Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
A/N. This is actually the second in a series of "letter fics" (I know that's not a thing, but really it's the easiest way to describe these), the first being Hero, but I decided to publish them as separate stories because they each concern different characters.
A thousand thanks to ImagineAspen and Elinva for reviewing Hero. Your kind words surprised and delighted me.
I should also mention that, while I realize that the recent Pottermore updates tell us a lot more about Draco, I must confess that I haven't read them yet. So this is purely my own interpretation of this very troubled character. Hope you enjoy!
Dear Hermione,
I write you this in the knowledge that you will never read it. Even if I were not too proud to send it, I think that you would probably cast it on the fire, unopened.
On second thoughts, I think you would open it, and read it, and your eyes would fill with the compassion that always used to irk me, like a hair under my collar… and I never asked myself until now why it bothered me so much, but now I think I know. I was so lonely, especially after fifth year, and there was no one to look at me with that compassion, except Dumbledore, right before he died because of me.
All these things considered, I think I'm glad that you'll never receive this.
And they still haunt me, your screams, that night at Malfoy Manor after the Snatchers captured you. They asked me to identify you. I tried not to give the three of you away, but of course it was no use…
By then, Ollivander had been in our cellar for half a year, and Luna and Dean for almost as long. I'd forgotten what it was like not to be woken in the night by screams and muffled sobs and a hissing, snakelike voice.
If I still have nightmares of that time, how much worse must yours be?
You know, Hermione, I've known that I was intelligent since I was five years old, and Father made me translate a book of ancient runes. He wouldn't say it to my face, but I heard him talking to Mother, telling her that there were many third years at Hogwarts who couldn't have done as well.
I was handsome, and privileged, with wealth such as you could only dream of. For all these reasons, I could have reached the stars. You, on the other hand, were only a filthy mudblood. Yet you eclipsed me utterly.
I, who could have been the brightest flame of the Hogwarts year, watched you getting better marks than me all the time, and seemingly effortlessly. As time went on, you grew beautiful and fearless and determined, and poised. You punched me in the face in third year. My father was disappointed in me. I was even more disappointed in myself.
They didn't torture Luna and Dean that much, actually, although with Ollivander the Dark Lord was merciless.
But when you were dragged across the floor, looking so terrified but determined, and so terribly worn and thin, I knew by the laughter in my aunt's eyes that she would have no mercy….
You see, I could never be as good as you, on any count; only in Quidditch, and in that Potter was as bright a star as you were in academia. And you would never recognize me as a rival and potential equal, because you were on the side of the Light, and I walked in shadows. One smile from you might have given me a twisted sense of joy, even while I hated you. That smile never came.
I don't want you to think I'm blaming you, which is another reason why I'm glad I'm not going to send this letter. Because I guess that I do blame you, because it makes life more bearable for me. It's less awful to be alone with your own thoughts when you can blame someone.
My aunt Bellatrix carved the word "Mudblood" on your arm.
I wonder if you have that scar still.
I can't begin to tell you how conflicted my feelings about you have been – how much I miss hating you. And as much as I miss hating you, I miss even more the friendship between us that could never be.
I never thought that the one person from Hogwarts I'd miss would be you, Hermione.
I'm pretty sure I called you a mudblood to your face, sometime in second year, and other times since then. I'm not going to apologize. I don't know what precisely it is, but this is not a letter of apology, Hermione. I'm not sorry for how awful I was to you for six years. I won't let myself be sorry, because I'm afraid that that way madness lies.
You see, there are so many people I should apologize to. Dream on, all of you, for I never will!
And still it haunts me, the terror and remorse, though I try so hard to keep it at bay.
I saw the red blood run down your arm; it was as red as mine – but I knew that already. Don't think I hadn't seen mudbloods tortured enough times before you came along. I still believed that they were mudbloods….
But you broke under torture; you cried and screamed, while Weasley's cries from the cellar came echoing up in a demented chorus. In that moment, you were no longer the proud, brave Gryffindor.
I looked at you lying there, and saw my own reflection.
Voldemort tortured me too, Hermione, many times. Even Aunt Bella once cast the Cruciatus on me. I cried and screamed and begged for mercy just as you did; and as I saw you writhing on the floor, we suddenly became equals.
Mine is a twisted mind, I know; but it was only then that I ceased to despise you, when you were at your lowest moment.
If I had been you, I guess that would have been when I began to despise you. But we are two sides of the same coin, mirror images, playing out each other's lives in reverse.
In any case, let this letter be a request that I will never send. Wherever you are – and I know that your future is much brighter than mine – I will be in some measure content if you remember me. Hate me if you want to, or, what's worse, despise and pity me. But have some regard for the rival I could have been to you, if we hadn't been born on different sides of this war.
Yours, more sincerely than you will ever know,
Draco Malfoy
A/N. "For that way madness lies" is, of course, a Hamlet reference.
I know that while Hermione appeared to break under torture and tell Bellatrix everything, she in fact lied, and so did not betray their secret after all. I'm presuming that Draco doesn't know this – is this all too far-fetched? Please review, and tell me what you think!
Coming soon (hopefully) – a Latin translation of Hero