Story Title/Link: Dear Draco
School and Theme: Ilvermorny, Redemption
Special Rule: POV of a Muggle
Mandatory Prompt: [Character] Original Character
Additional Prompt(s): [Dialogue] "I need you to understand that I am not emotionally involved in this situation." [Word] Invisible
Year: 4
Word Count: 1485
Summary: After the Deatheater trials are over, Aster feels like there has been a miscarriage of justice. When she was being held and tortured in the Malfoy dungeons, Draco Malfoy was the only thing standing between herself and death. He managed to save her, and so she agrees to testify on his behalf alongside Harry Potter. However, Draco receives a life sentence, and she tries to keep his hope alive through the only means of communication open to them, letters.
Author's Note: Aster is 23, a Muggle, and was married to a half-blood wizard named Stanley Peakes. They went into hiding as Muggles, Muggleborns, and half-bloods were being persecuted and were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor dungeons. Stanley died within the first week after being extensively tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Aster was the plaything of Amycus and Alecto Carrow and was tortured extensively until Draco Malfoy finally freed her.
Dear Draco,
They took you away so quickly; I never got to thank you properly for what you did for me. I'm so sorry. I really thought my testimony would help you. I had no idea they would twist it like that. I wish I could have spoken to you before they dragged you off like some common criminal.
I asked about visitation, but the Aurors said you're only allowed two visits per year! The Auror — Smith, I think — looked so smug when he told me, like it was nothing more than you deserved. You have no idea how tempted I was just to slap the man across the face. I hope you don't mind, but I put my name down as your two visits per year, and I also put my name down for the visits to your mother and father. Since you weren't allowed contact with each other, I thought that I could pass on any messages you have for you. Until then, though, I'm going to write you letters. The smug Auror said you were allowed to receive and write one letter per week, so that's what we'll do. I don't trust them to provide you with writing materials, so I've included a standard-issue blunt quill (just in case they demand a normal quill is a weapon or something else ridiculous) and some basic grade parchment. I know it's not much, and you must be slowly going mad in there already, but hopefully, it won't be long until the first visit.
I spoke to Mr Potter yesterday after I spoke with the Aurors, and he said that he was trying to have the sentences for you and your mother reviewed. I know it seems hopeless, but if anyone can do it, then that man can. Stubbornness just seems to ooze out of the man's every pore. I hear you went to school with him, and, honestly, he must have driven you mad. But he's trying, and that makes him amazing in my eyes. Of course, he was already amazing, dealing with that red-eyed maniac.
How're you coping? I know it must be difficult, but perhaps I can send you some books or something to keep you occupied? I'll ask what you're allowed and see what I can do. Are you managing to sleep much? I keep having the most horrible dreams. I spend most of the night drinking tea and trying not to think about it, but maybe that's the wrong way of handling it? People have suggested I see a therapist, your version of a Mind Healer, but there's no point. They wouldn't have the foggiest idea of what I'm going through. You would, though, so I thought we could be each others' therapist? I can tell you my nightly woes, and you could reciprocate in kind. After all, no one else knows what we went through except those in the same situation.
The nightmares always begin the same way. I'm alone in a cell, and I don't know what's happening. The light's so poor that it's almost black, but my eyes have long adjusted to the gloom. I look out through the tiny window high up on the far wall and see that the moon is full tonight. Then things shift, as they often do in dreams, sending beams of silver light through the thick bars. Suddenly, I can make out the looming shadows of the door, the straw pile I sleep on, and the bucket I use for the toilet. My breath looks like powdered silver in the new light, bursting out of my chapped lips in a thick cloud before quickly vanishing into the air. I shift in my corner, the clinking of the chains around my wrists seeming deafening. I can see the red where the cold metal has rubbed my wrists raw, but it stopped being sore a while ago. Without warning, the door swings open. It's the twins again, and I feel my body sag in defeat. They're the worst out of everyone. They draw their wands on me before I can think and then there's nothing but the fire inside my blood, and it rips screams from my raw throat every time my heart beats. And then you're there. You stop them and force them to leave my cell. You wipe the sweat and tears from my face and give me some water to soothe my throat. You stroke my hair like you used to in that dank room, and you whisper to me about the Boy Who Lived when he was only a year old and how he's coming to save us all. And then you look at me, and your grey eyes, usually so sad and tired, turn red and sharp. Your mouth twists into a cruel smile, and suddenly, your hands wrap around my throat. I scratch and twist and thrash, but you're too strong, and, finally, the pain begins to fade. Just before I die, I wake up. I am always more exhausted than before I went to sleep, and I find myself wondering if there's any point in bothering.
What are your nightmares like, because I know you have them; how could you not? The things they made you do, the things you were forced to see. I'm so scared for you, having to cope in that place all alone.
I've begun a campaign of sorts. The 'Free Draco Malfoy' campaign. It's slow going right now, but we'll get there. I've written to the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler to get my version of events out there. There was a bit of backlash, but that's just because people would rather forget about it, regardless of the injustices still unrighted. It's all very 'out of sight, out of mind.' Well, they obviously don't know how determined I am. I'm going to force my testimony down everyone's throats until they never forget the best parts of you. I'm certain the more people who read it; the more will agree that you don't deserve this. You're so young, and you tried so hard, and I swear, I won't let you become invisible.
I had a meeting with the Minister last week, which I only managed because I kicked up such a fuss. I'm furious with the man, if I'm completely honest with you. Do you know what he said to me when I told him that he needed to reread my testimony and do the right thing? He said, and I quote — "I need you to understand that I am not emotionally involved in this situation." Just like that, stone-faced, as if he were refusing the offer of a cup of tea! In all honesty, that was the moment I decided to make contact with the papers and Harry Potter. I can't just leave things like this and know that you're sitting in that horrible place suffering.
You saved me. Don't they understand that? You saved me. Every time you distracted the Carrows, you saved me. Every time you snuck me food and water, you saved me. Every time you would sit with me and tell me about the Boy Who Lived who would save us all, you saved me. You gave me hope, and I owe you my life.
I swear I will never forget that. I'm going to be here for you, writing about nonsense and no doubt driving you insane until, finally, they're forced to let you go.
In the meantime, I want you to write to me. I don't care if you're just describing the walls in your cell; I want to hear it. Trust me; it will help.
Your friend for life,
Aster