A/N: This is for the "A Letter From My Hogwarts Days" Challenge! A note on how to read the letter: Anything written in between -'s ( -stupid-) is something that's been crossed through. There's no strikethrough button, so we'll just settle for that at the moment. Here we are!
What You Deserve
June 31, 1997
-I doubt you'll really be alive to receive this in ten years, but if you made it I hope you realize what a fucking coward you really were, you useless bas-
-Fuck you, I hope you aren't alive to receive this letter-
Dear -Sniveling Pathetic Arse- -Fucking Nancy Bastard- Draco Malfoy,
If, by some bloody unwanted miracle, you're still alive at this point in time and you get this goddamned letter, I really would like -to tear you limb from- to know what you're thinking. In case you're as much of a blasted moron ten years from now as I am at this very moment, I'll just give you a rundown of all the bloody-fucking-horrible things you've done so that maybe you'll have the common decency to off yourself.
Let's start off slow so that maybe, by some stretch of the imagination, your infantile mind may be able to grasp what's being said. Your first problem is that you were born. Not much to explain there, is there? Should have strangled yourself with the umbilical cord when you were in the bloody womb. Your second problem is that you idolized -your damned bastard fath- Lucius Malfoy, a self-serving bigot who never gave a good damn about you or your mother, who is your third problem. Narcissa Malfoy loved you, and you pissed that away to run off and make Daddy proud. Hope it was worth it in the future, you worthless pile of piss, because at the moment it doesn't feel like I'll ever be worth anything again. I'm not even going to number the rest of your problems. Here they are:
Because you and your bloody ideology place so much stock in pure blood, there are no forks in your family tree. You thought the damn Mudbloods were backwards and you're all but fucking your sodding cousins. Maybe the inbreeding explains why your're such a fucking useless moron.
You're a nancy and a coward and a disappointment.
You look like –your fa- Lucius Malfoy, and you deserve to look like him as well. I hope every time you look at yourself in the mirror, you see his goddamned bastard face.
If Voldemort (and I hope you absolutely piss yourself reading that name) has killed your mum, it's your bloody fault.
If Crabbe or Goyle or Pansy have died, that is also your bloody fault.
In fact, let's cut to the good part: Everyone who dies from here on out? Their blood is on your fucking hands because you, you fucking pathetic bastard, you killed Albus Dumbledore. And I know you. Right now, you're justifying it to yourself- I didn't do it, Snape did! Severus Snape killed him!
Severus Snape hasn't done a bloody fucking thing that you haven't forced him to do. You fixed the vanishing cabinet. You let the Death Eaters in the , you, you.
Yeah, that's another one of your problems. Everything's about you. –I hope you die- I'd kill myself right now if I didn't know that I deserve to suffer the rest of this war.
I don't have much else to say to you. At least, nothing that doesn't continue on the theme of how fucking terrible you are. I really do hope you die a horrible slow painful death for what you've done.
You don't deserve any better.
-Draco Malfoy
The letter, ink fading and parchment brown from age, sat in the dead center of his father's desk, and Scorpius couldn't tear his eyes away from it. He'd never seen that much cursing anywhere. What was more, he'd never heard his father say a single swear. Surely, this letter was some sort of joke. His father, the greatest man in the whole world… Scorpius' face twisted into a glare as he violently willed the letter to go up in flames. It was lies! All of it was lies. His dad would never, ever do any of the terrible things written on that piece of paper.
"Scorp, your mum wants you to-"
Scorpius nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning on his heel quickly to face his father. The sight of his dad standing there just made the hate for that letter burn even hotter in Scorpius' heart. As guilty as he felt for sneaking into his dad's private study, it was nothing compared to what he felt about that letter.
His dad was staring at the letter on the table as if he expected it to start reading itself aloud for the world to hear. There was something in his eyes, as well, something Scorpius had never seen. He looked as if…as if he really believed all the awful things written on that parchment.
"Dad, who wrote that awful thing? I didn't mean to read it, honest, but I couldn't help myself! Dad, who'd say those things?" Scorpius asked, barely managing to keep his voice at a normal letter. He was full of righteous indignation on behalf of his father, and he wanted someone to blame.
Draco, almost in a trance, went to the desk and sat heavily in one of the chairs in front of it; Scorpius stood awkwardly a few feet away, wondering why his father looked as if the world had collapsed on his shoulders.
"I said those things, Scorp," Draco said wearily, face in his hands. He couldn't look at his son while he said it, he just couldn't.
Scorpius' jaw dropped open in shock, and his face quickly formed into a scowl. "Were you cursed? You must've been cursed, Dad!"
At this, Draco let out an unwilling chuckle. Scorpius wondered vaguely how someone could laugh and that laugh be the saddest sound in the world. "I wasn't cursed. I was… I was angry. More than angry."
Scorpius slid down onto the floor with a heavy thump, staring at his father, transfixed. His father wouldn't lie, but how could the person who wrote that letter and the best dad in the whole world possibly be the same person?
"Everything in that letter is true, Scorp," Draco said, and Scorpius felt the corners of his eyes sting in an unpleasant way. "I did terrible, terrible things. I still…" His voice trailed off, and Scorpius really wanted his dad to take his hands away from his face, just to make sure he wasn't the only one crying.
"I killed a man. Not just any man, but Albus Dumbledore."
Scorpius knew who Dumbledore was. It was one of his bedtime stories- King Arthur and Merlin, Harry Potter and Dumbledore.
"I betrayed my mother, put the whole world in jeopardy."
The whole world. Scorpius wondered how big the whole world was.
"Everyone hated me. I hated myself."
No one could hate his father. It didn't make sense. As far as Scorpius could tell, Draco Malfoy was the best thing on two legs.
"Dad, I don't hate you," Scorpius said after a moment of silence.
Draco pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes, pressed hard, rubbed, and pulled his hands away. The grey of his eyes was ringed in red, and Scorpius could guess that he probably looked about the same at the moment. His dad stared at him, hard, like Scorpius held the key to a really important discovery. Scorpius wasn't sure what he was looking for, so he just stared back, and finally said,
"Do you still hate yourself, Dad? Like in the letter?"
Draco looked at Scorpius, then at the letter on the desk, then back at Scorpius. There was a long silence, a forever-silence. Scorpius figured the whole world couldn't be that big, or else it couldn't get that quiet.
"I haven't hated myself for about eight years, Scorp."
Scorpius frowned, searching for significance in the number. Eight, eight, eight…
"Hey!" he said suddenly, brightening. "I'm eight!"
Draco grinned, and it looked strange since his eyes were still red and wet. "Oh, are you? How strange."
Scorpius looked at his father suspiciously. "Me being eight and you not hating yourself…they're connected!" he accused.
Draco shrugged, standing from the chair and pulling Scorpius up off the rug and slinging him around onto his shoulders. "Reckon they could be," he said airily.
"Mum! Mum!" Scorpius shouted excitedly, making Draco flinch as he was yelling very close to his dad's ear. "Mum, Dad's just said something nice!"
"Has he?"Astoria called from somewhere a few rooms away, sounding as if she were laughing. "How unusual!"
Draco humphed and started for the door of the study, planning to tellAstoriaa few nice things as well. The letter caught his eye and he balked, staring it down.
The letter had plagued him for years. He remembered the awful night it had appeared on his door step. Even more vividly, he remembered that terrified night he'd written it. The guilt, all-consuming, and the hate, even more so.
"Reckon that letter'd make a nice bit of fire kindling?" Draco asked, a lot more casual than he really felt.
Scorpius crowed in delight, scrambling down off his dad's back and running to the desk. He snatched the letter and tossed it into the fire, running from the room and yelling for his mum to come, come listen to what'd just happened.
Draco stared at the curling, burning parchment in the flame, watched as it turned to ash. The truth was, he didn't need it anymore. He'd made his peace with everything he'd done, and that was that. The last of the letter burnt to nothing, but Draco didn't see. He was already in the kitchen, hoisting a gleeful Scorpius into the air and waltzing Astoria in giggling circles around the dining table.