Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, RW/HG, LM/NM, MW/AW, GW/OC
Summary: The collected correspondence concerning two ‘8th Year’ Hogwarts School students, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, from September through December, 1998.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Brief mentions of male/male sexual activities, bondage horseplay and fisticuffs.
Epilogue compliant? It is heavily implied that this is not in any way Epilogue compliant, in any parallel universe. Also, this work is not structured to boast either an end or a beginning, as it’s supposedly a random, though mostly chronological, correspondence. Still, and hopefully, there is a sense of closure for the reader, though not a sense of finality. This choice of open-ended structure was actually quite deliberate and in part due to the author’s sneaking feeling of rebellion. The final films are to be released shortly, and so there’s a lurking and awful sense of HP being ‘finally over’, but, you know, it’s not. Harry and Draco’s story does not end, ever. It will go on, long after we are all over and past; a hopeful gift for the future.
Word Count: 8,500
Author's Notes: citrus_lime, your art is pure pleasure, sweet and clean and fresh as snowflakes falling. I hope this small gift is a suitable present for your Happy Holidays! Certainly, I wish them to be brilliant for you!
Many, many thanks to my marvelous betas, without whom I would be forlorn & SPaGhetti’d: lonerofthepack, demicus and altri_uccelli.
Hogwarts School, 1998, September-December
Ron wants to know how this happened. I’m so sick of talking, talking, talking and we’re here, so I don’t see why it matters, but he’s asking. And you know Ron—he won’t stop. I hate starting a story at the ending, but—how did we get here, precisely? Any clues?
That was unnecessarily confusing and singularly unhelpful. We’ve arrived at where we are through a series of small steps and serendipities The question is, where might we be going? And the Weasel can pound sand. This is no one’s business but ours, Potter. Tell him so, from me.
As I said, he’s not stopping. Buggering nuisance. Hermione wants to know, too. They whisper, with their heads together, and then they look at me, as if I’m some weird sort of insect and might bite them. They look at you, too, arsehole. Haven’t you noticed? Look, just help me get them off my back, will you? And I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re going together. Not negotiable. I didn’t bother with making nice to your parents and threatening the Wizengamot and begging McGonagall and purchasing the Prophet just so you could bugger off and leave me high and dry. A hand here, alright? Hate to say it, but you owe me. You owe Ron, too, incidentally. Probably Hermione, too.
That was indecent and entirely not worthy of a Gryffindor. Fine, though. I suppose I do owe your pet Weasley something—a swift kick in the arse comes to mind, but we won’t go there.
Start a story at the beginning, twit. We met at Madam Malkin’s. We met again on the Express. You were an idiot; I was a git. We spent a lot of time wasting angry effort on each other. Then you followed me and obsessed. Then I noticed it. Then everything went to fucking Hades. Then you killed that---can’t even write his name, I hate him so. Whatever, Potter. You were a hero, more than once, and then it was over. We snogged, we shagged, end of story.
Simple, really. Even a speccy git can manage to convey that. Keep it short and simple; words of one syllable, as it’s the Weasel. Though Granger could probably handle a larger vocabulary, I’d still say stick to the basics. Less confusing that way, and they’ll be less likely to deliberately misunderstand.
We are together. I never claimed we weren’t, twat. Fact.
Meet me at the lake after dinner, by the dock. Clear sky tonight. Good for stargazing.
Though fond of speccy gits, for some reason, I remain the same old
You are an arse. Can’t say it often enough. Well, I tried what you said. Didn’t work at all. Ron whinged at me and believe me, Ron whinges with the best of them. And pouts and sulks and stomps off in cold silence. Worse than his bloody sister. Bloody difficult to deal with when you’ve homework in three subjects piling up. Now they’re both giving me these wounded glares, as if I deliberately set out to hurt them by shagging you. Help me, damn it! I’m sick of explaining shite, over and over. I can’t explain this, Draco. I only know that it is.
Ever so frustrated, your
Why are we writing notes when we can just talk? This is mental.
You’re mental. Because Harry’s doing that brooding thing again and we can’t be discussing this in his company. You’ve pushed him too far, as usual, and now we have to play it very carefully. Unless you’d rather not know why Malfoy’s attached to him like SuperGlue©. Or you’d rather he blew up, like the other times, and we lost his friendship. I, for one, am still his friend, no matter whom he’s shagging. Even if it’s Malfoy. I just want to know how and why it happened.
I do want to know! I don’t understand it at all, how it happened, or when it had a chance to, and I’m sick of shite being not clear to me and then it all being so much the worse, no matter what I do to fix it. I just don’t get it being Malfoy, that’s all. Makes no sense. Nev or Luna makes more sense than Malfoy ever does. And Harry won’t talk to me at all. Says it’s no use and then spends all his free time with the git and just avoids me. You know—you’ve seen him do it! Now what?
PS What is SuperGlue©? Muggle spellwork?
Dear Mrs Malfoy,
I very much enjoyed my recent weekend stay at the Manor and I thank you for having me. The gardens are lovely, especially all the autumn bulbs. I’ve done a fair bit of gardening in the past at my relative’s house in Surrey and I know you’ve spent a lot of thought and care on your plantings. They are lovely, really.
I also wanted to apologize to you concerning the incident with that first evening’s dinner and my sudden Apparition back to Grimmauld Place. Draco may have explained to you that I have these flashbacks from the War. I react, often uncontrollably, to certain stimuli. Lights, sounds, smells—things like that. Again, I’m very sorry about that and thank you again for your hospitality and understanding, after. I look forward to seeing you again, soon.
Please send my regards to Mr Malfoy. We’ve not gotten along in the past but I know Draco hopes we can mend fences.
Thank you again.
Dear Aunt Andromeda,
Potter’s having issues with the Manor environs. Understandable, I’d say. May we have the next weekly family dinner at your home, instead? It would be more comfortable for him, I think. Teddy, too, having all his toys and not needing to mind breaking things.
Best regards from your fond Nephew,
PS Special hugs to that young Theodore. Sweets for him from our last Hogsmeade weekend enclosed. D.
Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t like it either, but just please don’t ask Harry to the Manor for the next little while. I’ve already Owled Aunt Andromeda. Let’s have Sundays there for the foreseeable future, shall we? I think we all still need time to adjust yet. Harry needs time, and I want him to have it. And tell Father not to bother with the lecture in your next letter to him. I won’t be changing my mind.
Love from your son,
Would it help if we both sat down with the Weasel and Granger and went over it? I’m willing, if not enthused. Very unenthused, to be brutal.
You look very well in black, Harry, and should wear it more often. Does wonderful things for your eyes and skin. I noticed that last night in Sinistra’s class. You were all beautifully pale and cream-coloured, with your hair like indigo ink in the sconce-light and your eyes burning bright, like a tiger’s, gold-green. Wanted to shag you so very much.
See you in Slug’s. Eat more breakfast. You’re still too bony.
I’ve been thinking. I do, yes. Shut up. Anyway, with you and me and how it happened, it’s like bridges. We burnt them and we built them, between us, over and over. But this summer, I remember having the feeling that I was stepping off a cliff, but at the same time knowing full well there was a whole continent down there, beneath my feet; I just couldn’t see it yet. Invisible bridge, you know? Or maybe the old one was torn down and there was a new sort, a better sort, in its place. How was it for you? Do you understand any of what I wrote just now? What I meant to say? I’m pants at this, on parchment and face to face, you realize? Can’t manage to say what I think half the time. No—most of the time. How do you put up with me?
And why are you flattering me, all the sudden? Did you want something? You’re not having my Map again.
I always want something, twat.
I think…you’re correct. It is like that not too shabby metaphor you’ve come up with. And yes, I am agreeing with you. Perhaps you should sit squarely on that fine arse of yours whilst you read over that last sentence; I know this sort of event doesn’t happen often—me agreeing.
It’s like this: I’ve thought many times over the years that I simply wanted a chance to speak with you—in private, away from Them. To explain why you were so very abhorrent to me—you were, you know. Your existence was a thorn in my side, for years on end. Bloody dagger, more like. But, before hexing you, before hurting you, I wanted to speak with you. You know how all the best villains in the romances like to chatter? Talk and talk, so that their evil genius is fully appreciated by their victims? I suppose I felt that way. Wanted a chance to explain myself; wanted a chance to hear you, for once, no interference, none of the static. Not saying it was a good way to feel, or anything like, but that is how I felt. Except we never did, did we? Never had the opportunity, it seems, till much, much too late. Well, not too late, but late enough. If it weren’t for a lot of little things, we’d still be the same as we ever were and I don’t think I could bear that. We hated one another for seven years, Harry, or thereabouts. I couldn’t manage one more day of it, by the end. Was lying to myself, all through it—lying to you, lying to my mates, lying like a carpet.
I suppose I think of it as something that was broken from the very start. Or maybe not stuck together properly, like puzzle pieces jammed in the wrong places. We had to take it apart and then put it back together the proper way. So we could see.
But thank you, Harry, for coming back for me. Thanks for never actually leaving in the first place. Thank you for always, always stepping up when you could have simply turned away and not bothered yourself over someone who didn’t like you and too often went out of his way to make you miserable. That’s the Harry I love, you know. Gryffindor and all that rot, but there it is.
This is entirely too pathetic, this whole Owl. I should offer it up to Witch Weekly for a decent price, it’s so bloody soppy. Dripping wet. You’d better be prepared for reasonable backlash at our next meeting, Potter. I’m blushing and I abhor that. Feel hot, too, and disgustingly sweaty. All your fault.
PS I was not making up to you. Black is an excellent colour for disguising all manner of physical flaws, that’s all. Classic, and it happens to highlight your good points. And hides the fact that you’re scrawny, too knobby at all your joints, out of proportion, and generally grubby in the hands and feet. That’s all.
I’m glad you think I have them. Good points, that is. Backlash—if that’s what you want to call it—was brilliant. Please feel free to vent your frustrations on me anytime, at every opportunity. I’m more than man enough to take it.
Right, so I tried (again!) to explain my bridges idea to Ron and Hermione. Ron’s face twisted up something awful and he sneered at me—what is it with you Purebloods and your sneering? Then he mumbled something about ‘should’ve left them all burnt’ and stomped off again, with Hermione running after him flapping her hands. Like a big baby, sometimes, Ron is. I believe he’s still angry over the whole Ginny fiasco. Gin isn’t even bothered anymore—why should he be? She’s with that Hufflepuff in her year. Tobias Something.
Slug is murdering me with these practicums. He thinks I’m better than buttered toast, still, and I need your help with this latest one. Make certain you’re next to me tomorrow in class.
Did you see the recent article about us in the Prophet? Stupid rag. Stupider Skeeter. I’ve kept the photo, though. And Skeeter’s about to be reassigned, possibly to Siberia. Executive privileges, don’t you know?
Dear Misters Potter and Malfoy,
The Board of Hogwarts would appreciate it greatly if you two young gentlemen could manage to keep your private lives out of the newspapers. Such harum-scarum antics do not help us as we attempt to reestablish a safe, wholesome environment here at Hogwarts and your exposure to the media should be publically curtailed as much as possible. I realize that neither of you have solicited the interest, but please be more wary, all the same. I have, as a security measure, increased the repelling wards around the grounds and also set one specifically for the purpose of fending off Animagusly-enhanced reporters.
On other fronts, Miss Granger has mentioned that there is some issue with Mr Weasley concerning your current relationship, l, and also that there is some tension amongst the Eighth Years as a result of it. I’ve sent Mr Weasley a short memorandum, requesting that any lingering animosity is kept to a strict minimum and not expressed in any untoward manner. I’ll recommend counseling if that measure is not effective.
I would also, on a more positive note, like to take this opportunity to thank you both sincerely for your efforts toward the restoration of Hogwarts and demesne this past summer and continuing, through the current Term. Mr Malfoy, the Board has issued a public statement thanking you and your mother for the generous donation in the name of Headmaster Snape. Mr Potter, your matching contribution has also been noted in the school’s private Records books, though not publicized, as requested.
Your request to renew the Duelling Club is still under consideration by the Board of Governors. We’ll advise as soon as we’ve arrived at a unanimous response.
Finally, I, personally, very much enjoyed the opportunity to meet with Mrs Tonks and your mother, Mr Malfoy, and the dinner I attended was most delicious in every way. We had a marvelous chance to recall the happier days we’ve all experienced, ages past, and it was most refreshing and delightful evening. Your young Teddy Lupin is a dear, and the spitting image of both Nymphadora and Remus, combined. They would be very proud, I am sure, that dear Teddy has such caring relatives.
Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress
Would you meet me right after lunch? Usual place. I’ll be waiting. I’ve an idea.
This is ridiculous! Stupid, stupid, stupid! I talked to that git Malfoy, just as you suggested, and the bastard hexed me for saying to his face what I thought! Now what? Harry is no longer even speaking to me at all, not even in DADA! We’re supposed to be in Auror Training this time next year, Hermione. I can’t very well partner up with Harry if he won’t see reason!
I suggest you and I meet on our own. Ron appears to have some deep-seated issues with your prior actions and some shared family history, much of which I am unclear on. If you want this resolved, as you say you do, perhaps it’s best to approach it slowly and cautiously. Rome was not built in a day.
I bloody well love you. I must, arse, to get myself involved in your stupid Gryffindor feelings-fest. You people are much too soft about this shite.
What the fuck is going on with you and Hermione? It’s ten times worse now! Ron is miserable. Caught him following you and Hermione about and only just stopped him from hexing you. Give it up, alright? I know what you’re doing, but that’s not the best way to handle Ron. He may be a master at chess, but he’s not subtle when it comes to how he feels. Best to have it out in the open.
Like you did? Right, Potter. That worked well.
You ask how matters reached the point of a break between the Prewitts and the Blacks, years ago? It is ancient history now, but the Blacks were very conscious of their Wizarding heritage and saw no use for Muggleborns and the Prewitts were much the exact opposite in their collective opinions. They were eager to see the ranks of the Wizarding World swell by any means, after the predations brought upon us in the Americas and on the Continent and England in earlier centuries.
There have never been many of us, Draco. We fear, and live in fear, all too often, for all our many gifts. It is too easy for a Wizard or Witch to lose his or her life to a band of blindly sanctimonious and determined Muggles, and there is often no recourse. Vengeance for an act of atrocity only brings upon our heads more tragedy. We—and now I speak for the Blacks in this—have long believed it was best to avoid Muggles as much as possible. We do not need them. They dilute the Magic within us; they endanger our livelihoods and the lives of our children. They have no respect, unless it originates through fear and hatred, and they destroy what they fear, Draco.
I, too, have trouble understanding all the good the Prewitt family and others claim they see in Muggles and Muggleborns, but I wish them no real ill. Your father, of course, is a different matter. The Malfoys were chased from France by Muggles a millennium ago, and spent generations rebuilding what they’d forfeited. Even so, I believe it is his fear for you that drives him. He cannot bear that you and yours be endangered, through no fault of your own. He will leap upon any means, no matter how potentially self-harming, to prevent that from happening.
I hope this is helpful. Your aunt and I have discussed these matters. Not in depth, as of yet, but I have recently gained a better understanding of what the Muggleborns do have to offer. Perhaps—no, without doubt---they are not all a danger, nor do they all wish us ill or fear us. There is still a love of Magic we all share, no matter what the distance. You say Harry had that, from the very beginning, and it attracted you. Innocence is indeed compelling, Draco. Take great joy in the fact that your Harry yet retains some small amount of that precious quality. Guard it with your very life.
Please continue to eat properly and take your Dreamless as needed. I’ve included enough extra vials in this latest packet for your Harry, as well. There’s a helpful restoring tonic enclosed, too, to build up your respective magical strengths.
Before you ask, may I say that Harry is far different from your other classmates and peers—in every aspect. He is not the typical Muggleborn nor Muggle-raised, either. He is that very rare bird and you are most fortunate, Draco, to have him. Don’t ever lose sight of that, nor take its presence in your life for granted, as your father has, upon occasion, with you.
With never-ending love, your
What is going on? Where the fuck does Ron get off, talking to the Skeeter without my leave? Is this revenge over Draco or is he trying to make me look stupid for a bloody lark? Shall not forgive this—and I’ll not put up with it, either! Talk to him—or I will!
Stop doing this. Please. It’s enough.
Mr. Algie Crampton, Editor-in-Chief, The Daily Prophet
Assign Rita Skeeter to a foreign office, effective immediately and permanently. Preferably South America or Antarctica. Easter Island is also an option. I never want to see her face again.
Harry Potter Enterprises, Ltd., Owners & Proprietors, The Daily Prophet
Retractions in newspapers like the Prophet do no good; they only escalate the situation. And you cannot purchase Witch Weekly, either. I expressly forbid it. Hermione and I are speaking civilly. We talk, git. That’s all, sum total. It’s the Weasel’s own fault for rashly jumping to ill-founded conclusions. And yours. But, please note that that doesn’t prevent me from accepting that fault in you and despising it in him. Why is that, do you think? Perhaps Malfoys do have some innate advantage over Weasels? At least in regards to Potters.
That was petty and malicious, Draco. Stop. Stop this speaking in riddles, too, and asking me stupid rhetorical questions. It’s very simple---I want to shag you and I want all of this to simply go away. Can’t you Imperius Ron to get along with you? He’s susceptible. Ask Hermione. She’ll kick up a fuss, but I bet it would work.
Or I’ll do it. Git’s on my shite list.
Your room, after lunch. We’ll make time.
Don’t muck too much with my friendship with Ron. You’re different and you know it, git. So’s he.
I thought perhaps it would be easier if I wrote this out for you.
Mercury is an alchemist’s substance, and boasts a complicated and extensive history. In short, it’s been used to transform common materials to gold, but more often it is the main ingredient in the creation of long-life or immortality elixirs. See your notes on Nicholas Flamel.
In combination (see the attached chart) with other ingredients, it produces a series of similar reactions. It is also a poison, as so many of the life-extending substances are. Memorize the chart and you’re set for revising.
I have some Dreamless from Mum for you and some sort of celearic tonic, as well. Come stay with me tonight in my room. I miss you, sleeping next to me.
PS Dinner at Aunt Andromeda’s this weekend in place of the Manor. Stay at the Leaky, so we’ll be private. We’ll Apparate from the Main Gates right after breakfast. Don’t be late! D
You’re a fucking git and you never, ever listen to my side of things, not anymore. Perhaps it’s time to call it quits, mate. Maybe it damned well is.
What did you mean when you said you weren’t at all surprised by this situation? I am. I expected this shite to be well over with, now. We’re adults, we’re almost done with Hogwarts and we’ll have our NEWTS soon and then paying positions and all the rest of it that goes with. Why do we have to hark back to First Year? Why does Ron? I mean, First Year was alright, but it wasn’t a bloody bowl of cherries—not for me, at least. Why does no one understand that I don’t want to go back? I’m finished with looking behind me and regretting what’s happened. I’m finished with pain I can’t do anything about and people willfully not understanding me and the whole bloody world breathing down my fucking neck. I just want a life. Why is that so hard to understand?
It isn’t, git. Weasel wants to know what’s between us because he fucking cares about you, same as Granger, and he simply doesn’t have a clue as to how to express that. Plus, he despises me on principle, and I’m not exactly fond of him, and our ideologies are too far apart. You bridge the gap, Harry. You make paths between people. But you can’t force people to stop walking their own pathways, even if you really want it.
I agree, you know. Yes, again. I don’t want to be a Death Eater’s son, I don’t want to be the bad guy who hurt people or even nearly killed them outright in cold blood, even if it was only ever because I was terrified out of my fucking socks. I don’t want to be your enemy or your rival or any of that shite. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine. If we just stick with those simple concepts, we’ll be alright. Keep that clear in your mind, Potter.
We need to go over the last Arithmancy lesson. Clearly, you didn’t get it. When can you meet?
Is this really about Fred? Think, for once.
Dear Mrs Weasley,
I am writing to offer what I should have offered long since: a token of peace and perhaps even eventual friendship between our two families.
My son, Draco, and Harry Potter, whom I believe to be as much your son as any of your many others, have recently entered into a loving relationship. In good conscience and due my ever increasing fondness for your Harry, I cannot allow this unfortunate situation between the Malfoys and the Weasleys to perpetuate.
To that end, I suggest we meet face to face in some neutral setting and perhaps talk over the differences between us, you and I. My husband and yours have always shared a great enmity, true enough, but I don’t believe that we are constrained to do so—not now. Not in this new age and era.
If you are agreeable, simply send a short reply via my Owl and we may move forward to scheduling a convenient date. My sister, Andromeda Tonks, has also expressed an interest in being included in our initial meeting, which may prove to be a most fortuitous circumstance. Andromeda has always been very practical and is brilliant at sorting out brangles, large and small.
BCC: Andromeda Tonks
Dear Mrs Malfoy,
I believe it would be a very sound idea, speaking privately. I shall not tell Arthur just yet, but let’s have tea. Perhaps somewhere quiet, say Hogsmeade, Madame Puddifoot’s, this Friday next. We may visit with our children after, if that’s agreeable. Minerva will allow it, I’m sure.
Count on me.
Charlie and Bill both say you may be right in your wild idea about Fred and it being him dying that makes it so horrid it’s Malfoy for Harry. Give me some time to think more on this.
I still love you, even when you push me places I don’t want to be.
Read over the summary on the positions of the Southern Constellations for me to see if I’ve missed any points. Your Potions essay is attached. If you rewrite your second paragraph, Slug will be your willing sycophant once again. Rah! Also, I mail ordered that raspberry flavoured lube you fancy and it arrived at breakfast. Skive lunch. My room, this time. We’ll be wanting the bed.
I slept through all my afternoon classes, you git, and you let me! So screwed! McGonagall’s livid!
But I love that I can sleep, when it’s with you. Don’t leave me.
To: Misters Potter, Weasley and Malfoy,
Please serve your respective detentions in the Trophy Room, commencing as of this coming Monday evening at eight p.m. and for the remainder of the calendar week. All trophies, medals and honours will require to be hand buffed, all shelves dusted, all glass cases polished and all items returned to original places by the following Friday, ten o’clock p.m. One hour per evening, periodically supervised by myself and Mr Rubeus Hagrid. Work shall be shared equally between you and no magic is allowed, as per usual.
I am very disappointed with all of you; let that be noted. I should not wish to be forced to levy detentions for such childishly reprehensible actions in the future. Please see that there is no cause to do so.
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Dame Transfigurations, Head of Gryffindor House
Now you’ve done it! How’s your eye? Did Madam fix it up for you? Mum’s got me dragged home over weekend. Took me right out of school after and ripped strips off my hide every five minutes for 24 hours straight. Says it’s not my business; says I need to think about others’ happiness first; says I’m resentful, childish, prejudiced and a blot on the Weasley family honour. Says Malfoys aren’t so bad, when you know them.
I suppose I don’t know them, not like you do. Not like Mum, either, apparently. Did you know Mrs Malfoy Owled her? They’ve had tea and also luncheon out and have gone shopping and even Dad’s nattering on about how he could be persuaded to maybe have her and your precious git by at the Burrow for supper, one Sunday.
And Ginny hexed me! Bat Bogeys something awful. Nose was bloody for hours, after.
I’m sorry, mate. About Skeeter. That was uncalled for. I didn’t even need Hermione to tell me that. You know how I get—I see red and then it’s all over and I’m picking up the pieces. Or trying.
I don’t want it to be like this, not anymore. So, Owl me back, alright?
Ron (the totally fucked)
I wrote to Harry. Make sure he even reads it, will you? As there’s no guarantee he will after I punched his Malfoy and broke the git’s damned nose. I’ll be back Monday morning, in time for class.
PS Miss you something fierce.
Please find attached the recipe I mentioned.
I find these chamomile tisanes are just the thing for addled nerves. Your husband may benefit from it, upon his release. When is that again? And will he be meeting up with Harry straight off? I may need to brew you some additional potions, prior, for calming. We’ll chat more on this subject, I’m sure, before that happens. I do admit I am leery of the idea of Mr Malfoy and Harry coming across one another face-to-face at the Manor. Granted there have been mitigating circumstances and your husband has recanted, but I’m not sure Harry needs this, no matter how much it may mean to your son. We shall speak of it further, though, I’m sure. There’ve been worse things sorted.
Looking forward to our next luncheon. Fond regards to dear Andy and adorable little Teddy-bear.
At times you’re a total lunk and purely mental, like all boys, but.
Well. I love even that. And I adore you when you are what you can be.
That Owl was bloody cryptic! Tell me what you meant in real words, alright? I’m pants at figuring stuff like that out.
I understand your concerns, please be assured. I’ve discussed this at length with my sister and she feels that it’s best gotten over with sooner than later. Lucius is not an easy man to understand or to handle, but he is Draco’s father and he loves him. Above all else, he loves him. If Harry can trust me—and you, as well, Molly—I’ll ensure that he is never made uneasy nor will there be any confrontations between them. My son also is clear on the need for this. Although he’s not expressed it, he has been sorely in need of some reassurance as to the intact state of his family. He has written me more often this term than any other in his time at Hogwarts, including First Year, and I fear that he carries within him a great deal of uneasiness regarding this entire situation. No one expected that these two boys would care for one another, much less arrive at a friendship. It seems impossible, and yet, it is. We cannot deny it and therefore we must confront it, along with all the difficulties that will necessarily arise. And we must do this to help our sons. I, in particular, feel that my husband and I owe this to Draco. He has suffered a great deal for us and for my husband’s former allegiance to what was the Dark Lord. I must take every care to avoid inflicting any further damage, especially that which might be avoided with a little forethought.
Please do help me in this, Molly. You and Arthur will be crucial in helping Harry through this, and thus Draco. I know you’ve a huge heart. I hope there’s a little more forgiveness left in there for my husband.
Alright. Just not again, ever.
We have Quidditch coaching, starting November 1st; don’t forget! Draco’s coming with, for the Slytherins, so deal, mate. It’s a general scrum, so not too many Gryff-specific schemes, please. Point is to improve everyone’s skills.
My eye’s alright. Need new spectacles, but Draco said ‘it’s about bloody time’, so that’s alright, too.
You can spring for them, though.
Dear Mr Potter,
My wife has mentioned in her recent Owls that my son is deeply smitten with you. I’ll not pretend to be in any way pleased over this development. I have certain beliefs that remained unchanged, despite the unfortunate descent into madness by my previous associates.
However, I have wished for some time for an opportunity to express to you my gratitude. You saved my son and your testimony was crucial in preventing his assignment to Azkaban. He is well and happy, and in possession of a moderately bright future, mostly due to you.
Further, your actions in regard to the Dark Lord, no matter whether foreordained or otherwise, were courageous. Far beyond your years, and exceedingly powerful. I understand Madame Headmistress and the Wizengamot hold high opinions of your abilities and demonstrated use thereof. Those, Mr Potter, are traits even I am well able to admire, in any Wizard, Muggleborn or no. I will not countenance cowards or fools and you’ve proven yourself to be neither of those.
Draco has not written me directly; I doubt he will prior to my upcoming release on probation, but my wife has expressed her deep desire that we are both civil in his presence. I feel that I should be able to maintain a pleasant front, if you are able to be cooperative in turn, Mr Potter.
A simple yea or nay shall be sufficient to advise me as to your stance on that matter. Make no mistake; it is for my son that I do this, but I am most sincere.
Your mother, the dragon, is perfectly correct. You need to get out of that dreadful mausoleum and return to Hogwarts. Goyle pines for you. Zabini promises not to flee—this time ‘round. Nott has forgiven you. More importantly, Potter has forgiven you.
What other temptations can I possibly offer? Oh, yes. Myself. I am sorely in need of an attractive female to wear on my arm in defense and to further boggle the Huffles.
Please say you will.
Your father Owled me! Bloody fuck!
Ask Granger (nicely) to read through Father’s Owl and advise you. With a spot of careful nudging, I’m certain she’ll write the perfect response, which you may then copy over and Owl off. I’ve coaching right this moment. I’ll be through at five or a little after. Reach down and untwist your knickers, Potter. Breathe.
PS Of course I’ll deal with it, idiot! Breathe, Potter! Love, D
Hogwarts is not for me, no matter how you plead or entice me. The decision has been made that I finish my education at Beauxbatons, and have my NEWTS administered there. To be frightfully brutal, dear Draco, I am pleased. I would not wish for anything to return to what will only be hornet’s nest and a viper pit. Don’t forget—I offered to sell up the Golden Boy. Father can only do so much to repair my rep, luv, and that does not include Hogwarts in any possible scenario.
However, I will Owl often, and send you all the news. Mother the Dragon has decided that I am to depart almost immediately (we’ve been in Switzerland for months now, and it grows dull), so the next Owl I send you will be a French post owl.
PS Draco, it will be alright. He can’t be that bad a sort if he was willing to forgive me, and even speak to me before everyone. I doubt he’ll let you down—not now. Not an idiot Gryff for nothing, you know. Just look to his history. It’s alright, really. Pans
She won’t return. I can’t think of anything else to persuade her and I don’t know if I should even try, now. I know you said to let sleeping dogs lie sometimes. I agree with you on that (so strange, to continue agreeing with you, Potter!), but this is different. She can’t spend her life on the Continent, hiding away, as no more could I. We’re Brits, and this is our native stomping ground, and it’s a shame not to attempt to put this mess our elders made behind us now, whilst we can, instead of allowing it fester. Your Mrs. Weasley takes me aside and reminds me of this every time we’re at the Burrow. I never realized how deeply people’s pride ran (I suppose my focus was always on Malfoy pride and not on the wider world it exists in), but it’s so strong, Harry, love for country, for home and way of life. I think this might be what people will die for willingly: that sense of home and of place.
Lucky for you mine is all tied up in you, now, git. The Manor was never so unimportant before. Now it’s a beautiful place (especially as Mother is restoring it) but it’s not where my heart is. Don’t laugh. You said the same to me, didn’t you? Where I am is home, is what you said. I think I hear that in my head twenty times a day. I know I’ve made you repeat it, or variations, at least that number, if not more.
Better than that bloody therapy Granger goes on about. Sometimes you really are smart, Potter.
See you after practice. Finish your DADA essay, dolt! You can’t possibly fail that class or I’ll bloody well disown you!
Mr Harry Potter, c/o Hogwarts School
I am due to be released from Azkaban tomorrow, half eight sharp.
To that end, I’ve put some considerable thought into how our future interactions must be handled. My wife tells me that friction is unacceptable between us, primarily for my son’s sake. For yours, Mr Potter, also. Apparently, my wife has also come over to your side, most emphatically, along with my heir. I cannot help but feel slighted, but I suppose it was inevitable. I was the loser, was I not? It very much pains me to term it this way, but I have never shrunk from facing the brutal facts of any matter.
To wit, I believe we should avoid taking meals together if at all possible. Tea is acceptable. If we must dine in each other’s company, I would advise neutral territory, which leaves out both the Manor and your home, the Weasley’s Burrow. However, I understand that you’ve come into possession of Grimmauld Place, from my wife’s cousin, Black. This may hold potential.
Further, I believe Black possessed a rather complete library of 13th c. Potions receipt book, which happen to be a particular passion of mine. I would be perfectly content to politely avoid interaction with you by perusing that collection immediately after any social occasion in which we’re forced into one another’s company—dining, for example, en famille---thus allowing both my son and my wife to carry on with their somewhat deluded but mostly harmless assumption, i.e., that one day we may manage to form a ‘friendly relationship’. Too, this will allow us, who know better concerning this matter, to remain peacefully at odds without the need for immediate hexing, bloodshed or worse.
Please Owl your thoughts on this, my proposal, no later than ten p.m. this evening. Final post is delivered at eleven.
Lucius Malfoy, Azkaban, Probation Facility
Dear Mr Malfoy,
That would be an acceptable solution, yours. I cannot say I look forward to hosting you in Sirius’s old home, but your logic is unassailable. I would not have you at the Burrow and the Manor is very uncomfortable for me. However, I don’t wish Draco to suffer, nor Mrs Malfoy, because we two cannot be adults about this. And while I know you hardly consider me to be that, at eighteen years of age, I am, most decidedly. We won’t go into the reasons for that, of course.
You serious? Pen pals with Lucius Malfoy? The world’s gone barmy!
Did you check the parchment thoroughly before you opened it, mate? Because you know and I know he still hates you. Go see Pomfrey NOW!
I need to skive Quidditch. Hermione says I’m failing Astronomy and must swot. Sorry!
Would you cover me for Quidditch? I’ve been captured by Hermione and can’t get loose without it being a major hassle.
All my love,
The things I do for you!
And Weasel! Harry, that’s just wrong.
Yes, alright. Come by after.
Those strap things you bought are brilliant! Never crossed my mind feeling helpless would feel so good. You’re next, so rest up, git.
I wished to let you know that the first meeting between my husband and Harry passed without incident. This weekend was somewhat discombobulated and disorganized, as so often happens when males are involved.
We shared a meal with the boys, Molly and Arthur, Miss Granger, the sixth Mr Weasley and my dear sister in Hogsmeade, to begin with. Molly suggested that as a possible neutral meeting point, as there are several new establishments open now the War has ended. I can specifically recommend the Gargling Gryphon, should you wish to take luncheon with us girls later in the month. I know November is particularly crammed for you, though. We’ll schedule that at your leisure.
Harry and Lucius spoke three sentences apiece to one another. Draco and I agreed, after, that this was great progress. Perhaps in ten or twenty years or more, they’ll hold an actual conversation between them. Lucius is different, now. You were correct. I suppose detention does serve some purpose, allowing one to meditate on the gravity of one’s actions, but you’ll forgive me if I never present his time at Azkaban’s Probation Facility to him in quite that light. He is a man, after all, and I’m sure you understand precisely to what I refer.
The boys stayed the first night at Andy’s, to spend some private ‘uncle’ time with young Teddy. I’m happy to see that Draco entirely has gotten over his dislike of small boys. I think he regarded Teddy as some sort of competition for Harry’s attention for a short while, but that seems to have resolved itself.
My husband and I then escorted them both on a shopping expedition on Saturday morning. This was a moderately successful endeavour. Again, we took our meals out, but as we were in Paris, this was no hardship. The scenery was both a beneficial and lovely distraction for all concerned.
An advantage to Paris is that we’ve now, between us, Draco and I, managed to fully sort out Harry’s wardrobe. He is a fine figure of a young man, is he not? Even in rags he was, or so Draco insists fondly (though, of course, he always teased Harry rigorously for that failing for years on end, before the War) and Draco is very proud of his appearance Also quite noticeably possessive. There may be ramifications to that later, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
I’ll keep you abreast of our activities, Minerva. I know you’ve your eye on our young men particularly, and I cannot but feel reassured by this.
It was alright, wasn’t it? Do say yes. I hate to be unrealistically positive.
Your fan club has grown to be a positive menace! They are encamped outside my door at this very moment, erroneously awaiting you, and I am irked. I do not care to trip over lovelorn Firsties before I dine. Please speak to the Headmistress at once about this impertinence! I know several repelling hexes, but I doubt she’d approve their use, as they’re all mostly Dark.
How are you? In fine fettle, I hope. Please take that Potion I sent you on daily schedule—it’s based on Felix and quite effective for the broods. You’ll be the better for it, one way or another, no matter how well you say you’re coping.
We must think now of the coming Christmas holidays. It is nearly upon us and we must consider the Malfoys as we plan. Cissy Malfoy and I have had any number of talks about it, but we need you boys to advise us as to what your plans may be. The Burrow is your home, Harry. You mustn’t feel shy bringing your young man here.
With love from
Where’s Goyle? Why haven’t I seen him? I’m writing this in History, as you know, so tell me later.
I love you, git. Stop pelting me with spitballs or I won’t, anymore.
Dear Mrs Malfoy,
Thank you for the enjoyable visit to Paris. I have never seen that city before and I very much liked it.
Thanks also for the clothing and the new robes. I can’t imagine needing this many, ever, but Draco says I shall, so…thanks again.
I am writing specifically about Greg Goyle. Draco says he’s withdrawn from Hogwarts and the Headmistress will not give me any details. I know his finances are shaky, what with his father and all. I hate to ask this, but you have many more connections and contacts than I, and Draco hasn’t been looking too well recently. Would you mind seeing if there’s anything to be done for him? I’ve the funds to spare, if it’s like that, but it may be something to do with the war. Draco keeps telling me not everyone has done as well as we two have. I find I can’t bear that, even if Goyle spent years hating me and his father tried to kill me. It’s still not fair that his life be ruined because of Voldemort.
Can you do something? It would go a long way to cheering Draco up.
Thanks so much,
You did swimmingly and I, too, feel that one day there’ll be hope. Which is much to the point, as the boys are very attached, aren’t they?
PS Perhaps holding the holiday dinner at my house might be acceptable? Neutral territory, after all, and Teddy would adore it.
If you can convince him to come, then yes—I’ll take care of him. Tell Potter he’s not so bad for me, will you, darling? There’s a love!
Mr Harry Potter, Hogwarts
Dear Mr Potter,
Please be assured that Gregory Goyle is now comfortably established at Beauxbatons. We will be able to manage his expenses quite readily, thank you.
You were correct, Mr Potter. He was in dire need of different environs to thrive. Miss Parkinson, also a student there, has agreed to look after him in the future. Looking well ahead, I have arranged an apprenticeship with an acquaintance with a vintner I do business with, after graduation. You may rest assured Mr Goyle is now nicely settled, thank you.
You are most cordially invited to our family Christmas dinner. Harry will actually be hosting it, which is a great step forward for him in many ways.
I do, however, wish to ask of you a small favour. I‘m in desperate straits and have need of an army of house elves to bring that poor old Grimmauld Place up to standard, or at least to a condition in which Harry will not need to feel ashamed of it. Perhaps this coming week, if it suits? Fifty should do it nicely. We have ours, of course, but the Place is really just too awful for words, Minnie. You understand, I’m sure.
Also, may I interest you in a fine portrait of Walburga Black? I believe the dungeons may suit her personality far better than her present place in Harry’s foyer. If not, I believe I’ll donate her to Durmstrang, with Harry’s permission. Or perhaps Azkaban, as a thanks for treating Lucius so very well during his recent stay there.
With best regards,
I’ve found you the best present ever! And now I shall not tell you what it is, git; not until the elves deliver it on Christmas. You do recall Christmas hols, do you not? It is the time to shower those you love with expensive, thoughtful gifts. Please note that on your calendar.
You’re a git, through and through.
Of course I love you. How much should I be spending to show that?
Shagging you in my fantasies daily during Potions, I am your
You simply never cease with this puerile behaviour, do you? One-upmanship in the closing salutations on our little notes to each other is just plain mental, Harry. This isn’t a bloody contest, you know.
Well…alright. Maybe it is, at that.
Rogering your gorgeous arse with my humungous tool nightly, till you shriek with pleasure, I remain your
End of collection.