To Mr. Draco Malfoy,
The good news is that you are not yet dead, despite what some people want to believe. It seems almost harsh to say that there are times when i wish you were dead. As little as that was, a couple of times I was on the brink of following through with that threat. I must tell you that you are stupid, more so than you can conceive right now. It all started when you decided to let your father control everything that you ever did, not one of your better choices. Common sense would tell you that when everyone around you began to shun you, it might now be them that's being stupid. If you could regret doing one thing (repeatedly) in your life, I hope it is the way that you treat everyone "inferior" to yourself, expecially those of half-blood and muggleborn decent. You could draft so many people to your way of thinking if you would realize that. Deceit is not done with a closed mine I assure you. Not to worry though, you learn that eventually. I must say though that you really need help in the area of relationships, both in and out of the romantic genre. Have you any idea just how bad of a burn you put on yourself when you spend your time with Pansy, instead of helping Lisa. Words cannot describe the sheer stupidity of that action. Your goal at that time was to beat the Golden Trio and you could have demoralized Hermione by taking the time to tutor Lisa in Potions, rather than spending those Fridays listening to Pansy complain about her hair and clothes. That was one of the best times of your life though, wasn't it? And, yes, I was being sarcastic with you, I do it all the time. The best advice that I can give you is to tell Pansy off, sit back, and wait for the girl thta you'll love forever to show up. She'll show up, don't you dare scoff at me. Well, i'll see you in the mirror, even though you don't look much differnt now...
P.S. Just wait until you get here, everything's a whole lot better.
With a happy smile on the writer's face, the quill was laid on top of the inkwell and he let the paper drift to the floor. Pushing himself off of his bed, and carefully as to not land on the paper, the thin man sat on the floor on his knees A slender arm made its way under the bed, a pale hand searching for something he knew was there. The pale fingers deftly grabbed ahold of the object when it was found and pulled it from its sanctuary. The object was a box, a plain brown one that one would use for packaging and shipping. Opening the lid, the man looked through his blonde bangs down at the stack of papers that were in the box. A sad smile graced his sharp features as he picked up the paper that he had written and placed it gently down on top of the others. Replacing the lid, his head sharply turned when he heard a hand on the knob to his bedroom door. He smiled when his son walked through the door.
"Dinner's read," the four-year old's voice said quietly, not knowing what his father was doing.
"Okay, I'll be down in a minute."
"What are you doing?" the little boy's voice asked.
"I'm hiding my box," the older man said with a barely recognizable glint in his eye.
"What's in it?" curiosity was getting the best of the boy.
"I can't tell you," he responded, pulling his son into his lap when he walked over. "Do you know why I can't tell you, Scorpius?" When the little boy shook his head no, his father whispered in his ear, "It's a secret."
The little boy giggled and said, "That's silly."
"If you think that's silly, you should see what I hid in the box."
"What's in the box?"
"If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else. I wrote a letter to myself."
For the longest while, the little boy just stared at his dad with big grey eyes before quietly asking, "Does that mean you have to mail it to yourself before you can read it?"
A/N: First off...this is story 8 and I still don't own Harry Potter...weird... Secondly, this is based off a song called "Letter to Me" by Brad Paisley, if you want a really good song, I'd suggest that one. Thanks for reading guys, feedback's appreciated!