A/N: I have failed you guys *hangs head in shame*. School, homework, tutoring and piano have finally caught up with me for the past month, and I found myself making empty promises to write up the next chapter every passing week. Never fear, though, for Pilgrim Angel and I are still jam-packed with fresh plots and ideas …

WARNING: As with the previous two chapters, some angst …

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NB: Pothead, you'll see that this letter has been delivered without an owl. Father sent me a pack of special QuikOwls Stamps so I don't have to use my raven all the time. (Yes, laugh all you want, Potter, but Apocalypse can beat your old Hedwig any day.) I've sent some QuikOwl stamps for you to use when mailing my letters, so that your clumsy owl won't be swooping down on me all the time. These stamps are easy, you just stick them on the envelope, and they deliver the letter that same day, invisible to anyone else but the recipient. I hate having to receive your stupid mail at the Slytherin table in the morning; some Slytherins are starting to get suspicious. 

10 January 1996

Library

1:58 AM

I'm sitting here, Harry, wondering …

How do you do it? How can you – ugly scar flashing - be so brave, so set to fight against the Dark Lord? How can you sleep soundly at night, knowing he's probably working on a new scheme to get you killed? How do you face each passing day – smiling like a dork, I may add, and stealing looks at Granger – with such a sense of serenity, constantly aware of the fact that every breath you take may be your last? How do you go about your daily tasks (somehow managing to convince the Professors you're doing an excellent job of it, you prat) without the ghosts of your murdered parents hovering over you like a shadow? Do you not go mad? Do you not look behind your shoulder fearfully with every step?

Because I know I would. I would just give up, succumb to the madness within, perhaps surrender to Voldemort to save my skin. And I hate to disappoint you, Mr Sunshine, but I'm not the kind of person to trudge through pain and ordeal, fight off obstacles with my hands tied behind my back, defeat an evil villain and save the world from submerging into darkness and fear all in one day. And no – I don't buff my own nails; I have house-elves and admiring blonde bombshells who will gladly give their right arms to do it for me. (Actually, I was just kidding, don't tell Darling Ginny what I said.) And what is Panadol? Some kind of beer Muggles like to get high on?

Anyway – back to the misery and self-degradation. You say you miss your parents – you wanna trade with my folks? When I was six months old my mother dropped me (literally let me fall onto the concrete) to rush to the new cosmetic shop across the street. Father taught me how to catch by lobbing a heavy piece of rock at my head. You'd like that now, wouldn't you, you bastard? And the fact is – yes; I do think you're lucky. I ENVY YOU LIKE SHIT. Five years of hatred and rage and jealousy have generally been summed up in that sentence. Bet you're smirking now, aren't you? "Stupid Malfoy," you're probably saying, "Stupid louse, he had it all coming …"

I suppose there's not much point yelling and swearing at you, you'll just brush it off, simpering and pretending to show sympathy for me, just so you can show off in front of Weasel and Granger. I bet you've already shown them my previous letter, and they probably had a hearty laugh about it. And what's this crap about what Weasel and Granger are going through? Can't be as bad as me, can it? They don't have to get locked in the dungeons for five days for not having beaten you in Quidditch.

Another piece of light information: I'm getting the Dark Mark tomorrow. Father has it all arranged. Frankly, I can't see a way out of it. Except … you know what you said, how you'd rather die than receive the Dark Mark? That takes guts to say, man, that seriously takes guts. The main thing I envy, and my very first and definitely last compliment for you - You fight the darkness within you, and you do it so well. Me: not so lucky. I guess at the end of the day, when it comes down to it – you'll always be the hero.

I'm liberated now, thanks to you. My mind is clear, composed, I'm set on what I'm going to do. I'm going to order Crabbe and Goyle around one last time, put away all my Playwizard magazines, sniff the fragrance of the grass, look up at the cloudless sky, ladaladala … and they are not going to put the Dark Mark on me. I will escape … I will take one last lingering look at Ginny, then climb the highest tower … and then I will be unleashed. I will be free.

Hoping I won't see you anytime soon … goodbye, Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy.

P.S. In case I don't get to do so first, tell Ginny I love her very much. Tell her I was going to get down on my knees and propose with a ten-carat diamond ring, get her married, whisk her off to an exotic island, and have heaps of cute little blonde kids. Tell her I didn't mean things to turn out the way they did, that I'm sorry it was all too late. Tell her that as I fly I will sing out her name …

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A/N: Hurry up, Harry, damn it!