Please read this note. It is crucial to your understanding of the story.
Plot wise, this story is canon compliant through the end of 5th year. However, it is set in the modern era. Think of it this way: I've essentially picked up all of Harry's time at Hogwarts and moved it forward several years into the future. This change was necessary to allow Draco and Hermione to communicate via cell phone.
In this story, phones are allowed at Hogwarts. That said, they're not popular and the service is unreliable. Normally, only muggleborns have them.
Nothing else is different. At least, not until the story begins.
Prologue
"Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together?
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences."
It was pouring.
Mothers grabbed their kids and turned up their hoods. Businessman muttered under their breath and held briefcases over their heads. Pedestrians ran for the shelter of the indoors.
Amidst the chaos, one man walked slowly, seemingly unbothered by the downpour. His blond hair and upturned nose were distinctly aristocratic, but his eyes ruined the image. They were the grey of a sky about to storm, and the danger lurking behind them was obvious.
He didn't seem to have a destination in mind. Instead, he meandered past shops and houses aimlessly. Then, abruptly, he stopped in front of a bookstore.
The clerk welcomed him as he blinked, adjusting to the heat. "Can I take your jacket?" She was pretty, maybe 19 or so.
"No," he replied, "I only need a minute." His shoes clicked as he strode to the back of the store. It was quiet there, long since deserted by earlier patrons. The section label read Mysteries, but that was out of date. The shelves were really a mish-mash of every type of book imaginable.
He reached into his pocket. The letter was slightly damp but still, he decided, legible.
The man stared at the shelves for only a minute before indiscriminately shoving his precious cargo between a Greek history book and scientific journal. To be polite, he grabbed a novel to buy.
His task completed, Draco Malfoy stepped back into the pouring rain.
The woman loved bookstores. The smell of them. Their comfortable quiet. And, as the skies finally cleared, she could think of nothing better to do than walk to the one in her neighborhood.
The chimes on the door announced her arrival.
Alison barely bothered to look up from her drawing. "Why am I not surprised to see you?
"Possibly because I live here during every break." Her friend laughed, but the conversation ended there. That was one of the reasons they got on so well: both preferred silence.
Instead of chatting, the woman meandered through History and Fiction. Nothing caught her eye, so she kept walking until she found herself in the back. It was her favorite part of the store, where was no logic to the book's placement. They just were.
Her fingers trailed along musty spines, taking in in the variety of textures and colors. There was something reassuring about the continuity of how the books felt, despite their differences. Except.
Except something was wrong. All of a sudden, there was paper without a binding.
Upon closer inspection, the woman discovered a letter in the sea of books. The lack of address and postage convinced her it was not forgotten, but rather intentionally left.
Turning the letter over in her hands, she mulled her options. She could turn it into Alison, but her friend wouldn't care. Neither would the actual owners. And it seemed a shame to waste such a potential for intrigue. Really, there was only one thing to be done.
The woman slid her finger under the fold, breaking the wax seal in one fluid motion. A single page slid out. Water had caused the writing to bleed, but it was still clear enough to decipher.
To whom it may concern:
You'll never know me and I'll never know you. It has to be that way.
I anticipate being dead fairly soon. And since I can't stand the idea of disappearing from this world unknown, I'd like to tell you a story.
Her hands had begun to shake.
It all began before I was even born.
You see, my family is well known. Very well known, and very connected. It's just that not all of those connections are good connections. My grandfather became involved with some very dangerous people. From there, my parents were sucked in. My parents, and now me.
I'm not cut out to be brutal, and I hate the person I'm becoming. I save who I can, but it never feels like enough. I hate myself for it.
Do you hate me, dear stranger? I'll forgive you if you do.
Would it help, though, if I told you I was only doing it because I'm being threatened? If I told you not a day goes by without someone assaulting me or screaming at me? Are those suitable excuses? I don't think so. Because I know another boy just like me. Involved in it from the very beginning. Constantly suffering. Yet, he's never cruel.
I'm cruel.
Eventually, this life is going to catch up with me. When it does, I just want someone to know that I was sorry. That's all I ask of you. To remember that I was so fucking sorry it tore me apart.
Once upon a time, I wandered into this bookstore while dreaming of running away from my responsibilities. The people were kind. They made me feel welcome. I don't spend much time in this part of the world, but I think the right person will find my letter here.
If you've read this far, that's already more than I ever hoped.
Thank you.
Sincerely,
Me
The woman would never be able to explain what she did next. One moment she was holding that terrifying letter. The next, she was reaching for a pen and paper.
You are more than what you are made. You are more than your past. I hope you find this.
If you ever want to add to your letter: 44-020-989-3998. I assure you, I've heard worse.
The universe seemed to be offering her a thread. The woman was determined to weave it into her own story.
With that, Hermione Granger rose to her feet. She had a Burrow to get to.
Draco jumped as the wards he'd placed on his envelope were torn apart. Had someone really found it that quickly?
As shocked as he was, however, a sly smile flitted across his face. Whatever else happened, he would die with the knowledge that someone understood him. Likely not forgave, but understood.
He let the information sit for a few days. Then Saturday came and it was overcast, but not entirely unpleasant. So, for the second time in two weeks, Draco Malfoy made a rash decision. He walked to the town. It seemed ridiculous to bother with a glamour in the muggle village.
He didn't speak to the clerk this time. Instead, Draco headed straight for the back. The books were in the same order, so it was easy enough to identify the place the letter should've been.
It was gone.
Someone had read it and cared enough to take it. Wearing a rare genuine smile, Draco reached down for a random Greek history book. It would make a good memento, he decided, of being brave.
As he raised it off the shelf though, a scrap of paper fell out. A response, he realized immediately. He hadn't even considered–
The wards being disturbed paled in comparison to the surprise of the little note. So simple. So life-changing.
Responding would be another risk, but then, Draco had already accepted that death was imminent. He hurried out of the shop, desperate to somehow get his hands on a telephone. The Mysteries sign bristled against him as he strode past. It was a comforting little piece of irony.