A/N: This story was inspired by a tumblr post made by sea-rogue. While this is a complete work, my co-author and I are going to be posting it one chapter every two or three days. You know, for suspense lol.
Disclaimer: We do not claim to own any of the characters in this story. All rights to go JK Rowling and Warner Brothers.
It had been bothering Harry for weeks, and therefore bothering both Ron and Hermione, since he wouldn't shut up about it. They, of course, thought he was mad for even having the urge to write a thank you letter to Narcissa Malfoy, of all people— it's been years, they'd argued, she probably didn't even bother to think of him these days— but Harry could not shake the feeling that he owed her some sort of appreciation. Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure why he suddenly had the urge to thank her. His friends were probably right, and his letter would most likely serve as an irritating interruption to her normally peaceful existence. She had saved his life, however, that day in the forest. Typically when one saved another's life they were meant to offer thanks in some way, and really, what other way was Harry meant to say thank you than a letter? He couldn't exactly do it in person. Well, perhaps he could, but he wasn't going to make the trek to Wiltshire and risk offending some pureblood standard by showing up unannounced, or something. A basket of fruit could be interpreted in many ways, and he wasn't sure the point would be understood with such a vague gesture. Sending her money would not only be offensive, most likely, but it wasn't as though she had a need for it; even after the reparations were paid by the Malfoys, they remained one of the wealthiest wizarding families in England.
So, in the end, after weeks of bouncing ideas off of Ron and Hermione and being told over and over that he was being ridiculous, he decided to write a bloody letter. It had taken him eons to start; having made up his mind to do it was one thing, but actually putting the words on the page was another. For a solid hour he had sat staring blankly at the empty roll of parchment, trying to find the proper words to express his gratitude without either sounding inanely sappy or like he had gone off the deep end. He had even begun the intro a few times only to scribble over everything he had written and toss the scrap in the waste bin.
In the end, frustration took over and he gave up trying to write something he thought would be to her liking. If she couldn't accept his gratitude in his poorly written way, maybe she didn't truly deserve it anyhow.
Mrs. Malfoy, he wrote, I'm writing to thank you for saving my life. Well, there, that was the gist of it. Though he could hardly leave it at that, he supposed.
I wasn't really sure how to go about this, and I don't know if it's proper, but there you have it. Honesty was probably his best route, as he wasn't particularly good with propriety. Ron and Hermione think I'm bonkers, writing to you like this, and it's okay if you agree with them. Hermione's seldom wrong, anyway. Still, I felt I owed it to you. I never got the chance after everything that happened to bring it up, but I really am grateful. Maybe that isn't exactly true, though, now that I think about it. I've had nearly seven years to thank you. Maybe I shouldn't even bother. I just thought you should know that I do appreciate that I'm able to… be alive. And do things that living people do. You're the best?
He siphoned that last bit out with his wand and tried again. He knew he was rambling at this point and nearly considered tossing this final attempt in the bin and heading to bed, but his resolve stuck and he finished the letter.
Many, many thanks. I hope that you're enjoying doing things that living people do as well.
-Harry Potter
It was the best go he had. He knew that no matter how long he stared at the note, nor how many revisions he considered, it wasn't bound to come out much better. After charming the parchment dry, he summoned the owl that Hermione had forced him into taking care of. Dinky was a reliable owl, even if he was nothing compared to Hedwig. The hour was a bit late for sending post, but Harry knew that if he didn't send it now, he'd lose his nerve and never send it. Dinky didn't seem to mind that he was being made to work during his usual waking hours, at least. The bird nuzzled Harry's hand and made an odd purr-like sound, hopping rapidly back and forth between his clawed talons on the desk in a way that Harry begrudgingly found adorable.
"Alright, yes, you're very sweet," Harry muttered, tying the rolled parchment to the owl's proffered leg. "Off you go."
Harry watched from his window as the bird winged away into the night, wondering if he was proving Hermione right yet again and making a prat of himself. At least he would rest easier, or so he hoped.
oOo
"You didn't," Hermione wrongly insisted, disbelief and amusement painting an odd picture of her face.
"I did, though," Harry repeated, shame heating his cheeks pink.
"'I hope that you're enjoying doing things that living people do...' Harry." She stopped there, her mouth a bit open as she searched for more to say, but couldn't gather the words. Understanding that there were no words to encompass just how peabrained Harry was, she pinched her lips shut and she heaved a heavy exhale through her nostrils.
"Was that… bad?" Immediately Harry got his answer through the widening of Hermione's brown eyes.
"You're officially cancelled, and I'm selling you to a circus," she snapped, not quite successfully hiding the giggle floating beneath her reprimand. "Do you honestly have to ask?"
"Well, I've never taken a writing class, or anything!" Harry poorly defended himself, suddenly realising that perhaps one in the morning wasn't the best time to write an important letter. "How was I supposed to know— actually, don't answer that."
"It's called common sense, and if you can't manage to scrounge together even a bit of it, I'm going to stop letting you visit me on my lunch breaks… Has she responded yet?"
Sighing, Harry slouched down in the high-backed satin chair. "No, and I'm starting to think she won't. Not-not that I expected her to," he quickly amended.
Hermione smirked, seeing right through his pretense. "You seem disappointed. I think maybe you did expect a response, although I can't imagine how one would go about replying to a load of drivel like what you sent her."
"It wasn't that bad," he groaned, and Hermione simply lifted one eyebrow. "Alright, maybe it was awful." Hermione's brow lifted further. "It was definitely one of the worst letters I've ever written— oh my god."
"Now you're getting it."
Placing his face in his palms and elbows on his knees, Harry continued to groan. Of course Mrs. Malfoy wouldn't respond, and he'd be lucky if she didn't submit his stupid letter to the Daily Prophet to show the world just how big of a nutter he was.
"What have I done?" Harry moaned pathetically.
"You've made a fool of yourself, just like I said you would," Hermione replied smugly. Without lifting his head, Harry knew she had crossed her arms over her abdomen and was smirking in a very self-satisfied way. "If you'd only listened to me from the beginning, you could've avoided this mess altogether."
And that was just it, wasn't it? Always, Hermione was right and Harry was wrong, and he should just accept that as fact from here on out. Perhaps his life would have been a bit less hectic if he'd adhered to this tenet.
Taking on a more comforting tone, Hermione said, "Don't beat yourself up too badly. At least now you've scratched this weird, nonsensical itch and it won't need to interfere with your life any longer."
Harry's head shot up in panic. "No, I have to make this right somehow—"
"Are you daft? You'll only make matters worse!"
"Okay, yes, you're right," he sighed, recalling that he'd only just moments ago decided Hermione was not to be argued with. "Fuck. Then what do I do?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You leave this whole matter alone. Pretend it never even happened." It seemed fairly obvious to her.
"I'm not sure I can do that." The embarrassment he was feeling seemed to only be building by the second, and every time he thought about the fact that he'd spoken to a Malfoy so casually he thought he'd die in Hermione's expensive office chair.
"Try."
oOo
Several weeks had gone by since Harry had sent his awful letter and no reply had come. He'd nearly forgotten about it, just like Hermione had suggested. In fact, Harry was getting to the point where he could go an entire day without an intrusive memory of his thank-you popping up at random intervals, causing him to go scarlet from the neck up. He'd put his focus into helping Neville in his greenhouse, or brainstorming with George on more shop items, and even practicing with Ginny for her upcoming game with the Harpies. Since he'd resigned from the Aurors a couple years back, he liked to help out his friends and family with their endeavors. It seemed as though someone else would need a spare hand as soon as he'd finished helping one person, so he kept fairly busy as he tried to figure out what it was he wanted to do career-wise. Sometimes Luna would pop home in between her travels, too, so he'd spend several nights at her flat catching up with her and her many guests. He was actually due to head to her place for yet another 'welcome home' party shortly, and was in the middle of packing an overnight bag when his bedroom window swung more fully open, admitting a very regal looking owl.
"Well hello there," Harry muttered, hesitant to reach out to the bird too quickly. It appeared to be of the biting sort, he thought, judging by the way the owl glared at him, clearly unimpressed. Harry had never realised he could feel so judged by a bird. "You must be the Malfoy owl, eh?" As if an owl like this could belong to anyone else. Maybe Percy, but Harry had already met his owl and it was marginally friendlier than this one.
As if unable to stand Harry's presence any longer, the owl nipped the string tying the scroll to his leg, cutting it free. Harry offered it a treat and struggled not to openly laugh at the stuck-up bird as it practically scoffed at his handful and flew off again. Up until then, Harry had been unaware that owls could scoff, but he wasn't sure what else to call what that owl had just done.
Shrugging off the strange interaction with the Malfoys' owl, Harry unrolled the thick, pricey parchment and began reading. Excitement and anxiety built in his stomach, nearly indistinguishable from each other.
Mr. Potter, it began, how very thoughtful of you to send thanks, even after all these years. I must admit, your letter was strange and quite unexpected, though not unappreciated. I mean no offense by this, but feel myself drawn to asking if you've ever considered taking a writing class of some sort. I took one shortly before Lucius and I married all those years ago and it helped immensely in regards to letter writing. Sometimes getting the words one intends to say out onto parchment can be more difficult than we'd like— I happen to know from experience.
I find my feelings regarding my actions that day and your response complicated. I'm sure you could easily guess my motives for doing what I did: while I could pretend I had noble intentions, my first and forthright concern was finding my son and keeping him safe. It was not personal to you, and yet you're grateful. To say that we haven't been on the best of terms would be an understatement. We've always been on different sides, and I know I've been rather impolite on more than one occasion. Still, you find it within yourself to have appreciation for my actions, and to make it known to me. Such interesting creatures, we humans are.
While I'm sure we've both changed over the years, I can't help but feel that your attempt to reconnect is going to end in your disappointment. Unless, that is, your objective was not to reconnect, but simply to gain some peace of mind. In that case, I expect you have succeeded.
Regarding your hopes, I have indeed been enjoying doing things that living people do, rest assured. Although, that was a rather interesting way to end a letter, I must say. I don't believe anyone has said something like that to me. It was refreshing, to be frank. Most people don't have the courage to speak to me in such a casual manner. While some may consider it disrespectful, I — for reasons unknown to me— found it charming, in a curious, unorthodox way.
I do hope that you've been living your life to the fullest, post-war. Merlin knows you never were able to in your school days. We all have been recovering from the damage and it's good to leave that behind occasionally and just enjoy the moment.
Well wishes for you and yours, N.M.
As he finished reading the letter, something inside Harry blossomed into a large ball in the centre of his chest. It felt like pride interspersed between interest and yet more excitement. Her reply had been better than Harry had expected, at least. Much better. She hadn't insulted him once, and apparently had decided against displaying his stupidity for all to see in the press. She had even, in her stuffy, proper way, opened up to him a small bit. It seemed like she had, anyway.
Abandoning his half-packed bag on his bed, he sat at his desk and began writing a response. Maybe he wasn't supposed to, but he couldn't help it. He had things he wanted to say in response, and couldn't see why it would be a negative thing to write back. She'd responded to him, after all, why couldn't he do the same?
Mrs. Malfoy, thank you for writing to me. I didn't really expect a response, especially after so long, but I'm sort of excited that you have decided to reply. Maybe I'll end up disappointed, but I can't see why. It isn't as though I assumed you'd completely abandoned your political standpoints. I'll never agree with you on them, but the only way I'd be disappointed is if I'd expected something else.
As far as living life to the fullest goes, I can't say I've been exactly doing that, but close enough. You might have heard about my resignation from the Aurors two years ago. I assume that, by now, most people are aware, but probably the majority of people don't have a clue as to why. Some speculated that I suffered an embarrassing injury (I won't bother listing examples… you really don't want to know), while others thought it was a lack of talent on my part. They figured that my defeat of Voldemort was a chance sort of thing, and that I wasn't really all that great at defensive magic.
The real reason is significantly more boring than that: I got tired of it. Most of the job was sitting behind a desk filing paperwork, requesting the proper forms for cases and being denied them repeatedly until the case was shelved as unsolvable, investigating dead ends and writing up more paperwork on said dead ends, attempting to recover lost paperwork that had somehow been sent to the wrong department, and gossiping in the canteen. I could count on both hands, and have fingers left over, the amount of times I actually went out on the field for something of real importance. Not to mention the absolutely stupid amount of red tape in the Ministry, which only ever made my job more difficult to do. And, you know, it wasn't really as if I wanted a thrilling job, or whatever— after the war I hoped my run-ins with danger would decrease, and thankfully they did— but even just a little stroll away from monotony would've been nice. Or, maybe, just getting one case settled correctly even one time. That would've been incredible.
Anyway, after I quit the Aurors I started helping people I know with their businesses and studies. That keeps me from thinking too hard about the fact that I'm going nowhere in life, so it serves its purpose. As much as I enjoy helping my friends with the things they're passionate about, it would be nice to have a passion of my own to delve into. Nothing seems to be sticking out to me, though, and I'm beginning to think that maybe I'm not fit to work in the wizarding world. Everyone says how I'd be such an amazing politician, but then you and Hermione both told me I should take a writing class within a three week period of time, so that's unlikely. My public speaking is even worse than my letter writing. On top of that, I think I've had my fair share of ministry business. I don't think I'd like to work in any position there, as far as I can tell.
Wow, I'm just realising that I've filled the majority of this roll with self-pity. Feel free to skip to the end if this is too dull, which I assume it will be.
What about you? What have you been doing since the war? You don't have to tell me, if you don't wish to, but I must admit I'm curious. The Malfoys have stayed far away from the public eye since the trials ended, so for all I know you could've moved to Timbuktu and taken up rice farming. I could use some tips on avoiding the press, if you've got any, by the way. No matter how hard I try, they always seem to get pictures of me to make up far-fetched stories about.
Thank you for writing.
Harry
oOo
With Narcissa Malfoy's letter held inconspicuously at his side, Harry walked proudly up to the table Ron and Hermione had seated themselves at in their regular pub. Hermione's eyes flew immediately to the roll of parchment, while Ron remained oblivious, standing up to give Harry a one-armed hug and a slap on the back. Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach, eyeing the parchment curiously.
"What's that?" she asked, getting straight to the point. Harry didn't usually bring anything but himself to pub night, so it seemed strange to her that he had brought something extra.
"Oh, this?" Harry replied, holding up the parchment. "Just a little bit of proof as to why you aren't always right, and that sometimes I do make good decisions on my own."
With a snort of disbelief, Hermione said, "I hardly think that's true."
"That had better be some solid proof," Ron said, nudging Harry's ribs with an elbow, "or you're in for quite the debate. Three pints, the usual," he called to the passing barmaid, who shot him a thumbs up in return.
"It's solid, alright." A grin of self satisfaction spread across Harry's face as he charmed the parchment flat and passed it to Hermione. "Read it and weep, as they say."
Less than a minute later, Hermione slowly looked up at Harry, lips pursed and eyebrows tilted down in the middle.
"Please tell me you didn't respond to this, Harry."
"What is it?" Ron asked, completely in the dark.
"It's ridiculous, is what it is."
"No," Harry argued, "it's evidence. A letter from Narcissa Malfoy that is not filled with malice and insults. And yes, I did write back, only this time I didn't make a complete idiot of myself."
"You have this… tendency to think that you're not being an idiot when, in fact—" Hermione was cut off by Ron's loud clearing of his throat.
"If you want to correspond with the enemy, that's alright with us. Just be careful, yeah?" Ron gave Harry a kind, encouraging smile, which only deepened at the sight of three pints hovering over to their table. They landed with the classic, comforting sound of thick glass meeting wood, something Harry greatly looked forward to at the end of each week.
"Thanks for the permission," Harry said, half bitter, half appreciative. He knew Ron had more reason to hate the Malfoys than he or Hermione did, and for Ron to tell him that it was alright that he was writing to the Malfoy matriarch was Ron's way of supporting him, his own feelings aside.
"I still think this is a terrible idea," Hermione added, taking a sip of her pint. "But what do I know? Anyway, how was Luna's party?" It was time for a subject change, she decided. It wasn't as if anything she said would change Harry's mind.
"Great, as usual," Harry replied. "She brought five brothers from Tarapoto so they could see a bit of England in return for letting her stay with them. They didn't speak a lick of English, but Luna taught me this excellent translation charm and, god, those blokes were hilarious once I figured out what they were saying. Cisco was probably the funniest out of the group, though."
"Wish I could've gone," Ron lamented, sneaking accusatory glances toward Hermione. "Apparently yard work is more important than keeping up with friends from school."
Hermione scoffed and said, "It is when I've been asking you to do it for weeks, and you continuously put it off. I work too long of hours to keep these things in check, Ron."
"I know, I know. Still would've been nice."
"Oh, please, she'll be back in a month or two and she'll throw yet another party, one that you can go to. She does every time she comes back. It's a wonder that girl ever finds time to write."
"She does most of her writing while she's traveling," Harry said. "I think coming home is like taking a vacation from work, although from the sounds of it, a lot of her work is like a vacation."
Harry could never imagine living his life the way Luna did, constantly traveling and looking for elusive, rare creatures to write about, only coming home for a week at most and taking off again. She loved her job, of course, and had loads of stories to tell every time she visited home, but Harry had a feeling there was more to her career choice than simply following in her father's footsteps and keeping the Quibbler up and running. He thought maybe she couldn't stand to be in England for long due to trauma. Some of the things she'd said about being home had suggested as much, and Harry noticed that she never traveled anywhere near Scotland anymore. He'd asked her why, once, and she'd got this withdrawn look in her pale blue eyes, but she hadn't given much of a reason.
"Speaking of writing," Harry piped up, interrupting the quiet conversation Ron and Hermione had got into during his speculative silence. "When I told Luna I was writing to Mrs. Malfoy, she seemed to think it was a very good idea. Did you know she writes to Malfoy? As in, Draco Malfoy?"
"But he kept her prisoner in his house!" Hermione's outrage was immediate and passionate.
"No, Lucius and Voldemort kept her prisoner in Malfoy Manor," Harry corrected. "And apparently Malfoy was the only person who ever came down to the cellars to visit with the prisoners. He would even sneak them extra food and water, when he could. Luna said it if weren't for Malfoy she would've… Well, never mind, that's not exactly pub talk."
"No, tell us," Hermione said, her voice hinting at her interest. "She would've what?"
"This doesn't make Malfoy a saint, or anything," Harry explained, just in case his friends got the— very wrong— impression that Harry didn't hate Malfoy, "but Luna said Malfoy begged, er, menstruation things for Luna, from his mum. If he hadn't, she would've bled all over herself." He shuddered, picturing how humiliating that would be.
Ron made a disgusted face and said, "Well, I suppose that's something to be thankful for, eh? I guess in that case it makes sense she'd keep in contact with him. Sort of."
"Not that I like him any more after hearing that," Hermione said slowly, still letting this new information sink in, "but that was rather sweet of him, all things considered. Who knew he was capable of kindness?" she laughed and cut herself off to order them three more pints as another barmaid went past their table.
"I've got this weird suspicion that he's not really as horrible as he seems," Ron said, and Harry couldn't stop the look of surprise that shaped his expression. He glanced at Hermione and saw she had a similar look on her face. "Well, think about it. You said he was crying in the bathroom sixth year, right?"
"Yeah, but what's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, I've never seen another Death Eater cry, have you?"
Hermione could see the look of confusion forming and deepening on Harry's face and decided to take over. "I think what he means to say is that most Death Eaters don't typically feel much remorse for the path they've chosen, Snape being one possible exception to that. Thanks to the trials, we now know that Malfoy deeply regretted getting the Dark Mark. Not that he had much choice in the matter, if what he said was true, and the Wizengamot seemed to think so."
"Okay," Harry drawled, still not understanding. "And? How does that make him less horrible than we think he is?"
"It might not," Hermione said, shrugging. "Care to explain that one, Ronniekins?"
"It's like—" Ron paused to consider his words carefully, making sure they made sense entirely before putting them out in the open for his wife to dissect. "Well, he acted like a giant prat, and he probably is one most of the time, but if he was a prat all the time, why would Luna still keep in contact with him? Why would he feel badly about getting the Mark? Why would he have said he wasn't sure you were Harry Potter when the snatchers caught you? I just think that people are multifaceted, right? So maybe he's a prat to us, and to most of our friends, but I think it's mostly a front."
Harry had no idea what to say to that, but it only took Hermione a moment of thought before she smiled proudly and said, "I think you make an excellent point. I guess I'd never thought of him that way."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Harry said, having decided that maybe Ron was right, but he'd need proof before he stopped thinking of Malfoy as one of the worst people he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.
"It's just a theory, anyway," Ron said with a shrug. It was no skin off his back if Harry didn't believe him. It wasn't as if Malfoy was a huge part of their lives.
"So," Hermione said, changing the subject again, a gleam of mischievousness in her eyes. "You mentioned that Cisco was the funniest of the Peruvians. Care to offer details?"
Against his will, Harry's cheeks heated and coloured, just as Hermione had known they would. "What do you mean?" Playing dumb never worked with Hermione, unless she was humouring him, and she wasn't tonight.
"Oh come on, you only ever mention Luna's guests by name if they pique your interest," Hermione giggled playfully. "This isn't the first time, Harry."
"Yeah, mate, what was so hilarious about him?" Ron asked, back at it with his elbow in Harry's ribs.
"Alright, yes, I slept with him, is that what you want to hear?" He couldn't understand why his friends cared so much about his sex life. It wasn't as if he asked them about theirs.
"Was he good?" Hermione asked, curiosity mixed with excitement in her tone.
"Yes, very. And now he's gone back to Peru with his brothers, so no, we won't be doing it again any time soon, if ever."
"Why do all your partners have to be from random parts of the world? It's almost as if Luna brings people back just so you have a group of people to pick from."
"No, she brings them back as a thank you and so that they can experience a different part of the world from where they live. It's my fault I always end up sleeping with one of them."
"Right, but isn't it funny how she always brings men back?" Ron wondered. "I don't remember her ever bringing back women."
"That's because she likes to leave her partners back in their country, lest they get too attached," Harry explained, his lips twitching in threat of a grin.
"That makes sense, with how often she travels, and how seldom she goes back to the places she's already been," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I just wish you'd, I don't know, pick a partner that lives in the same country as you, seeing as how you don't travel like she does. You've probably slept with people from every continent on the planet, by now, and yet you've never had an actual boyfriend."
"I'm just not ready to settle down," Harry said, feeling a bit defensive. "Nobody here is interesting enough to see long term. They're so… boring. And if they aren't boring, they only want me because I'm Harry Potter. It's so much easier to have sex with people knowing I'll probably never have to see them again. Not to mention, a lot of them don't know who I am the way people here do, so they don't fanboy like people do here."
Hermione sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly, but Ron spoke first. "If he wants to sleep with blokes from other countries, let him. He's right about his little fan club here in Britain. I couldn't do it if I were you, mate."
"Thank you for understanding, unlike some people." Harry directed a half-serious glare at Hermione, who simply rolled her eyes. "Now, can we please stop talking about my sex life?"
oOo
Mr. Potter, you're very welcome. I'm surprised at your last letter; it's much more eloquent than the first. Perhaps you don't require a writing class after all. I suppose your lack of skill only came from the palpable awkwardness of the situation. Ah, well, that's over and done with.
I must say I was rather taken aback when you chose the position of Auror. I had figured that after all the mess and trauma of the war you would want to stay far away from any sort of high-risk criminal justice work, although I don't doubt that you excelled in the field. You've always had a knack for getting in and out of trouble and the Ministry was beyond thrilled to have the man who took down the Dark Lord on their team. The papers were relentless in reporting your appointment.
I personally have been actively avoiding anything remotely similar to your career choice. Not that I was ever particularly active in the goings-on of the Dark Lord's followers. Their activities were too disgusting and violent for my tastes and I was better off supporting my husband in other ways. Not that I am proud of my role in all of that. I loathe where I stood, but what other choice did I have? At the time, it didn't seem I had any. Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20.
As for advice on avoiding the press, I'm afraid the only tip I can offer is to disgrace your name. While most families who were involved with Death Eaters, or who were Death Eaters, have sometimes been reported on in the news, you'll notice it's reserved for when they've further disgraced themselves. The press isn't interested in the regular activities of people who were on the wrong side of things, as they don't want to bring attention to the fact that we are just humans like the rest of them, nor do they want to seem supportive of us, lest they appear to align with our past (and for some, current) views. Even if I or anyone else who supported the Dark Lord did something heroic or charitable, it would be unlikely for the public to take interest because of all the horrible things we did. It could appear like we are doing it to win back the favor of the people rather than out of the goodness of our hearts. I suppose we deserve it, though. The best I can do in my position is try to live a more peaceful life and hope that someday I may be able to redeem myself. Unfortunately, I doubt Lucius can ever hope to achieve that dream, but there may be a possibility for Draco. We shall see how it all washes out.
On the subject of Draco, your last letter reminded me greatly of him. He, too, seems to be at a loss as to what he should pursue with his career. Though, in his case, it isn't for a lack of interest, it's a lack of opportunity. Most places refuse to hire him due to his past and the Mark on his arm. He attended university abroad in order to advance his education, and while he is now equipped with a Mastery of General Magical Knowledge he can't seem to find employment anywhere. I understand why businesses are hesitant to hire someone with the Dark Mark, truly I do, but it saddens me deeply to see my son struggle this way. I can only hope that, with time, things will change.
See, you are not the only one who is capable of writing dull letters full of self-pity. It is a thing everyone partakes in, feeling sorry for ourselves. It's simply important that we don't stay in such a frame of mind. Perhaps the offer I'm about to make is unwanted, but I thought to make it anyway: if you need an outlet, someone to discuss the way you feel with, I am available. I'm sure your friends do a wonderful job of this already, but there are some things we cannot even tell our closest friends, and sometimes it's easier to discuss matters of the heart with someone we know a little less.
May all be well. N.M
A small smile stretched Harry's lips as Mrs. Malfoy's letter came to a close. He wasn't sure he'd accept her offer, but he appreciated it nonetheless. As it was, he had plenty of people to confide in, people he knew he could trust, so he didn't really need her added to the list. Still, it was the thought behind her offer that mattered to Harry. Wasting no time, he began writing out his response. He noticed that both of their letters were getting longer each time, and he wondered it it would be easier to communicate in person. Then he shrugged off that thought, because that was a bit silly, wasn't it? He wasn't about to invite her over for tea, and he highly doubted she would invite him. No, writing letters was good enough.
Mrs. Malfoy, please call me Harry. You're probably right about the awkwardness. I struggle a lot to form a proper sentence when I'm nervous or uncomfortable, and it's really frustrating; not only does it make me look stupid, but it causes people to take me less seriously. I don't know if a writing class could help with that, honestly.
So, you've been avoiding violence and danger, but what have you kept busy with? Do you knit, or crochet, or sew? Maybe it's sexist of me to ask that, but it seems like the majority of women in my life over 40 do those things a lot. Mrs. Weasley knits everyone a jumper every year for Christmas. The first jumper she sent me was the first piece of clothing I had that fit me properly, aside from my school robes. Knitting seems like such a useful skill to have, though I've never had the patience or desire to sit down and learn it.
I have mixed feelings about certain parts of your letter. On the one hand, I sort of agree with the newspapers for not reporting every good thing the ex-Death Eaters have done since the war, but I don't agree with their reasonings, if what you say is true. I've never appreciated how history likes to paint the villains as some sort of monster. It takes something real and terrifying and turns it into something like a fantasy, something that could never happen in real life. I think it's important that everyone be aware that people who do bad things are just that: people. That way we are more conscious of what people are capable of and aren't taken so off guard when the people we know to bad things. Does that make sense? I'm probably rambling.
The other part of your letter I have mixed feelings on is, well, your son and his inability to find work. Why does he even need to work? You Malfoys are richer than god. (That's a muggle idiom, sorry if it's unfamiliar to you.) Couldn't he live happily and comfortably ten lifetimes over without working? Well, whatever his reasons for wanting to work, it doesn't seem very fair to me that he's not being allowed to. If he's qualified and he hasn't proven himself unworthy of the position he's asking for, I don't see why he shouldn't be hired. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's discrimination. Aren't there laws against that? There should be, if there aren't. Everyone should be allowed to work, if they'd like to. Except maybe children, because they're easily exploited.
But even if it isn't fair, I have my biases and I personally wouldn't want to see him at, say, the local apothecary, or something. Then again, I don't think too many people have grudges against him, so maybe I'm one of the only ones who feels that way, and in that case my opinion doesn't really matter, does it? I'm torn. If I put myself in his shoes, which I'm really terrible at, then I'd probably be depressed and feel trapped, but also I would probably end up giving up looking for work and do something else. Like travelling, maybe, or starting my own business. If I were Malfoy, I could certainly afford to do those things. Why would he want to work for someone else anyway, when he could easily work for himself? He could pick something he's really good at and make a profit from selling it. Or, if he's not good at anything, he could learn something new and make that his business. He was pretty decent at potions in school, as I remember it. He could start a potions business, or something. Maybe he could make affordable pain potions, or supply some hospitals around Europe. Anyway, that's up to him, but those are some ideas. If you tell him what I said, don't tell him I told you, or he'll disregard it all immediately, I'm sure. He probably still hates me, too.
I really appreciate your offer to be a confidant for me, Mrs. Malfoy, and I'd like to extend that offer back to you as well. Do you have very many friends to talk to about 'matters of the heart,' as you called them? Oh, that's probably a rude question. I don't mean it in a rude way, please don't take it that way. I'm sure you've got friends.
Looking forward to your reply. Harry.