This house is deadly silent. And the silence is making it hard for me to keep up hope.
But I must. Because I promised you. I promised you I would never lose hope.
And I keep my promises.
But the war is over. It has been for so long now. And I keep wondering. I keep wondering when you will come back.
Any day now. You'll return any day now.
But the days pass, and no one comes. Not even the mailman touches this house anymore. The letters stopped coming long ago.
I still have the last one. I keep it on my dresser. It is yellowed and nearly rips every time I open it. It has been opened and refolded so many times.
I don't have to read it to know what it says. But I open it anyway, to see your handwriting. Jagged and messy, but legible. Your language is formal, as you always were. One of the things I loved most about you.
The date was three years ago.
Our anniversary. Three years ago.
You know, no one was more surprised than I was when you decided to fight for our side during the war.
It went against your father, whom you adored. It went against your training. It went against all of your breeding and everything you believed.
But, as you pointed out to me with a smirk on your handsome face, it was the side I was on.
And that was where you wanted to be.
But when your father came looking for you, Dumbledore insisted you run.
You, as a Slytherin, had no problem with running.
But you had a problem with leaving me.
You promised you would write, despite my warnings that it wouldn't be safe.
And you did.
Until three years ago.
Then, the letters stopped coming.
And everyone I loved had died or disappeared during the war.
Everyone but you.
Once, last year, Hermione stopped by.
No one had heard from her in months, so I was surprised.
She asked me how I was, and I replied that I was holding on.
She asked what it was I was holding on to, and I looked at her like she was insane.
"Draco, of course."
She looked concerned, and I insisted she tell me what for.
"Ginny," she said, her voice full of something that sounded suspiciously like pity. "Ginny, he's not coming back."
"What? Of course he is. He promised."
She didn't say anything after that. But I could see it in her eyes. She thought what I feared more than anything.
That he had gotten to you, and you weren't coming back.
But, you told me to never lose hope. That hope was something you had never known, until me. And that if I lost it, I would be letting you go.
So, I will keep waiting.
Besides, you'll come soon.
Any day now.
