Letters From Hell

By Natasha Shaitanova

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Uh…should I also place a disclaimer on the Bible?

A/N: I stumbled upon the idea in a different fandom and readapted it with a more personal conclusion.

Dear Harry,

Don't scream, baby, please just hear me out.

It's not the same here, you know? It's so dark, but not like back in our apartment at night. The dark gets in your eyes and you can't even look around because you can't be sure that you're even looking. I pretend I can see a spark sometimes, but I've learned to play a lot of pretend games down here, Harry.

Same goes for the silence. It fills my ears and it feels so heavy. Remember when we fought and you wouldn't speak to me? Remember how the silence would just press down on you and after a while you felt so constricted that you couldn't be sure you'd make a sound if you spoke?

It's kind of like that, Harry, only feels a million times worse.

I'm so hot here. The heat is sweltering, coming from inside me, from whatever is beneath, radiating from the darkness itself. Who knows, maybe I'm on fire? But I would see if I was on fire, wouldn't I? I wish I was on fire just so I could see the flames, Harry.

There is this constant breeze around me, tugging at my clothes and hair, though it does nothing for the heat. I guess they must be clothes and that must be a breeze, though, that's what it feels like. I still turn around sometimes, to try and see where it's coming from, but…well, you know already. There's not much to see.

You know, maybe I'm still too arrogant and conceited, but I kind of hoped I would go to heaven. I never believed in these things before, but isn't this what muggleborns described hell to be like? It sure doesn't feel like a heaven.

Which reminds me, Harry, do you know how I died? Because I don't. All I remember is that I was with you and then suddenly I wasn't. How did I get here? You'll tell me, won't you?

When I think about it, it's not really the darkness or the heat or the wind that bothers me. It's the silence.

I feel bodies around me, Harry, but they are so still and mute. I guess the longer you're dead, the less conversational you become? I hear grunts sometimes, but that seems to be the extent of any speech down here.

But I am getting used to it. I swear, even the silence. There's just one thing I can't really get used to and that's missing you. No, don't get me wrong, Harry, I'm glad that you are alive! You, more than anyone, deserve that.

I miss you so much. I wish I could just talk to you, and that would be enough for eternity. I'd die all over again for just one glimpse, one picture.

I'm sorry I sound so sappy, Harry, but I never got the chance to say any of it alive and I always wanted to and I just hope…and I just hope that it's not too late.

I don't know if you are going to get this, Harry, but I'll hope that you do. I have to hope and I have to pretend, Harry, because that's all I have.

I already know how I'll send this, Harry! The other times I pulled out parchment, it would disappear if I held it crumpled in my hand for too long, lingering. That's what I'll do, Harry – I'll crumple this letter up really small and I'll hold it up for the darkness to take it to you. Will it work, Harry?

Harry, please, you have to respond if it works.

I'm sorry that we fought before I left, I don't even remember why, but you have to believe that I'm sorry, baby. I am so sorry and I miss you so much and I hope you know that I love you so, so much.

Draco

p.s. I hope you can read my writing, Harry, I wrote best as I could sightless. But you'll understand, won't you?

Dear Harry,

You didn't reply.

Maybe you didn't get my letter? It seems silly now to think that "darkness will take it to you", but that's all I have, don't you see?

Maybe you thought it was a crude joke, from some bastard at the Ministry. Harry, baby, I swear this is not a joke. This is me, pouring what's left of my heart out to you.

I wish I could prove it to you somehow.

I could always tell you about our nights, Harry, but I don't think you would want anyone else to see it. Who knows where this letter may end up, right? I miss you so much, please just hear me!

We got a new guy here today. Or I think it was today – there is no time here. How long have I been here? How long have I been dead, Harry? Please tell me.

He's so loud, you know. It almost makes the silence lift, but not quite. This silence is heavier than any scream of his.

He keeps yelling for "Harmony." Maybe she was his girlfriend? Wife? Sister? I wonder if I was yelling for you at first, just like that. Maybe I was and I just can't remember it anymore. I can't remember a lot of things, Harry.

Maybe he's just some murderer or rapist or stalker or escaped asylum inmate. It wouldn't be so strange, right? I mean, I must be in hell. He must be like that. Am I like that too?

I swear, I tried to change so much for you, Harry. I thought that maybe it would be enough – it always seemed enough for you.

I guess someone had higher standards.

I am sorry, again, that I sound so depressed and morose in my letter, Harry. It can't be too fun to read. But it's not too fun here, you know? Dead people are so quiet and so angry. I think I feel that they're angry, though they don't say anything. Angrier than you were when Snape yelled at you in class.

I miss you being angry. Your jaw set and your eyes narrow, flashing. All our years of fighting – you must have know I enjoyed it too much before I even knew myself.

I think I remember that you were mad at me before I died. What did I do, Harry? Whatever it was, just know that I am sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I swear, I didn't mean it, I know.

I had a dream, Harry. When the new guy was quiet – I think he's still crying, though. Maybe he's not so bad…?

I got sidetracked.

I dreamt about us, Harry. I dreamt that I died, but it detail. There was a guy pointing his wand at you and I just jumped, didn't think. I jumped in front of you, died for you.

That's what I regret the most, Harry. I wish I wasn't dead so that I could die for you. All over again but properly.

I wish I was there to protect you, but it's not like you really need protection from others. I wish I could still protect you from yourself, Harry. I know you'd jump in front of anyone and take the curse for them, but you need someone to do that for you. I'm sorry I can't anymore.

So, what are you doing tonight? Are you going to another Ministry committee meeting? Hah, probably not, you hate those things so much.

How're your friends doing? Probably not too heartbroken and lending you a good supporting hand. That's good, Harry. It's good that they won't care and they'll help you through it.

How's my mom doing, do you know? Please tell me she's okay, Harry. I almost hope she doesn't care either; it would make things so much easier.

Does anyone miss me? Probably not, but it doesn't really matter. I just wish you could read this, Harry. That's all that really matters.

Please, baby, write back if you can. If it's possible, I know you'll figure it out.

Draco

p.s. You know, there is nothing to drink here? Yeah, that kind of drink. I know you hate it, but I wish I could drink just to make the pain go away.

-

A/N: Alright, this is a three-installment piece. I'll have the next two chapters shortly.

For those wondering, of course there will be a reply. Just maybe not the type you are looking for.

Please review so this doesn't feel like an utter failure! I would like to finish posting, after all.

NS