Dear Neville,

Precisely – you weren't paying attention to what I was up to. I was a wreck. It didn't take me long into that year to realise that I wanted out, but I was too much of a coward to change my mind and do what was right, and besides, Voldermort had threatened my entire family. Just before the other Death Eaters arrived at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Dumbledore offered to help my family go into hiding, and I think, given a little more time, I probably would've accepted his offer. It was awful, being in the Dark Lord's service, but out of favour. My father suffered terribly after he failed to get the Prophecy from Potter at the Ministry, and I wanted to bring my family back into favour. In short, I was a naïve sixteen-year-old who had no idea what he was getting himself in for (So you think my son's attractive, do you? I thought you didn't swing that way...) Also, what do you mean by you "had luck on your side"?

Shortly before I received your last letter, I received a very grumpy one from Scorpius which was mainly angry rambling that I still can't make head nor tail of most of, but I think the gist of his argument with Miss Weasley is that he was helping a younger student with her homework, and Rose took that as him cheating on her. How did their detention go? And what makes you think you'd get invited to my son's wedding?

Potter did leapfrog over Bell. But yes, I suppose he would've ended up Captain anyway, but no one could've predicted that, so Bell should've been given a chance. Perhaps Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, as well as foreseeing that Bell would get cursed, also foresaw Potter going off to travel the world instead of attending his seventh year at Hogwarts, and therefore realised that if he was going to get a chance to be Captain, he had to leapfrog Bell. Alas, we shall never know. I like this sixth-year kid. Are you sure he's not a Slytherin in disguise?

I can't believe you describe Potter as "as close to a god as a human being could be". Excuse me whilst I go vomit... that said, I look forward to my invitation to join the Harry Potter fan club. Take it for granted that I will send a gracious letter of rejection, full of sarcastic praise for our esteemed leader, and a recommendation he should be made Minister for Magic immediately (in reality, I think I would probably die if that happened).

You did become a teacher to get inside students heads. Three daughters! You must be outnumbered at home. And yes, you lot do burden the next generation with their names – my Scorpius has indeed escaped this, as has Emma. They are not, and cannot, be the people we have lost, and we should not ever expect them to be. Besides, I highly doubt I'd be met with much good will if I went around naming my children Voldermort, Bellatrix and the like...

We Slytherins do indeed have each other's backs, but I see no reason why that makes us in any way like Hufflepuffs.

If you think walking from the top of the castle to the bottom and back again once a day is exercise, then you are getting old. I am (or, more accurately, was – I have recently retired and am now merely a generous benefactor at the Ministry to projects which need my input) an Auror, working undercover to round up renegade Death Eaters. Which periodically involves a lot more exertion than merely climbing stairs.

Twelve of me could defeat you in a duel, henceforth, you are not worth twelve of me.

Regarding Emma, I only hope her character arc to standing up for herself is less painful than mine. I am a follower by nature, but I counteracted that by leading the Slytherins in my youth because it made me feel good about myself – strong, powerful... When I joined the Death Eaters at sixteen, I was most definitely being a follower. With regards to Mia, all I am doing is all anyone can do; generalising on the basis of what I know, and therefore the conclusions I draw about muggle borns are based upon the muggle borns I know – Hermione Granger (or Weasley, your preference) is still an insufferable know it all.

Yours reservedly,

Draco

P.S. They do, but it's still there, bubbling underneath the surface, the prejudices ready to rear their ugly heads whenever circumstances avail to them.

P.P.S. Pact made.

P.P.P.S. You and Looney are both mad (you're a teacher, ergo, you are mad), and as a social outcast, it would surely be advisable to marry the next social outcast you come across; you may not get another chance otherwise.

P.P.P.P.S. Yes she is.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Done. I trust everything has gone to plan?

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I suppose that makes sense. But aren't you able to embellish stories in a way which doesn't involve you becoming the hero?

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. None whatsoever.