I wasn't trying to be mean. I was not aiming to be cruel. I just tried being helpful for a moment.
I grew up alone. Supported by a family which doesn't actually care. Surrounded by friends thinking I was their natural follower because I refused to let go, because I needed to be loved.
You've got your mates, you've got your family behind you when I have no one.
And I'm still trying. Always. Everytime we fight, and not because I'm always the one who has to be blamed, which is often the case, but because I can't stand seeing you hurt, or sad, or angry, especially when I know it's because of me.
And again, I always do it. Hurting you. Getting you mad. Making you cry. Then I see you refusing to go to your best-friend and explain it all, when I you could do it. When I can't really do the same. Because I'm not as needed as you are by my own best friend. When all I do is causing you pain and after feeling guilty.
So I blame you. Because it's the only thing I know, because it's the only thing I can do to hope to be forgiven and get another small chance with you by my side. And if, or when, we break up, your mates will be able to stay with you, repeating you deserved better. And they would be right. I'm not worth it. No one is worth your pain, your sadness, your tears.
I wish I could be better. Better for you. Be at your level and make us work. Be loved by people, be looked up to. Lose some of my flaws for a handful of your qualities.
I'm not like you, Draco.
I'm not like you, and I don't know how to make this work.
Harry.