Dear Ron and Hermione,

I hope it's okay that I use your first names. I've started this letter too many times and I have potions work to do, so I'm not going to start over anymore. Apologies if it looks messy. I owe the both of you (and many others) more apologies than I could ever think I'd owe anyone. I will not be offended if you don't read this letter, if you'd rather throw it away and continue hating me. But I hope you will give me a chance.

I am not writing this to make excuses to explain away my past. I was a stupid boy who made others feel small to make myself feel better. I was a horrible teenager who hurt and tortured people, who kept prisoners in my basement and played house with a madman. I can only hope I will be a better adult.

I'm sure you think of me as a monster. I think of myself as a monster, too, sometimes. I won't be self-depreciating, but I will be honest. Perhaps by the end of the war I no longer wanted to be fighting. Not because I disagreed with all of their ideals, but because I wanted to die survive.

In the end, I was a pawn for a madman. Forgive me for saying this, but perhaps you both will be able to relate, given how you spent every waking moment with Dumbledore's biggest weapon (yes, I mean Harry).

It was hard to fight what I've learned – to learn new ways to live and see the world. Did you know that muggles have been to the moon? I did not. I think that is fascinating. Even with all the magic at our hands, wizards have never even dreamt of entering space. I am dithering, though.

This summer I underwent what Minerva Professor McGonagall called rigorous re-education. You see, despite being raised my whole life to despise muggles, I had never met a single one. Not until the war, at any rate. And even then, although you may think I am lying, I've never hurt one. Not because I'm particularly noble, but because I believed that muggles are so pathetic that it would be like kicking a puppy. I learned about guns this summer, and nuclear weapons.

Maybe some wizards are simply fearful of muggles. After all, we still spend much time dedicated to learning about witch burnings – as if they were even a cause for fear. Did you know most killed "witches" were actually muggles? Their fear of us caused them to attack their own, which perhaps caused us to fear them.

But I cannot say that was true for me. I was not afraid of muggles, particularly, unless you count the belief that they threatened wizarding society. Polluted blood, I was told, would diminish magic over centuries until we would be nothing but muggles ourselves. Except, when you're a child it is hard to fathom the idea of centuries – the consequences seem immediate. Maybe that was the point.

There aren't any answers for this, either. Did you know that there are wizards in the Department of Mysteries studying genetics and magic? I would like to work there one day, I think. My point is – perhaps we will find out muggle blood does pollute dilute magic blood. But that isn't a reason to commit murder. With or without magic, we are all still humans and we can all adapt. I wish this was something I had understood all along. Magic was essential to me as breathing, until it wasn't. Sometimes the sight of magic makes me sick after all the things I did and I am glad I can no longer use my wand for much.

I know it might be hard to understand, but my parents loved me. Truly. Father is was untouchable and aloof, but it made me crave his acceptance and love more. My most cherished memories are when he would pay me attention; he would sit me on the desk in his study and speak with me as if I were a man, not a young boy. He would tell me about my legacy as a wizard, as a Malfoy. Explain to me the importance of pure blood. Why shouldn't I have believed him?

I know what you're thinking – surely once I was at Hogwarts I should have learned to think differently. You're right, of course. I should have. But even here, I did not learn about muggles or muggleborns. I was surrounded by others who thought those without pure blood had no place in the school. No, it's not an excuse. I could have listened – I was too proud, too set in my ways, too determined to please my father. It's not an excuse, I'm not trying to make excuses.

Then I became a Death Eater. Again, I will not make excuses. I could say I was under pressure, there was a madman in my house, my family was under threat, my other option was death. Perhaps this is not untrue, but nobler wizards that I would have chosen death. Nobler wizards than I would rather have died than do the things I did. I chose, out of my own free will to follow the Dark Lord. I believed in the world he wanted, a world where wizards ruled; where we did not live in fear. I did not realize that we have power already, just as muggles do. I did not realize that we are not oppressed, rather that we live in a world of our choosing – a world that benefits us, a world that makes us oppressors of magical beings and, to some extent, muggles. I did not realize, but that does not excuse me. The consequences are mine, too.

I will not give you details about what I experienced in the war. It was horrendous, it was wrong. I cannot compare it to your experiences – you put yourself under great duress for the good of everyone. I put myself under great duress for the good of nobody except the Dark Lord. Sometimes, in my mind, I am irredeemable, but I try not to give into that. My choices do not define my worth, but they do decide my consequences.

Yes, I hurt people. No, I never killed anyone. No – despite what you may believe, I did not hurt children at Hogwarts. It was not a noble choice, rather it was a line that I felt the Carrows crossed. Wizarding blood – even muggleborn wizarding blood – was worth more, in my eyes, than the blood of muggles. It wasn't as though I wanted to see muggles killed, not at that point. No, I would have done anything for life to go back to the way it was, where I could continue to be quietly superior. But again, this was not because I believed muggles worthy of saving, rather because I believed no one worthy of killing. That isn't a redeemable characteristic of mine, simply a self-serving characteristic.

The brutality at Hogwarts opened up my eyes to something that has been essential to me, recently. The Carrows did not care about who they hurt. The Slytherins were the most accessible to them; there was no one to stand up for us – and that's alright, I understand, really, why everyone believed we got preferential treatment. Why everyone believed we were evil. Some of us were – some of us are. I had to watch my best friend hurt children – and enjoy it. That is neither here nor there, nor is it an excuse. I will stop dithering again.

It made me realize, though, that for some people it was not about blood status or birth. It was simply about causing harm. How could I be part of that kind of a cause? It was the start, you could say, the start of the end. I feel as though I must reiterate, though, that I don't believe this excuses me. I was guilty. I am guilty. I deserve consequences, perhaps more than what has been handed to me.

Then I was home for Easter. When I was a child we would have a big dinner. Spring vegetables, the best lamb I've ever tasted. We would dress nicely, host other families. Pansy often came, as did Vince and Greg. Those were the best times of my life.

Last year, though, I watched people killed in front of me. I had Lovegood and Ollivander in my cellar. No, my dungeons. What kind of person grows up in a house with dungeons? I hadn't known they were there, not until I came home and was given the task of bringing them food and water – when the Dark Lord felt like feeding the prisoners.

Did you know Lovegood is my cousin? A couple times removed, but nonetheless. And Ollivander – both are pureblood. Lovegood a blood traitor, perhaps, but I couldn't see how that made her life any less worthy. And although she was a prisoner in my home, she became my source of comfort with stories of her mother and her life, her friends, her strange animals.

Then, to my surprise, you lot appeared at the manor in the hands of Snatchers. I do not know what I was thinking when I refused to identify you. I don not know that I was thinking at all, except that if you were killed then all hope was lost and this madman would never leave my house. My life would never go back to normal. And I thought, perhaps, that they knew it was you anyway. That if I refused to identify you I would finally be killed. I wanted death so badly in those times – I couldn't stoop so low, of course. Not really. If I had harmed myself, he would have killed my parents as punishment. There is no escape from being a Death Eater, you see. Not even in death. Not unless you die for the cause.

So I simply said no, although of course I recognized Harry. I would recognize him anywhere, even then.

And then, Hermione, you were being hurt by Bellatrix. And I wish I could say I would hear your screams for the rest of my life, but I won't, because that was nothing compared to what I saw at the hands of the Carrows. You are branded, though – not like I, of course. I am branded by choice, poor though it may have been. You are branded because of your birth, due to something you can't control.

Have you heard of cognitive dissonance? I learned about it this summer. When you're presented with knowledge that goes against your beliefs, your brain ignores it – literally, unless you can consciously confront it. It's a muggle idea – as many ideas about the brain are. They call it psychology. I don't know why wizards have never bothered to study the mind, it seems so important.

I grew up experiencing cognitive dissonance at Hogwarts. Not an excuse, no – I say this only to be able to describe when the cognitive dissonance stopped. It was not in my seventh year of Hogwarts because the only thing I understood then was that the Carrow's tortured for the sake of pain. It had nothing to do with ideals or beliefs, so I could separate it from my beliefs. Muggles were lesser, but the Carrow's didn't care about that. They just wanted to cause harm, and that was undoubtedly evil.

No, the moment the cognitive dissonance stopped for me, the moment when I realized that I no longer truly believed what I had been raised to believe, was that moment when I watched Bellatrix carve the word mudblood onto your arm, Hermione. You are the brightest witch of our age, you deserve everything you have earned because you have earned it on sheer talent and wit.

I am sure degradation was the point, with Bellatrix. That and the pain she must have caused you – the lasting scar. Have you ever thought about covering it up with a tattoo? I have, but I won't. My mark is part of me, part of my past. I cannot erase it and I would not want to. Rather, I can only hope it will remind me to be better.

There I go, dithering again. Anyways, that was the first time I perhaps was able to realize that what I believed and how I experienced the world was wrong. I am sorry that you had to be the person to prove that to me in such a gruesome way.

Of course, you got away, Harry with my wand. The danger that put me in – suffice to say I was punished and badly. Did you know it is much harder to practice occlumency without a wand? I do, now. But it was irrelevant at that point, I had the seeds of doubt placed and I looked only to survive from then on. Make little noise, do as I was told, don't argue. I was not allowed to go back to Hogwarts. They wanted to keep an eye on me.

Then of course, we heard about Gringotts (well done on the dragon) and we were off to Hogwarts shortly after. Our only instructions were "do not kill Harry Potter." It did not matter to me, really, provided that if I was alive by the end of everything there was a damn good reason for it.

You three had to continue to save me, of course. I had accepted it, with the Fiendfyre. What a stupid decision, but it was alright. If we were going to kill Harry Potter at least I would be dead, too, and the result would not matter.

But then I lost my best friend. I still hear his screams at night, I'm sure you know what that's like. Then Harry was dead and I was somehow still alive and I thought – this is it. This is my chance to show my spine, to stand with Hogwarts.

Did you know there were Slytherins who fought in the battle? Of course you didn't – but it should be obvious. Children fought against their own parents. And all I could do was hide like a coward.

You know the rest, anyhow. I hadn't expected to be spoken for at my trial. I had expected Azkaban. I cannot say with any certainty that at the point of my trial I believed that muggles weren't inferior. I do not know when I stopped thinking that, but I am fairly certain that I was still set in my ways.

Perhaps my father going to Azkaban was the best thing for me, really. There is no pressure, nobody's standards to live up to. Except Professor McGonagall's. And Andromeda's. She offered me a place to stay when I graduate – did you know that? I will have a home and a family that is not tainted by Dark Magic.

If I hadn't been so compelled to do this on paper I am certain I would not be dithering so much, although we would certainly be arguing more. Of course you know that Harry spoke at my trial and returned my wand. I did not see him again until the anniversary in July. I did not attend the proceedings, then – I am sure I would not have be welcome – but I heard he spoke.

The conditions of my parole are to stay within the grounds of Hogwarts and refrain from use of magic outside of class, other than small wandless spells. And to help rebuild, of course. As it turns out, I did not do much of the rebuilding part.

I was resistant. McGonagall told me that she would not sign off on my parole unless I took tea with her daily. At first we took tea in the Headmistress' office – the portraits are quite distracting, so then we took tea in the kitchens. It was a small start and I felt like I was held positively captive, more than I was physically, with the threat of my parole looming above my head. If I refused to speak, answer questions, be cooperative, she would remind me of her next meeting with my parole officer.

Do not misunderstand me, I am not upset by this. It was quite cunning of her, really. She understood that I was, in part, willing to learn – I just didn't want it to seem like my idea.

I believe the first thing I learned about was chemistry. I think she knew I would like it, given my affinity for potions. Did you know muggles can do with ordinary ingredients and no magic what we do with potions? She taught me about muggle universities after that, when I expressed interest. Did you know the ministry has a branch that prepares wizards for muggle universities from Hogwarts? I will never get to go that route, I know the ministry would not help me in that endeavour. But it is something I consider. Professor Strickland has been helpful.

Dithering again, of course.

Perhaps this was the first time I realized that muggles aren't lesser for not having magic. In fact, I think in many ways they are better than us. Smarter, more innovative, they know more about the world than wizards could ever dream of knowing because we are stuck in our narrow bubbles of things we can achieve with magic, without looking outside the realm of magic into what we can learn with science. The combination of magic and science – imagine the possibilities! Wizards would not even need to learn science so much as collaborate with muggles to come up with ideas that benefit the whole world – not just the wizarding or muggle world.

I learned plenty during the two months (and the rest of the summer) other than chemistry, of course. I have read – so much, more than I ever thought I would – muggle literature until it felt like my eyes would bleed. Everything Minerva could get for me. And we spoke for hours, some days – about how I was raised, how I was horrid, how I cannot change that but perhaps I can change my future. Muggles start wars over race, religion, any number of idiotic things just as wizards do. And it turns these small differences in people into life-or-death variances. I understand this now. I understand that I contributed to this culture of oppression and violence and I will not participate anymore.

Minerva says the best way to spit in the face of the Dark Lord is to oppose his ideals – not just on the surface, per formatively, but wholeheartedly. She is right. At my trial I did not necessarily believe that muggles were as good as wizards, I did not believe they were worth as much or as important or worthy of life in the same way.

I was wrong. I am sure there are still things I am wrong about, but I would like to continue learning. I am doing my best to have an open mind. This is what I had wanted to convey to you the first time we spoke. I was unable to, perhaps because some wounds are still too fresh, perhaps because your friends are not as willing as I to put down their arms and recognize their wrongs. I would never have let children get hurt the way your friends did.

Perhaps we still have much to discuss before we could ever truly be friends. This I understand, and I hope you will too. Of course, you have no reason to speak to me as a friend and I will not be upset should you even go as far to discard this letter without reading it.

I hope you understand me some more now, not that there is much to understand. Your ideas of me are quite likely accurate.

All of this being said, I deeply apologize for the horrid person that I was, that I sometimes still am. Hermione, I targeted you constantly. I called you slurs, implied you were less than me but for a simple accident of birth. I will not bring up every incident – indeed there are likely too many to even recount here, but I am truly sorry for my deplorable actions. I am a better man now, and I will be better in the future. I understand how I have hurt you, how I contributed to a society that was bent on seeing you fail. I will no longer contribute to this. I will actively oppose these ideals for the rest of my life in any way that I can. You are welcome to hold me accountable for this.

Ron, I deeply apologize for making you my target as well. Not only was I horrid, but classist and rude. In simple truth, you are not worth less for the quality of your clothing or the number of siblings you have (I can admit this was a sore point for me. I always wanted a sibling growing up). I had no reason to attack you except that it made me feel powerful, which is utterly wrong and inappropriate. I have no desire to do this to people anymore – not to mention no desire to act as my father did toward your father anymore. If you are amenable, I would be more than happy to see no more negativity between the Weasley and Malfoy families. Of course, this is a lot to ask if you have even read this for, but please know that I will never again treat another the way I have treated you.

I sound far too pompous when writing letters. I do hope you will allow me to apologize in person. I am likely to dither less, as well.

Your affable acquaintance,

DM