Disclaimer: The characters belong to JKR, even if they are all completely
out of character.
*Still slash*
A/N: I wasn't going to continue this, but then I came up with this simile, and it really seemed to work, so, yeah. Enjoy.
Thank you: Evil Windstar, loverwren, PotterMalfoy, Crystal Star Guardian, and mandé
Dear Harry,
It feels so strange to write to you. You, who I know nothing about, except that you are magic. I have only known you for a short time, and I have only spent a few hours with you, but writing this feels like home. I am coming home. Home to you, I hope.
This is the hundredth letter I've written that I will never send. This is the thousandth time I've picked up a quill and begun to write the things I never got to say to you. This is the millionth page I've stared blankly at, trying to conjure up your image. An image that is no substitute for the reality.
I am in a small village. The people here do not know me. They do not know you. I have asked them all, and nobody knows who you are. But there is this one girl who, when I mentioned your name, could not look me in the eye and tell me she did not know you. I wonder if she knows who you are or, more importantly, how I can find you. I do not know what you meant when you said that there are other things I must find. All I want to find is you. I want her to help me, because I think she can. But she will tell me nothing. Her name is Hermione Weasley, and she lives with her husband Ron. They are very mysterious people, and tend to keep to themselves. They are hiding something. Is it you?
Ron has a sister, they call her Ginny. She is a year younger, but acts much more so. When I asked her about you, she told me I was delusional. She said to me that you did not exist. You were a mere figment of my imagination. They all know something, that family. Yet they will not talk to me.
I miss you. I need you. I am nothing without you, and I have never been nothing. I am so weak without you by my side. All of my strength comes from you. Pathetic, isn't it. That is why I would never send this, even if I could find you. I do not want you to know me like this, as nothing. Daily I wander through the nearby woods, desperately seeking the sound of your music. I return to the village nightly, and ask the Weasleys about you. I beg them to tell me anything. I am sure they know something, but they will not help me. I go to bed every night in the hopes that I might dream about you again. About your glamorous hands, smooth skin, and eyes so brilliant that I would never need the sun if I could only have that light.
You told me you would always be with me – where are you? Those hours that changed to days and then weeks that I spent trying to figure you out – who are you? The magic you instilled in me and the hope you gave when I had lost all my own – what are you? Questions again. I can see you shaking your head at me, the wild tendrils surrounding your face as you gently explain again that I need no more answers. I have never needed answers like I do now. I have never needed anything like the way I need you.
Sweet musician, what must I do to share in your music again? On what quest must I embark to make myself whole again? Whole with you, my complement? My other half. My better half. My magic half.
I have not flown again since that night. I do not know if it is because I cannot or I will not, I have not tried. Without you, the appeal is naught. I can feel no exhilaration by myself. The full moon comes tonight and I will transform. I will not fly. Not until my heart again can soar.
Last night I had a revelation. When you changed my wings, you changed my pattern too. It was as if I was skating on a smooth pond, crystal clear like your soul must be, misting softly in its perfection. I always skated in the same direction. After an hour or so, the ice would be perfected again, all blemishes removed by a fresh coat of water, making the surface pure and whole again, and I would then skate in the other direction. The day I met you, it was like I had been skating in the same direction for years, and suddenly, with no pause to resurface the ice, I was going the other way. I was used to always leaning on one foot, but now I had to depend on the other one. The dominant one had to become submissive. That was how I felt. In my life, though uncertain, I had always been the dominant one. Nobody made my decisions for me. Then I met you, and I lost that control. Not that I minded – I trust you implicitly – but instead of being sure footed, I stumbled. I am in danger of falling, unless you will return to catch me. I am that submissive toe, instep, arch, and ankle that does not know if it will be strong enough to support the rest of me on its own. I need to feel your hand in mine, your arms around me, helping me to right myself again. It's only wrong when I am not with you.
I need to go now, and burn this with the other letters that you will never read. I need to throw away the piece of my heart I have scrawled on this paper, and watch it wither and curl, and become smoke and ash. I will talk again to the Weasleys, I know they know something. I have to find out what that is. I cannot move on when my wings leave me grounded, my mind stays in the forest, my heart is unsatisfied, and my hand is not in yours. I will sleep now, and ask for dreams of you. I hope I can find whatever it is that I still have not, the thing that prevents me from hearing the music I long for, and seeing the musician that I long for even more.
~Draco
*Still slash*
A/N: I wasn't going to continue this, but then I came up with this simile, and it really seemed to work, so, yeah. Enjoy.
Thank you: Evil Windstar, loverwren, PotterMalfoy, Crystal Star Guardian, and mandé
Dear Harry,
It feels so strange to write to you. You, who I know nothing about, except that you are magic. I have only known you for a short time, and I have only spent a few hours with you, but writing this feels like home. I am coming home. Home to you, I hope.
This is the hundredth letter I've written that I will never send. This is the thousandth time I've picked up a quill and begun to write the things I never got to say to you. This is the millionth page I've stared blankly at, trying to conjure up your image. An image that is no substitute for the reality.
I am in a small village. The people here do not know me. They do not know you. I have asked them all, and nobody knows who you are. But there is this one girl who, when I mentioned your name, could not look me in the eye and tell me she did not know you. I wonder if she knows who you are or, more importantly, how I can find you. I do not know what you meant when you said that there are other things I must find. All I want to find is you. I want her to help me, because I think she can. But she will tell me nothing. Her name is Hermione Weasley, and she lives with her husband Ron. They are very mysterious people, and tend to keep to themselves. They are hiding something. Is it you?
Ron has a sister, they call her Ginny. She is a year younger, but acts much more so. When I asked her about you, she told me I was delusional. She said to me that you did not exist. You were a mere figment of my imagination. They all know something, that family. Yet they will not talk to me.
I miss you. I need you. I am nothing without you, and I have never been nothing. I am so weak without you by my side. All of my strength comes from you. Pathetic, isn't it. That is why I would never send this, even if I could find you. I do not want you to know me like this, as nothing. Daily I wander through the nearby woods, desperately seeking the sound of your music. I return to the village nightly, and ask the Weasleys about you. I beg them to tell me anything. I am sure they know something, but they will not help me. I go to bed every night in the hopes that I might dream about you again. About your glamorous hands, smooth skin, and eyes so brilliant that I would never need the sun if I could only have that light.
You told me you would always be with me – where are you? Those hours that changed to days and then weeks that I spent trying to figure you out – who are you? The magic you instilled in me and the hope you gave when I had lost all my own – what are you? Questions again. I can see you shaking your head at me, the wild tendrils surrounding your face as you gently explain again that I need no more answers. I have never needed answers like I do now. I have never needed anything like the way I need you.
Sweet musician, what must I do to share in your music again? On what quest must I embark to make myself whole again? Whole with you, my complement? My other half. My better half. My magic half.
I have not flown again since that night. I do not know if it is because I cannot or I will not, I have not tried. Without you, the appeal is naught. I can feel no exhilaration by myself. The full moon comes tonight and I will transform. I will not fly. Not until my heart again can soar.
Last night I had a revelation. When you changed my wings, you changed my pattern too. It was as if I was skating on a smooth pond, crystal clear like your soul must be, misting softly in its perfection. I always skated in the same direction. After an hour or so, the ice would be perfected again, all blemishes removed by a fresh coat of water, making the surface pure and whole again, and I would then skate in the other direction. The day I met you, it was like I had been skating in the same direction for years, and suddenly, with no pause to resurface the ice, I was going the other way. I was used to always leaning on one foot, but now I had to depend on the other one. The dominant one had to become submissive. That was how I felt. In my life, though uncertain, I had always been the dominant one. Nobody made my decisions for me. Then I met you, and I lost that control. Not that I minded – I trust you implicitly – but instead of being sure footed, I stumbled. I am in danger of falling, unless you will return to catch me. I am that submissive toe, instep, arch, and ankle that does not know if it will be strong enough to support the rest of me on its own. I need to feel your hand in mine, your arms around me, helping me to right myself again. It's only wrong when I am not with you.
I need to go now, and burn this with the other letters that you will never read. I need to throw away the piece of my heart I have scrawled on this paper, and watch it wither and curl, and become smoke and ash. I will talk again to the Weasleys, I know they know something. I have to find out what that is. I cannot move on when my wings leave me grounded, my mind stays in the forest, my heart is unsatisfied, and my hand is not in yours. I will sleep now, and ask for dreams of you. I hope I can find whatever it is that I still have not, the thing that prevents me from hearing the music I long for, and seeing the musician that I long for even more.
~Draco