Death Seems Better Than Life
Seven years and he was still in mourning of a man who had wanted him dead since they were eleven years old, possibly earlier than that. He was sick in the head. A horrible person who needed serious help. He was Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! And everyone knew that Draco Malfoy had hated Harry Potter more than anyone, except perhaps the Dark Lord. But that was all for show. For the public to believe that the heir to the Malfoy fortune, or what was left of it, was following in his prestigious family's footsteps.
Behind closed doors, in only the privacy that Harry's apartment offered them, Harry and Draco had one of the closest relationships in the wizarding world. Well/ that was Harry's dream at least.
He'd been obsessed with Malfoy since Hogwarts and that hadn't changed in the nine years since. What had changed was that Malfoy's father had jumped entirely off the edge he had been toeing for so long. Malfoy senior had viciously murdered his own son. Didn't use the killing curse or anything so simple, he literally drowned his only child in alcohol from the estate's stores and then lit him on fire. The damage was so great the Ministry only had a confession from Lucius Malfoy's own mouth; the Aurors who had questioned him had said that all he spoke of was killing Draco. Since no one couldn't locate Draco Malfoy or anyone who even had an inkling of an idea where he might be if he wasn't burned into the drawing room floor at Malfoy Manor.
Harry had been one of the Aurors to inspect the manor for any signs of where Draco may have gone. He'd been the only one to investigate Draco's room. It had been all he could do to apparate to his apartment before he broke down into sobs. Everything in the once elegantly decorated room had been destroyed in all ways from shredding to burning to what looked like the effect of acid. Pictures had been blasted irrecognizably, silk clothing was shredded to very rich rags, bedding melted to the beautifully crafted bed frame.
It really looked like Lucius Malfoy had been so insane that he really had murdered his son. He was tried before the Wizengamot and sentence to life in Azkaban. He only lasted about three months before he took a broken piece of his cell wall and beat himself until he died of blood loss.
Harry had mourned Draco's death everyday since, even going so far as taking a fairly long leave of absence from the Department in order to research any sign as to where Draco may be hiding. It was a stupid quest from the start but necessary for Harry to admit the blond was truly gone.
After returning to work it had been hard to maneuver his way through the days. He took the most insane assignments available in order to keep his mind from betraying him to grief. He thought it ironic that if Draco had been around and on speaking terms with him, he'd have said the danger he willingly flirted with was part of his being a Gryffindor. Funny the things you'll miss when you know you'll never hear them again.
Hermione and Ron tried to get Harry out of his relationship with the insane, but it only led to Harry ignoring them entirely for several weeks before agreeing to move in to their home. They seemed to believe his obsession had to do with loneliness and didn't even consider the fact that it was loss of something he had never had.
Seven years later and he was still flirting with death on a regular basis. He still shared a home with the now married Ron and Hermione. And he still mourned the loss of Draco Malfoy.
An envelope had been left by an unknown owl while Harry was at work. Hermione had no idea who the owl belonged to and therefore cast every detecting spell she knew on the small piece of paper before leaving it for Harry to find.
The penmanship looked vaguely familiar, but still indiscernible as for anyone person. Opening the letter Harry felt a small bubble of hope pop up in his chest that it may be information concerning a new assignment that may put him harm's way; there had been an extreme decrease in life threatening assignments lately.
Two things fell from the envelope once the seal was broken. One was a letter written in an overly exaggerated elegant hand, the other was a picture of a beautiful and obviously expensive cottage. It had large bay windows, a small covering of ivy and honeysuckle, and a thatched roof which was most likely only transfigured to look that way. What caught Harry's eye the most was the back of a blond man. His hair was sleek and shoulder length, styled in a way Harry's hair would never achieve no matter how much magic was used.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Only one man had that hair and he was dead. Harry closed his eyes and forced himself to breath regularly. Easier said than done, but after a few moments he didn't feel so much like a fish removed from water. Setting the picture face down on the bed Harry picked up the letter.
It wasn't very long, but it was written in a perfect hand that he now recognized as the man's from the picture. His name was written across the top of the page, there was no date in the corner.
Harry ,
I have probably written this letter eighty times in the last week. I wanted it to be perfect if I was actually going to send it, so maybe you would understand better. My father is insane, or I guess was is a more correct choice. He murdered my mother and tried to do the same to me several times. He nearly succeeded the last time, which happened to be the scene the Ministry observed at the manor seven years ago. I barely had a chance to apparate out of the house before the fire started. I let the Ministry and everyone else believe I was dead in order to live the life I know I wouldn't be allowed after my father's actions.
These seven years have been increasingly empty for me. My residence in the French countryside is quite a bit more dull than I anticipated; I can't venture far from my front door without some form of disguise which is far too troublesome for me.
The free time has given me many opportunities to think about how I feel and felt about people I could no longer be in contact with. You were the main person on my mind, as annoying as it was. We have never really had a friendly relationship which I fully take the blame for since it was my upbringing that forced me to resent you. I'm sure you still feel the same as you did in school, but if you ever want to talk to me and let me and let me explain myself to you, you may stop by my cottage any time.
I hope your past years have been more eventful than mine. Still the self-sacrificial Gryffindor? Or have you finally grown a sense of self preservation?
Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy
P.S. Hopefully this goes without saying but if you tell anyone I'm alive I'll hex you until you beg for mercy.
Harry laid in bed and stared at the parchment in his hands. It had to be a dream. Draco was dead. And even if he wasn't he would not be writing to Harry Potter of all people. And certainly not to apologize for the way they had behaved in school. It was the twins playing a joke, a really sick joke. Thats the only logical choice here, right?
Harry sighed and drew the covers over his head. The picture was somewhere next to him, the letter tucked safely in his pocket. Tomorrow he was going to ask the twins about the letter; only a few vague questions just in case.
He curled up under the covers and stared into the darkness before finally drifting in to dreams of blond hair and blood.
The twins' shop in Diagon Alley was as crowded as ever when Harry showed up the next morning. They had just released a new product in the form of various candies containing a small about of Vieritaserum. He would have to remember to pick some up on the way out.
A small girl working in the front pointed Harry to a door that read Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley: Creators and Founders of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It still made him chuckle that anyone could call Fred and George Mr. Weasley. Somehow it never seemed to fit them, probably because they still acted like thirteen year olds instead twenty-eight. Some people never change.
Both twins looked up from their papers as the door to their office opened. Identical twisted smiles graced their faces.
"Oh, who do we have here Fred?"
"I do believe its out own suicidal Auror come to ask our help in his newest attempt at sin."
Harry sighed. He most definitely was not suicidal, he simply didn't enjoy living anymore. Not that it was any of the twins' business, but it was much safer and saner to play along.
"Sorry guys, but if I asked for help it would count as murder. I'm sure you two don't want that on your consciouses. What would your mum think?" He looked at the stone floor and sniffled as if crying from the atrocity of it.
"Ah, George I do believe we've made the little lad cry. He's so in touch with his feminine side. Girls would kill for a man like that. Too bad for them Harry here prefers blokes, don't he." Fred said, laying his arms across Harry's shoulders.
"Of course, Fred. But the ladies also enjoy a little man-on-man action. Maybe thats why he's here! He wants to proposition us to join him in a threesome. Sorry mate, but we only join in group sex acts if theres a girl involved. Though I'm sure I know one that wouldn't mind a go with 'the Chosen One'." George placed his arms around Harry's waist and whispered in his ear.
Harry twisted himself out of the twins' arms. He sighed, annoyed. As good of friends as the two were they could be extremely tiresome. He just wanted to know about the letter so he could get on with his life. If they didn't tell him soon he felt as if he were going to explode from the mix of anticipation and fear churning in his gut.
"As much as I enjoy your company, I don't ever want to see as much as your bodies as sex entails. I only want to ask a simple question before I leave you two to whatever sexual plans you want to make for this evening."
Fred and George stood, arms around each others shoulders, in front of Harry, identical smirks lighting their faces.
"I got a letter last night from someone... important to me, who I'm sure can not write at the present moment. So would either of you like to confess to this joke or should I test one of your new products on its creators?"
They both stared blankly at him for a moment before realization lit their faces. Their grins returned as they moved to be directly in front of Harry.
"We haven't played a trick on you in a long time Harry."
"The only thing we've sent you were invitations to parties, which you so rudely ignored."
"Which leaves only one person to be the sender of your mystery letter, and thats the one who signed it."
"You can even test us if you like, we have nothing to hide, for once."
Harry stared at the floor, afraid of the emotions his eyes may be showing. The hurricane his mind had become was far too much for him to comprehend. Anger, fear, worry, relief, disbelief, temptation, anticipation; mostly anger though. Malfoy really was alive, in France no less. And of all the people he could have shown his position to, written to, he choses the man hes been fighting with since childhood.
It was simply too much for him. Harry sat in one of the few chairs in the office. It happened to be a lovely emerald green color. Fred and George exchanged similar looks of amusement.
"So Harry, its about time you got off. Plenty of assignments for a young Auror these days."
"Yes, off you go. And bring some of our new candies with you, you never know when you may need them for something important."
They pushed Harry from their office, grabbing several stacks of their candy and stuffing them in his pockets.
"Be sure to tell Draco Malfoy what a git he is for us when you see him." whispered Fred at his left.
"And be glad we don't know where he is or we'd make sure he really did die this time." George on his right.
And, with that, Harry was left out in the cold December air, feeling nothing but the hurricane raging withing his mind.