Letters to Me
Summary:
Draco is reading over letters from his husband, Harry, reminiscing about how their relationship started and progressed to the present. Then, he is greeted with awful news.
D:
Your beautiful face,
Shining with an inner glow,
Brings light to my life.
~ H
XXX
My dearest Dragon,
Shall I list the ways I love you?
- I love your adorable pout
- I love your snarky comments
- I love your predatory grace
- I love how your eyes light up with a mischievous glint
- I love how meticulous you are with your appearance
Though most of all, I love you caring heart.
Forever yours
~ H
XXX
Dray,
I wish to share a poem with you, though not one of my own creation. I found it in an anthology at a book store next to my hotel. It's by the muggle poet Sheelgan Lennon (do not roll your eyes – yes, I know you are rolling your eyes).
A Special World
A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.
Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.
And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.
The package attached is the anthology. It is filled with love poems that make me think of you, of us. I'll be home soon
Love,
~ your harbear
XXX
Harry always sent me letters when he must leave for his job. Being the lover of an Auror was a hard life, but one I would never give up. Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and the Savior, was the best Auror in the department. He always catches the Dark witches or wizards, always fighting crime, always saving the day. He was such a hero, and that's why I love him.
He saved me. I have always had feelings for him, even before I met him. I mean, who wouldn't? He was the one who defeated the Dark Lord as an infant. When I first laid eyes on him, I did not even realize it was the Boy Who Lived. All I saw was an endearing, skinny boy my age with messy jet black hair and vivid emerald eyes. I fell for that boy with the innocent, wide-eyed expression. Later, I realized that my green-eyed boy was Harry Potter. I was hurt by his rejection; thus, that began our rivalry. Over the years at school, we tried to best each other at everything. I won when it came to potions; he won when it came to being seeker.
Right before the war began, I came to terms with the fact that, while I loved Harry Potter, it would never be; we were on opposite sides of the soon-to-be battle. I never wanted to be on the dark side. My first act of rebellion was when I could not killed Dumbledore. My second came as I refused to identify a very swollen-faced Harry when the Snatchers dragged him and his friends into the Manor. When Harry pulled me from room of hidden things, from the cursed fire, I hoped against all odds that it meant he cared about me.
My heart broke twice later that fateful day. The first as the Dark Lord declared the war over and won, with Harry's body lying at his feet. The second was after the Dark Lord's curse rebounded and Harry was swept into a kiss with the She-Weasel. I realized that the Wizarding World would never accept their Savior being with an ex-Death Eater; that he was better off with her than with me.
I fully believed all of that, until the trials came around. My trial was the last of my family's; my father tried to life in prison and my mother on house arrest for life. I never expected anyone to stand up for me; I was the hated child of Death Eater scum that in turn became Death Eater scum himself. Facing the Wizengamot, I was shaking behind my Malfoy mask. Then, the doors opened and in walked Harry. He requested to speak, and was granted that right. He told of everything I did: how I was horrified by Professor Babbling, how I only half-heartily attempted to fulfill my obligation to the Dark Lord, how he saw me lower my wand in surrender when facing Dumbledore, how I did not turn him over to my parent and in turn the Dark Lord, how I never wanted to be a Death Eater, how he saw me crack under the pressure to protect my family at the young age of sixteen. He pleaded that I be pardoned, and surprising enough, I was.
Outside the courtroom, I found Harry waiting for me. He asked if I cared to get a drink with him, and I agreed. As we walked, Harry pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to me. It was my wand he stole when he was at the Manor. He said he wanted me to have it back, and to know that without it, he never would have succeeded in defeating the Dark Lord. I accepted and shared a companionable afternoon with the man I loved.
That was the start of our tentative friendship … later relationship. Our first date was to a muggle movie: a silly, epic drama about pirates. For it being something muggle, the evening was quite enjoyable. Our first kiss was during a romantic picnic on the hills overlooking Loch Ness. Our first intimate endeavor was on a beach in Iceland. He proposed on the top of the Eiffel Tower (after insisting that we take the stairs to the top). We were married on the shores of the Black Lake on the Hogwarts' grounds, with our friends and family all gathered around. One year after the wedding, we adopted a beautiful baby girl and named her Laetitia Siria Potter-Malfoy. In total, we have been together for 5 years.
Harry's job offend took him to obscure places around the world. As it can be deduced, he tracked down former-Death Eaters that scattered in the wind after the Dark Lord's death, as well as the occasional other Dark witch or wizard. And, he was the best at it. I am a Potions Master, but I work from home to care for Tia. She has the prettiest amber eyes and silky strawberry blonde hair. Even at age three, I know she will be a heartbreaker. We were perfect together as a family. Harry and I were raising Tia how neither of us were, giving her a loving family and a carefree existence.
The letters were signs of his love. Harry never wanted to leave, but his sense of duty to the Wizarding World forced him to. Whenever he was away, I received a letter in the early morning. How he managed to have them arrive at the same time every time was a mystery to me. However, I did not really care because I loved those letters. I had a small wooden chest that I kept them in. His job took him away so frequently that the chest was almost full. I would have probably needed to get a bigger one soon; not many more letters would have fit.
He has been gone for three days so far. The first letter, the haiku, I received an hour after he left, at 9 a.m., the same time as always. It was short but sweet, because he wrote it just for me. The second letter came the next morning at 9 a.m., just as usual. I recognized the format of this letter from when Harry read some of a muggle playwright, Shakesrodd or something like that, to Tia as a bedtime story. The third letter came yesterday at, big surprise, 9 a.m. as well. This one was funny, especially how Harry knew exactly how I would react to his obsession with muggle culture. The poem, however, was perfectly suited for us. We have had our bad moments, moments where we almost separated, but we persevered to get where we are: madly in love and raising our daughter …
It is 9:30 am. There is no letter. This is not right. Currently, I am sitting in my squishy chair, staring out the window, looking for our black-capped screech owl. His recent letters sit on my lap. The anthology is also on my lap. It is actually really good. There are many different types of love poems in it: true love, addictive love, abusive love, unrequited love, and lost love. I read through the entire book, skipping the ones about lost love. I do not want to think about that because I have a feeling that something is terribly wrong.
Time seems to past slowly. Its 9:45 … 9:50 … 9:55 … With each passing minute, my heart painfully contracts and I start to panic.
XXX
I awake to pounding on the door. I must have fallen asleep. I look down to see Tia curled up on me, still sleeping. Around 10:15, she came into the sitting room, wanting to be held. So I emptied my lap and settled her in it. We both must have dozed off. I see the time is now 11:38. I look about hopefully, but there is no owl, no letter.
As the pounding starts again, I remember why I was awoken. I gently lift Tia up and resettle her in the chair with a blanket tucked around her. She just snuggles into the warmth I left in the chair, still sound asleep. I walk to the door and open it, blinking in the blinding sunlight. There, on our doorstep stands Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head Auror and Harry's boss.
"Draco, I'm afraid I have some bad news," he says. "There was an incident late last night. Harry was working on tracking Avery, as you know. Avery led Harry into a trap. We could observe that Rookwood, the Carrow siblings, Greyback, and Yaxley were in the room where Avery led Harry. From what we could gather, it appears that Harry cast a very powerful Confringo curse. However, it seems that he changed the nature of it; he poured all his magical strength into the curse so it exploded out from him, killing everyone present. Everything in the room was incinerated, but we could identify the people who were there by their magical signatures. Also, this was left in the center of the burn pattern." Kingsley pulls a long skinny box out of his robes and holds it out to me. "We are very sorry for your loss, Draco; Harry will be greatly missed by all. However, take heart that he died sacrificing himself to rid the world of the last loose Death Eaters."
I just stand there, stocked. His words are not processed by my brain. It could not be. Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived Twice, The Savior of the Wizarding World, could not be dead. It must be a mistake. I stare at the box Kingsley holds, not comprehending. Slowly I reach out and take it from him. I gently lift the lid.
Inside, nestled in a bed of red velvet, is my husband's wand. The eleven inch holly wood and phoenix feather wand is mockingly unharmed, just like when Harry first bought it twelve years ago. It is in the wrong place, though; it belongs in Harry's hand. That is when it hits me: Harry is never coming back to us, to me.
I break down into sobs. There was no stopping it. I sink to my knees, keening as I clutch the wand to my chest. I am hysteric; I am screaming out my grief and my heartache. The noise must have woken Tia, because she comes stumbling down the hall to me.
"Papa, wha's wwong?" she asks coming around to face me. "Wen iz Da-Da cumin 'ome?"
I pull myself together enough to pull my daughter into my arms, hugging her to me. "Sweatheart," I whisper, "Da-Da is not going to come home."
She does not understand exactly what I meant; she is too young to. However, she understands enough that she starts crying as well.
Kingsley clears his throat. "There is something else. We found this on the desk in Harry's hotel room". In his hand is a letter addressed to me. I opened it and read it and cry at the last words Harry ever wrote to me.
XXX
Draco,
Though I may be gone
My love for you is still true
'Til we meet again.
You are my dragon
You are stronger than you think
You will survive this.
I know you feel pain
Time will heal your heartache some
You may feel better.
I'm sorry I left you
To raise Tia on your own
You will raise her right.
Your beautiful face,
Shining with an inner glow,
Bought light to my life.
.
Always with love,
~ Harry