only you would call this wand a loan when you know you stole it from me. If you expect thanks in return, you’ll be waiting a long time in a cold hell.

Draco Malfoy,

Heir of the Malfoy family.

September 7^th, 1998

Well, you don’t have to be a right git about it, Malfoy. Besides which, you know I won that wand. Otherwise, I couldn’t possibly have used it against Voldemort.

September 8^th, 1998

Is it too much to ask that you sign your name to your letters, Potter? Or is such a gesture of common politeness beyond you?

It was thievery. Common and contemptible thievery, but of course you weren’t raised to think of it like that, were you? You grew up among Muggles, from what I hear. You must have learned that greedy snatching after magical possessions from them. It’s a wonder that you know enough not to break your quills and ruin your books.

Draco Malfoy,

Heir of the Malfoy family.

Come off it, Malfoy. Not that you know anything about my childhood, but I assure you greed for magic wasn’t one of the things my relatives taught me. You’ve learned the lesson pretty well, I see, from the way you tried to take away Ron’s new broom this morning. How does it feel to know that your new Head of House won’t automatically take your side in arguments?

And as for signing yourself “heir of the Malfoy family”…really? Even after everything that happened, you still think Voldemort was right and your name matters somehow? I did think things had changed between us after I testified at your trial, but of course they haven’t. God forbid that you ever admit you’re wrong.

Because it’s the way you think of me, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint your expectations,

Potter.

September 20^th, 1998

And now without a date, Potter? But how do you expect this correspondence to teach your future adherents about the life of the Chosen One if you don’t date it properly?

I went after Weasley because I couldn’t believe that he could afford a new broom, of course. Should have known that you bought it for him. How does he like it, being your charity case?

And as for names, that’s only another way that you display your astonishing ignorance. Family is important in our world. It’s part of who you are. It’s the cradle that surrounds and sustains you when you’re a child, the guarantee of the bloodline, the link with the past. Ask your friend Weasley about this sometime. I assure you, he’ll puff up and talk about generations of red-haired beggars as though they meant something. He’ll always look at you with pity in his eyes for not having parents, you know. He might resent his poverty, but he would choose his family over being rich.

He’s pathetic, but you’re alien. You’ll never belong here.

Draco Malfoy,

Eldest son of the Malfoy family.

September 30^th, 1998

What, Potter, no self-defensive, sniveling answer about how Gryffindor courage and companionship make up for your every want? No hastily-inked note telling me that I’m worth less than the Muggles you grew up with, who I’m beginning to hear were not everything that might be hoped? I’m disappointed. I thought I was more important to you than that.

Draco Malfoy,

Son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

October 7^th, 1998

Fuck you, Potter. What is this? You look away from me in class as if I didn’t exist. You laugh when I insult you, an obvious and wretched tactic to distract yourself from what I’m saying. You turn your back on me even when you have reason to look, such as when I created that clever charm that covered the Weaselette’s hair with food.

Answer me, or you won’t like the consequences.

Draco Malfoy.

Fuck you, Malfoy. What was that?

Potter.

October 12^th, 1998

I told you you wouldn’t like the consequences if you kept ignoring me.

Draco Malfoy.

That wasn’t--look, Malfoy, I gave up writing to you in the first place because I thought we should grow past our rivalry and there’s no point in continuing it by letter. But getting up in the middle of the school and starting to tell everyone about my childhood…there’s only one possible response to that, you prick.

Potter.

October 14^th, 1998

Hence why I did it, you insufferable Gryffindor. You’re not allowed to decide that you don’t want to pay attention to me anymore.

I’m out of the hospital wing now, and ready to continue our interesting discussion about family and purity of blood. How’s detention with Filch been? It really does no good to have the Headmistress on your side when you break my ribs right in the middle of the Great Hall, you know.

Draco Malfoy,

Superior to you because I have a family.

October 16^th, 1998

You know what? I really have to laugh at you sometimes. You think I’m obvious and pathetic? When you react like a five-year-old child when someone ignores you?

Not that I wouldn’t like to know who’s been feeding you facts about my relatives. But really, Malfoy, sit down and seriously look at yourself in the mirror sometime. Why do you want letters from me? What does it matter? The war’s ended. All the reason for our rivalry’s ended. There’s no chance that we’ll have to kill each other across a battlefield someday. Let it go. Go date someone; it would improve your constipated expression. Or grow up and become your Daddy all over again, I don’t care. But I think it would be better for both of us if we just ignored each other. You’ll have your own life, and I’ll have mine. After we leave Hogwarts, we won’t ever see each other again. Why not try it? Even if I am the one suggesting it, that doesn’t mean it’s not a good suggestion.

Potter.

October 17^th, 1998

And you think I’ll take advice from someone who broke three of my ribs, Potter? You’re insane.

You’ve never understood the cornerstone of our rivalry, have you? It had nothing to do with the Dark Lord. It has to do with your own hypocrisy. You claim that you judge everyone fairly, but where’s that fair judgment when it comes to me and my family? You decided I was hateful the first time we spoke to each other. You chose Weasley over me not because he’d stood by you in the past or because you’d known him from childhood, but because you thought he was nice to you. That was enough, wasn’t it? And then every time in the past seven years when you could have spoken a few soft words and made me turn to you, you chose to do other things instead.

I didn’t start hating you until you put my father in prison. Before that, it had nothing to do with the war. You could have ended everything if you just took an interest in me, the way I was forced to take an interest in you because of your fame. I wanted an equal return, and that’s all I wanted, Potter. It would have been so easy for you to give. It would have been so easy for you to see that Professor Snape was a hero, for that matter, but you preferred to turn your back on him and disdain his efforts to keep you safe instead.

Instead, you look away from me and laugh at me and presume to judge me, and now you say that you want to take your attention away as well, and that we’ll part after Hogwarts and never have an impact on each other’s lives again? Fuck you. You’ve never understood what the problem was in the first place.

Draco Malfoy,

Heir of the Malfoy family.

October 20^th, 1998

Um, Malfoy, I don’t really understand half the things you’re saying in your letter, but in the interests of keeping you out of the hospital wing and me out of detention, I’ll write you back. (Unless you were drunk when you wrote that letter, of course. You can tell me if you were. I won’t tell anyone. I’ve had a few drinks myself, in the sheer relief of being alive).

Of course I picked Ron as my friend because he was nice to me. What other criteria was I going to use? If you really know things about my relatives, you know that I didn’t have much niceness in my life. And then you showed up and spouted this bollocks at me about one family being better than another. That’s exactly the kind of thing my relatives believed, only, to them, they were the normal, the superior, family, and I was the unwanted orphan. If you were really as smart as you think you are, you would have realized that attitude wasn’t going to go far with me and changed the way you behave.

And of course I didn’t realize Professor Snape was a hero. With him bloody snapping at me in class for mistakes that weren’t my fault every five minutes. Besides, I should have realized he was a hero? When I was eleven years old? When he was in his thirties and hadn’t grown up? I don’t care how close you were to him, you have to admit he was a horrible teacher for anyone who wasn’t a Slytherin. He was brave and he died a hero‘s death, but that doesn’t make him a good professor. I know he accepted the post here for reasons other than a burning desire to pass on his knowledge, and believe me, it showed.

And frankly, if you despise me as much as you say you do, then I don’t know why you want my attention. Wouldn’t attention from someone else be more gratifying?

Potter.

October 22^nd, 1998

It’s amazing what Professor Snape found out about your family, Potter. That’s all I’m going to say on the subject of how I know anything about your relatives at all.

And you’re an idiot if you don’t see that your attention has a weight and value all its own, regardless of what you want or how nice you are to me. You’re a celebrity. You killed a Dark Lord. No one has done that since Dumbledore. You’ve never looked up the newspaper reports of how much he was acclaimed when he did that, did you? Of course not. After all, he was only your mentor and the last person to actually kill a Dark Lord. And when has research ever helped you?

You have no idea how much the world loves you. You have no idea of what I’d give to stand in your place. As it is right now, your attention will have to be good enough.

And I’m not writing anything in these letters that I don’t mean.

Draco Malfoy,

Heir of the Malfoy family, rightful heir of the Black family.

Even the stuff about family and pure blood? Yes, Malfoy, that’s likely to endear you to me.

I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why I’m still writing these letters. Maybe because you’re someone I don’t have to put a lot of effort into talking to.

Of course I know the world loves me. Twice during the summer I had to testify that someone tried to break into the Weasleys’ house and assault me. And before you assume that I’m exaggerating or talking about Death Eaters instead, they were both naked women about twice my age.

I don’t like this. I don’t want it. If I could give you my fame and all the attention, I would in a heartbeat. You, oddly, ought to understand this better than anyone, if you really know about my family. I grew up with expectations of no attention whatsoever, and then I found out I was supposedly some kind of hero. Now I’m more a hero than ever. But I never had a chance just to be normal.

I don’t know. I’m probably whinging.

Potter.

October 30^th, 1998

I notice that you are forgetting your dates again, Potter, as well as the salutation. I will compromise to meet your inferior manners and leave out the latter as well, but I need dates. How else is one to understand history or the importance of ancient members of one’s family, unless one knows the dates of important events?

And yes, you’re whinging. Do you really think most people wouldn’t trade places with you in a heartbeat? What’s normal? The same boring routine from day to day, staring at the same people with the same dull eyes? I would accept the fame and the attention, even the naked women climbing in through the window. That’s a matter of putting better wards on the house, not of changing who you are. There are ways of living with fame, and none of them involve complaining in a private letter to a rival.

You don’t want fame. You don’t want attention. You don’t want people to be jealous of you. You don’t want to go and live in the Muggle world with your relatives again. You don’t want to admire the honor and the sacrifices of those who lived in the past. What do you want, then? What goes on in that shaggy head of yours?

Draco Malfoy,

Properly styled Lord Malfoy.

October 31^st, 1998

Maybe you’re right about dates sometimes, Malfoy. At any rate, I’m doing it this time because this particular date is important to me.

I want a family. That’s what I want more than anything else. Somewhere to live where I’m welcome--a home, I’d call it, except that you’d probably scorn any notion of a home less grand than Malfoy Manor itself. I want people to laugh and live with, who my fame doesn’t matter to. People who will tell me when I’m wrong and teach me that you can get angry at someone without beating them and who will understand that I always like to have more than enough food available. Somewhere I can be alone sometimes and with others some of the time.

I want people who won’t give up on me, people who care for me, but people who don’t need me. I’ve had enough of people needing me to save the world or save their lives. (I’ve done that with you, twice, remember? I’m surprised you want more from me than that). People who want me and who I care for.

The last people I’m sure wanted me died seventeen years ago tonight. I’m sure I’ll find others. Bloody hell, the Weasleys want me and I have to remember that. But I never got to think about it in this level of detail before because I never got to think about ordinary things, just the next battle against Voldemort.

I don’t know why I’ve written all that. Maybe I’m drunk.

Harry.

November 1^st, 1998

I refuse to let you blame any of that on drunkenness, Potter. That’s what you really want, and why shouldn’t you?

More to the point, why would you think I couldn’t understand when I told you that family is important to everyone in the wizarding world? Of course you want a family. Of course you want a place you can retreat from the world and not have it follow you. But I still think you should learn to live with your fame, because your fame can win you a private home and peace with the people who love you. But you’re unwilling to use it that way. If you’re firm, and if you threaten litigation, then you can have what you want.

Of course, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to want a family and a home that badly, because I have both. But I know what it’s like to have wants that you think will never be satisfied.

Draco Malfoy,

Your personal adviser.

November 2^nd, 1998

Malfoy, why are you writing all that? I don’t--look, can we go back to discussing blood purity or something?

And I was drunk.

Potter.

November 3^rd, 1998

No, Potter, we can’t. You wrote it honestly, which means that I’m going to take it as written.

I told you that complaining in private to your rival via letter was a silly thing to do. So you started confessing instead. Good. That’s one of the purposes of letters. And God knows that someone needs to teach you how to use things in the wizarding world for their proper purpose.

Now, the proper next step in this correspondence is for you to ask what I want, since I have the things you wanted already, and I dropped you a large hint to ask.

Draco Malfoy,

Your wizarding educator.

November 7^th, 1998

Malfoy:

I have no idea how to respond. I have no idea how to feel, for that matter. Your letter made me laugh, and--nothing’s done that in a long time. Or at least a few months, which feels like a long time.

But I still don’t want to talk about me, so let’s talk about you instead. What are your wants that will never be satisfied?

Potter.

November 18^th, 1998

No time to answer more than this. You must have heard the news by now. It was all over the bloody school the moment I stupidly left that letter on my bed and Blaise opened it.

I want to change the past. I want to be quieter and more normal during my Hogwarts education and think about school instead of you and the Dark Lord. I always thought my Hogwarts years would be the easiest and happiest time of my life, and instead they’ll be the ones I hate remembering the most--except the next few, perhaps.

If I knew where a Time-Turner was, I’d use it.

Draco Malfoy,

In a hurry.

November 20^th, 1998

Malfoy:

I’m sorry about your mother. Really, I am. If there’s anything I could have done to prevent someone from cursing her, I would have.

Unfortunately, all the Time-Turners in Britain have been destroyed. I was there when it happened.

Let me know if there’s anything I can do.

Harry Potter.

November 22^nd, 1998

She’s dying, Potter. The curse is in the form of an accelerated wasting disease, and it keeps resisting all the cures the Healers try. And my father can’t even be here with her, because the Wizengamot condemned him to Azkaban for sixteen months. The sentence you approved, remember?

I’m sorry. I

There’s nothing you and your special world-saving powers can do to stop my mother from moaning and tossing her head on the pillow and me from watching her skin get thinner and thinner until I can see all the shadows of her organs. But maybe you can distract me and give me something else to think about. Write to me. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.

Draco.

November 23^rd, 1998

Draco:

I have a dream sometimes. I used to dream it all the time when I was in primary school, and then I dreamed it when I had to go back to my relatives’ house or when I’d just had a battle with Voldemort. It didn’t help that those two things tended to happen about the same time of year.

It’s darkness. Just darkness. But it’s soft and warm, and it surrounds me like a whirlpool, and it cradles me and rocks me back and forth. I know that as long as I’m in that darkness, nothing can touch me and no one can wake me up. It’s comforting and soothing in a way that nothing else in my life is.

And I know I can reach the darkness, if I really need to. That darkness is death, Draco.

But the dreams make me feel better. I promise, I’m not suicidal. I just need to think that it’s there and I could have it, and that gives me the courage to face life again.

I hope that distracts you.

And you’re wrong, you know. There is something else I can do.

Harry.

November 26^th, 1998

Harry:

There are no words.

I could say: When I said you should take advantage of your fame, that isn’t exactly what I meant.

Or I could say: I’m never going to forget this.

Or I could say: You and your bloody Invisibility Cloak.

But I’ll just say thank you. Thank you for getting my father out of prison long enough that he could be with my mother as she was dying, and thank you for leaving us alone whilst we did it.

I don’t think Father was even resentful that you took him back to Azkaban. I know I wasn’t. I owe you a debt.

My mother is at peace, and so am I. How did you do that?

Draco.

November 29^th, 1998

Stop talking about debts, Malfoy. I’ve stopped calculating what lies between us, all right? I did that because you said you wished your father could be with your mother.

I’m sorry she’s dead. She saved my life in the Forbidden Forest. And I promise, I’m going to find out who cast the curse on her, and bring him or her to justice.

And I did it because I flew to Azkaban on a thestral, covered your father with my Invisibility Cloak, and flew us back to your house. There might also have been some threats to guards about how they’d better not tell what they saw or I’d make their lives miserable. And maybe a few bribes, too.

Potter.

December 1^st, 1998

Harry:

As it turns out, I’m not going to be returning to school before the Christmas holidays. I need to stay here in the Manor and take care of the legacies and the debts and the business that my mother left undone and my father can’t attend to right now.

The funeral was a private affair on Malfoy property. The advantages of having a family, and a family mausoleum. Of course there is narcissus on her grave. Of course all the house-elves came and stood about the tomb with their heads bowed. Of course the stone was white and the sky was brilliant on a day when I wanted the world to acknowledge the presence of death.

It’s so strange to walk through the house and imagine that I’m the only one who’ll live here now. And it won’t even be that when I go back to school. How long will the Manor stand empty? Depending on what I do after I leave Hogwarts, it might remain silent and shut-in for years, blind windows watching the sunrise and the sunset with equal indifference.

There’s a small room hung with tapestries and paintings, my mother’s private art collection, that she kept locked all the time, even after I was an adult by wizarding standards. It’s strange, too, to enter that room and be able to remain as long as I like. She has a portrait of herself hung there, but it hasn’t awakened yet. There’s a portrait of my father, of me as a child, of a Kneazle she particularly loved. But her favorite was a tapestry showing a unicorn hunt, with a unicorn as white as fountains and trees as green as waterfalls and flowers as blue as the Hogwarts Lake. At the end, the unicorn rears in the middle of a silken net--because of course the point of the hunts was never to kill the unicorn, which could bring a curse, but to capture it briefly and to touch its horn and mane for luck before it was let go. Do you know the words of a Roman wizard writing about unicorns? “He is never caught alive; killed he may be, but taken he cannot be.” The people in the tapestry prove that wrong. And that was one of my mother’s favorite sayings. If she wanted to do something other people had told her was impossible, she would thin her lips and say, “Well, I’m going to go catch a unicorn, then.”

I wrap myself in light and cloth, in grandeur and beauty. That’s my way of mourning.

Draco.

December 10^th, 1998

Malfoy:

I wanted you to hear about this from me. I hope you’ll understand. I swore to find out who killed your mother, and bring him or her to justice, but when I discovered the criminal, I had to make sure it was addressed privately.

It was George Weasley. He’s been acting more and more irrationally since his twin was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. He somehow fixated on your mother as the one who did it--or maybe just as someone who survived and didn’t deserve to when his brother died--and cast that curse. But he’s so mad that he barely remembers doing it. I happened to hear him confess to his mirror by chance, and a survey of his Pensieve memories proves it.

He’s going to St. Mungo’s, and he’s going to remain in care there for as long as needed to heal his mind. He probably won’t ever recover.

This damn war. Every time I think it’s over, I find out that there’s some other price that hasn’t been paid yet.

Potter.

P.S. Thank you for what you wrote in your last letter to me.

December 12^th, 1998

Thank you, Harry. That means a great deal to me. At least I know I won’t have to hunt down and take vengeance on her killer.

I wondered if I would have one of your dreams of darkness lately. Instead, I find myself dreaming ever and always of light. Sunlight above me, moonlight below me. Do you think my mother is in the light, wherever she is?

Have you had one of your dreams lately?

Draco Malfoy.

December 25^th, 1998

Malfoy:

Happy Christmas! I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long, but I’ve been with the Weasley family, trying to help make up for the loss of Fred and George. They’re slowly growing more cheerful, though Ron’s face turns white whenever he looks towards the twins’ bedroom. I’m the only one who would agree to sleep there.

And then there’s

I haven’t had one of my dreams lately. I don’t think I’ll ever have one again.

Harry.

P.S. Hope you like the gift I’m attaching to the owl’s leg.

December 26^th, 1998:

Happy Christmas, Harry.

Yes, I do like the book. Thank you. I had no idea anyone had written a novel about mothers and unicorns and a son who has to lose them both. I was up all night reading the damn thing, and it will be your fault if I don’t look perfectly normal by the time I come back to school.

Are you sure you’ll never have one of your dreams again? And why not? It’s perfectly obvious something happened.

Your present is with the owl. Happy New Year.

Draco.

January 2^nd, 1999

Happy New Year, Malfoy!

I don’t think anything big happened. But I might as well tell you because you’ll probably hear it all over school anyway, the day after we get back, and I don’t want you to hear it that way.

Ginny and I had a long talk, and we’ve got back together and repaired the little arguments we’ve had since the war. She sees I really do care for her, and not just for her family.

I’m never going to have one of those dreams again because I’ve found what I wanted, the secure home and the family who loves me.

Potter.

P.S. Thank you for the book, but I don’t think I’ll need it.

January 4^th, 1999

Harry:

There’s one thing I realized was missing from the letter you wrote me about what you want and what you miss. I thought of it today when I was examining some of my mother’s letters. She wrote some I never knew about to friends just after I went to Hogwarts, talking about how much she missed her child, so much she thought she might die of it.

You want people to love you, but what about people to love? You didn’t mention that. I wondered if you never thought about it, if being loved was enough for you. What happens if you fall in love later in life and you aren’t prepared to deal with it?

Do read the book, and do answer my question. To answer one that you asked me a long time ago, I knew about your relatives because Professor Snape put memories into his Pensieve that he left me as a gift for me. Some of them were memories that he must have seen in your head when he trained you in Occlumency.

Draco.

January 19^th, 1999

Malfoy:

I just don’t see why I’d need that book. A book about recovering from abuse? Either I’m recovered from it by now or I’m never going to be, and if I’m healed or irreparably scarred, then it’s all the same, isn’t it?

I’m still sorry for your loss, and of course I’ve thought about loving someone, about wanting someone. That’s part of the dream, too. But I have that, now.

And a Pensieve--all right, I can accept that.

I think there’s a slight chance, from political rumors I’ve heard lately, that the Wizengamot will let your father have a chance at an early release. Apparently he’s been a model prisoner, and they’ve uncovered evidence that he wasn’t as guilty as they thought he was. (Translation: I sent them letters stating that, to my knowledge, he never went on any Death Eater raids after last summer. How could he, when he was wandless?)

Potter.

January 26^th, 1999

Harry:

What must be said, first. Of course I want you to free my father. Of course I would want to see him again, and he could go back to the Manor that I still don’t like to think of as standing empty, cold and lonely. And of course I appreciate your help.

And now:

Don’t think that I haven’t noticed what you’re trying to do. Denying the memories of your abuse, steering attention away from the things you told me in confidence last year, trying to talk about me and not you. Even doing things for my family can be part of that. You’re giving help that makes you comfortable, solid things, action.

Words hurt, don’t they? And I know you said in your initial description that you wanted people to care about, but you didn’t use the words loving or wanting. I think that’s significant. Do you think you don’t deserve it?

Strange, that you told me you were dating the Weaselette. From what I’ve seen, she’s going about perfectly happy with Dean Thomas and only gives you the same attention that she would give any friend.

Draco.

P.S. It wouldn’t hurt you to write my first name, you know, the way that you did when my mother was dying. She isn’t so many months dead that kindness from you would be unwelcome.

Malfoy:

Listen, I’ve been thinking. I’d had too much Firewhisky to drink the night I wrote you the letter about Halloween, and I exaggerated the importance of the dreams I had because I thought you needed to hear them. What I wrote or didn’t write to you isn’t important.

The Wizengamot has agreed to look at your father’s case again and assess what he did and didn’t do during the war. They’ll probably put him under house arrest for a few years; they can’t ignore that he broke into the Ministry. But you’ll have your family back again. I’m sorry I can’t do more.

I never said I was dating Ginny. I said we got back together. We’d argued. We’re friends again.

I don’t see why you care so much about it, anyway.

Potter.

P.S. And all that talk about helping and the rest is rot. You must know it.

February 3^rd, 1999

Harry:

Why in the world are you resisting so much? We told each other things that we’ve never told anyone else, and I saw your memories. I told you once that I wouldn’t let you ignore what lay between us. Now I’m just incredulous that you’d even try. You really are a fool sometimes.

Draco.

P.S. Read the bloody book. I think there’s more of you in there than you might think.

Malfoy:

I don’t need any damn book. I don’t need to do more for your family; your father has a trial set in March, so that should be all you need from me. Give it a rest. We’re friends, maybe, but not any closer than any other friends, and I don’t talk to Ron and Hermione about these things, either.

Potter (Why can’t you just go back to calling me that?)

February 20^th, 1999

Harry:

“I don’t talk to Ron and Hermione about these things, either.”

That statement reveals more about you than you can comprehend.

Thank you for arranging my father’s trial. And you told me once that we should move past debts. Maybe, instead of thinking about what I need from you, you should start thinking about what we can give each other.

Draco.

Malfoy, I don’t know what curse you cast on me, but you’d better take it off right the fuck now.

May 3^rd, 1999

Harry:

As lacking in respect for dates and salutations as ever, I see. Hello? How are you? As you no doubt heard--the papers were full of it, and I’m sure the Weasleys were as well--my father has been released and gone back to live in the Manor. I’ve been spending weekends there with him when I can.

And I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual. What curse?

Draco.

Malfoy:

I keep thinking about you all the time. I haven’t had the dark dreams for months now, but I’ve had others that are--odd. I keep thinking that maybe life with the Weasleys won’t be enough, that I’ll need something else. I meditate on the importance of words and want to read that bloody book.

I know you must have put a spell on me. I’m doing exactly what you want me to do.

Take it off.

Potter.

May 7^th, 1999

Harry:

My word that I haven’t cast a curse on you. We can meet on top of the Astronomy Tower, if you like, and I’ll swear an Unbreakable Vow to you there--and if you know what both the Hogwarts Towers and the Vows have been to me, as you probably do, then you’ll know how seriously I take this.

This is happening because I’m right, that’s all. Maybe you didn’t have to deal with the memories of your relatives’ abuse before because so much else was happening, but now you have the leisure to. Now you need someone else to listen. And who better than someone who already knows what’s happening, even if I don’t know that because you chose to tell me?

And I told you once before. Trying to ignore our impact on each other’s lives is impossible.

Draco.

Malfoy:

I don’t need your help. I don’t want you to take the time to help me. I helped you with your father and your mother and that’s an end to it.

Maybe it wasn’t a curse. I’m sorry for accusing you. But this--this just isn’t happening, all right?

Potter.

May 9^th, 1999

Harry:

You do realize how mad you sound, don’t you?

Draco.

May 11^th, 1999

Malfoy:

I can’t figure out why in the world you’re still talking to me. I put you in the hospital wing last year. Over an insult, and that’s all. Doesn’t that argue to you that it would be best for your physical safety if you stayed far away from me? Don’t you have things to worry about that aren’t me? Hermione is driving me mad studying for the NEWTS. She keeps telling me that we were lucky to have a second chance to come back to Hogwarts and sit them. Ha. I could tell her what I think of her luck and her chances.

Maybe there‘s not a curse on me, but something strange is still happening. I can’t think about anything for more than five minutes at a time except that bloody book and what I’m going to do when I leave Hogwarts. I don’t know. I have no bloody desire to play Quidditch for the rest of my life, but I don’t really want to be an Auror, either. I half-want to huddle in a house for the rest of my life, that home I told you about--when I was drunk--with the people who love me. But that can’t happen, either.

I don’t know why this is affecting me so badly. I don’t know why I’m talking about this. I don’t know why I’m writing this letter to you. Because I have to talk about it to someone or go mad, I reckon.

Please don’t respond.

Potter.

May 12^th, 1999

Harry:

I did try to see you last night, but that bloody portrait turned me away. She should visit the dragon that lives in the landscape on the second floor, I’m sure it would oblige her by chasing her around until she loses the weight.

And of course I’m going to respond. You sound like you need help. Why it’s happening right now, I don’t know, except that your time at Hogwarts is ending, and I think the school has been a home for you--the way it has been for me, the past year. Without that, you do have to start thinking about where you’re going to live and who you’ll do it with.

I can offer you help. Come to me, and I’ll listen.

Draco.

I don’t

Listen

I can’t do this

Why is this happening? Answer me that. Why are you willing to help me? Why are you persisting in making this connection with me, when you should be able to go your merry way and not notice like everyone else?

Tell me that, and I’ll see if I want to tell you something else.

Potter.

May 13^th, 1999

Harry:

You don’t know how many times I’ve started this letter and then stopped it. If you could have seen me pacing around the room, you would have laughed, I’m sure. But I finally decided to sit down and write what I’m thinking and not what I think you need to hear.

Communicating by letter is easier than communicating in person, in some ways. You can choose your words. You have more time to plan your actions and reactions. I promise that I’ve spoken honestly, but I’ve shaped my words and carefully selected what to reveal. Now I’m going to tell everything I think about our connection, about the thing that made me taunt you last year until you leaped on me, about why I accepted your help with my parents and why I persisted in writing to you when you were making it sound like you were happy in the bosom of the Weasley family.

I think we’re tied together, and I don’t know if it was fate that did it, or accident, or our own personalities, but we are. Part of me was given to you, and you gave me a gift, too, if only the ability to sting you into irritation and hatred when you didn’t react like that to anyone else. Call it a peer evil, a rival. Voldemort was too distant from you most of the time to satisfy your craving for something to strike at, and of course you couldn’t snap back at Professor Snape, he was a teacher. And none of your Housemates or my fellow Slytherins stood up to you like I did. I was there, and I took out my anger and frustration on you, and gave you someone to take out your anger and frustration on.

Then we started sharing more because of the war. I blamed you for putting my father in prison. I’ve accepted by now--there were two brooms there that night-- that you saw my humiliation when I couldn’t kill Dumbledore. I saved your life when the Death Eaters brought you to Malfoy Manor, and you saved my life in the Room of Hidden Things. My mother lied for you. You used my wand. And you saved me along with everyone else when you killed the Dark Lord.

None of those connections is particularly pleasant, Potter. None of them is one that we would have chosen. But they’re there, and they’re dramatic, and they don’t follow the slow growth that your friendship and your love for the Weasleys apparently went through. The world broke for each of us, and we fell through the cracks together.

I don’t think choice has much to do with this, except that I chose to write to you, and you chose to reveal some things to me that you didn’t have to reveal, and we chose to help each other.

I don’t want you to deal with the memories of abuse on your own. I don’t want you to think you have no one to write to. I don’t want to never recognize your handwriting again, never see another school owl flying towards me and feel a pleasant warmth of anticipation.

I don’t want you to die.

I want to call you Harry. I want you to call me Draco, and smile when you say it. I want to picture you shutting your eyes when you laugh--you do, you know--and know that you’re laughing because you’ve just received a letter from me.

I want you.

Draco.

I’m having the dark dreams again. I went up to the Astronomy Tower last night and imagined jumping off without my broom.

Harry.

I’m coming.

May 29^th, 1999

Draco:

Look, you were right. About everything. All of it. And that bloody book was right, now that I’ve finally got around to reading it.

I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t--I don’t know anything.

No, that’s not true. I know that I keep thinking about the way your arms wrapped around me and you held me, rocking, on the edge of the Tower. I remember the words you said, the same words you repeated in your letter, and how you didn’t want me to die or stop writing you. I remember you telling me that no matter how comforting the darkness is, there are still people in the world who want me, and that and the light should comfort me more.

I have an appointment with a Mind-Healer at St. Mungo’s now. I don’t know how much it’ll help, and I’ll have to go in covered with a glamour to get a fair hearing, but I wouldn’t have done it if not for you.

Thank you.

Harry.

June 2^nd, 1999

Harry:

I haven’t heard from you for a few days. Are you well? How are your appointments with the Mind-Healer going? Gryffindor Tower seems to have made a mutual pact not to talk about you and your absence from the school, or I would have been able to pick up more gossip than this.

Draco.

June 3^rd, 1999

Draco:

You sent me an honest letter. I’m going to try and do the same.

I meant every word of the honest ones I sent you--every word. I still don’t know why I chose you as the audience to hear my confessions, but I’ll accept your words about the connection between us. It makes more sense than any theory I’ve been able to come up with on my own.

I want a family, but I’m not sure the Weasleys can be it. I know I’m loved and wanted, but there are so many children in that family, so many people. I can’t just be absorbed and folded into it. I don’t want to be just another Weasley.

That sounds selfish. They’ve done so much for me. But it’s true.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m very selfish and want more than one family. The Weasleys can be one. I want

Why are these words so bloody hard to write? I’ve been staring at the same paper for fifty minutes now, trying to make my hand move. You’re right, letters are superior to personal communication in one way. The other person doesn’t notice as much if you delay.

But I’ve made you wait long enough.

I want to share a family, or something like one, with you.

All the things I’ve thought about you--one of the most prominent memories is your face the night I brought your father to you to share your mother‘s dying. I’ve never seen anyone shine with hope before. I’ve never been so certain that I did the right thing. I wanted to stay, you know? I went out of the room so you could be alone with your family, but I wanted to stay and look at you.

I remember when I saw you again for the first time after the Christmas holidays. My heart gave this huge bound and I just couldn’t stop grinning. Ron asked me what I was smiling at several times that day.

I thought of trying to get back together with Ginny. It didn’t work. There was always a phantom in the way, and the phantom was wearing your face.

I wanted to try ignoring you because I thought it would make me stop feeling all these--emotions. Despair and hope and longing and wanting and joy. But they didn’t go away, and now I don’t think they will.

I want you, Draco. I don’t even know the names of some of the things I want from you, but I want them anyway. Maybe you can help me learn the language for them. English and Parseltongue are the only ones I speak. My relatives and the prophecy denied me the opportunity to learn any other.

Harry Potter.

June 3^rd, 1999

Harry:

That was a very good first try, for an honest letter.

I want you. Yes, I know the names of some of the things that you might want. I’ll tell them to you. I hope to speak them with a soft voice, very close to your ear.

Your face the night you brought my father in was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Maybe anyone would have looked good to me after those days alone with my mother, but no one else would have looked as good.

I watched you from a distance when you were trying to ignore me, and I thought I couldn’t stand the thought of you being so happy. That’s not true. I can’t stand the thought of you so happy without me.

You’ve done heroic things because they were the right things to do. You’ve used your fame, but only for other people--for me--not for yourself, the way I’ve asked you to do. Now I want you to think about using it for both of us.

Think of a large house where we can be together, and apart. Think of a year, of half-a-year, off to think about things and make up your mind. Think about sitting the NEWTS next year, if you’d like that better. That’s what I’m going to do. I knew I couldn’t give them my full attention from the moment my mother fell ill.

Harry, you’re allowed to want things for yourself. You’re allowed to be selfish.

And I wanted you to want me, so I declare myself perfectly satisfied with the result.

You killed him, Harry. You’re free. You can make the important decisions slowly; you don’t have to make them right away.

Your relatives kept every good thing from you, and the war took the rest. Now you have to learn lessons that most people get out of the way in their childhoods, and never know the value of. Learn to live, to laugh again, to love.

I’ll be with you soon, if you want me.

Draco.

June 4^th, 1999

Draco:

Yes.

Yours,

Harry.
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Inevitable as Tragedy