Corresponding

With Shadows (Arc I)

By: Handmaiden of Aphrodite, formerly Yoruko

Slash warning! Draco/Harry, post-OotP, spoilers for all of it therein; also, everyone's as in-character as humanly possible. I own nothing except the plot bunny.

The Second Correspondence: The Nostalgic Memoir

Revised Edition

July 6

The owl gracefully winged through the window and settled on his writing desk, deftly placing the letter on the pile already there. With a curiously specific glance towards him, it gave a slightly indignant hoot before taking off the way it had come.

Intrigued despite himself, Draco absentmindedly grabbed his elegant letter opener from its place and smoothly broke the seal on the message. The parchment inside was slightly crumpled, and he withdrew it, reading it with eager anticipation.

Sirius,

I'm so terribly sorry for everything I put you through. I have little hope of your forgiveness, as I know I was unbearably selfish, but I swear I didn't mean to. I miss you so much it is incredible; I miss you even more than my parents, for I could never speak to them. You, however…You I want to talk to. I go through my day and see things and think things and my first response is to ask you or inform you, but overall I wish I could speak to you, just one last conversation. I know you won't reply to this, as I suspect there isn't a way those up in Heaven (or wherever you are) would allow you to. Perhaps you could say a greeting to my parents for me. I want you to know that I love you, even though I never told you when you were alive, and I wish more than anything, even more than I wish that you were here again, that I had. You were my father, not merely my godfather, and I could not have had a better one. Thank you for everything, and thank you for even the things you didn't give me. I swear I'll avenge you; I swear I'll defeat Voldemort, and your murderer, Lestrange, shall not escape, either. It is the only solace I can offer you, but it is so pitiful. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for all of it. Please do not hate me.

Harry

At first Draco relished the opportunity for blackmail, but shock seeped into his thoughts as he read on. This had to be a correspondence to Sirius Black, the deceased godfather of the Boy-Who-Lived, but why would the imbecile write to someone who was dead? Maybe it was some incomprehensible muggle custom, he thought with a cold sneer. While the contents of the letter was most definitively interesting, it did not really supply any information he did not already have. Why the letter had been sent to him was what he could not fathom. It was obvious that it was unintentional, but why would the stupid bird bring it to him?

Finally he decided that he'd need more information before making any conclusions, and musingly wondered whether or not any more would arrive.

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July 8

Smirking as the white owl once again entered his chambers in mid afternoon, Draco was almost amused at the rapidity of the next correspondence. Potter must be getting desperate, he thought, completely devoid of sympathy. This time the epistle made a bit more sense, or at least as much sense as such a person could be expected to make.

Sirius,

There's really nothing more for me to say that I haven't said in the past letter. Well, the things that aren't necessary, I mean. It would be pointless reiteration, so I guess I'll just tell you what's happened since school's ended. While I know it's a good thing that more Death Eaters are in Azkaban, I can't really feel anything except numbness for it. I mean, it's not like they'll be there long, right? I'm still furious with the whole lot of them, of course, but I'm more upset with Dumbledore. How could he keep such things from me? Has he been playing me for a pawn the entire time? I don't know if I can ever trust him again when doing so previously only led to your death. I'm sorry, so very sorry for that…I think of you every day, and nothing I do can make the ache go away. I'm not even looking forward to school, although the Dursleys have lightened up on me. I haven't told them you're dead, so the combined threat of you and the Order must be working. I swear you'll not have died in vain, I really do…I know I must sound like a broken record, but there's not much else for me to say at this point. Just…just that I'm sorry, and I love you. Wish I could see you again. Miss you terribly.

Harry

Pathetic, how much Potter had come to depend on Black. Really, didn't he know the meaning of independence? And such naïveté! Of course Dumbledore was playing him for the fool. How could he not see that? But… most interesting about his relatives. Most interesting. Perhaps his home life was not the glory of gold Severus seemed to think it was. It would certainly explain a lot, and Draco wasn't so blinded by hate that he couldn't see reality, or at least certain aspects of it. It was definitely food for thought.

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July 13

Despite himself, Draco had found that he was eager for Potter's next supplement. It provided a certain… entertainment during the usually boring summer months. Almost a hobby, if one could call it that. He'd thought about what Potter must be going through, unwillingly wondering what it would be like if his mother died, and quickly shied from that prospect. Potter was obviously weak. It was so obvious Draco couldn't begin to deny it.

But then the next letter arrived, and he couldn't help but empathize, albeit very much to his disgust.

Dear Sirius,

Some days I wake up and wonder if today will be the day your letter arrives with your response. A different bird every time, and I can only guess where you are. But then I remember, and it's hard. It's hard to do what my aunt tells me to when all I can think is that I never cooked your favorite breakfast for you, never thought to ask what it was. Would Remus know? Probably. I don't want to ask, though. I don't want to bring up bad memories for him, but I wonder how he could be in less of a daze than I am. Or is it just me that feels like this? I can't tell.

Hermione keeps asking if I'm alright. I don't know what to tell her. Ron doesn't say anything, and I don't know if he would understand if I did tell him something. Even Hermione's never lost someone like this, not even a grandparent. Why does no one try to understand me, instead of fit me into a preexisting mold? I guess everyone does that, even you. But at least you tried.

Harry

There were many cross-outs on this one, as if the writer couldn't decide what word to choose and kept changing his mind after starting to write it down. But that was pretty typical of Potter, Draco thought. He carefully did not think on how similar his predicament sounded to Draco's, about no one understanding him. But wasn't Potter just as guilty of that as he complained about everyone else being? Self-righteously justified in the complete absence of veracity Potter's words could contain, Draco spent the rest of his day secure in the knowledge that he hadn't changed; Potter was just making some very stupid – and quite incorrect – observations. What a whiner.

But the next day, he could not help but think that maybe he wasn't reading all the subtleties of the context. He read the letter again, then again, until the paper was soft from him absently smoothing the lines of the corners. It was easy enough to tell from that first paragraph that Black had been on the run during their correspondence, but did the rest of that mean that Potter was forced to cook for his family, like a common house elf? It didn't seem very likely to him, but Draco didn't have enough information to tell if there was discreet resentment for these Dursleys lurking beneath the words, and so he started a list of what he could discern from the letters. Next was the grudging acknowledgement of the second paragraph. Now, with a clear head, he could see that H – Potter had admitted to being just as guilty of that as the rest of the people he was referring to. And it seemed that he wasn't as close to his friends as Draco had thought, had taken for granted. He'd used to feel smoldering envy for Potter, but now… now it was hard to hold onto that, and not let it be replaced by sympathy.

When his mother called him to dinner and he finally admitted that he could speculate no more until the next epistle, Draco put them and his musings on the context in a small, ornately wooden box, where the rest of his valuable documents were contained. It could only be opened by him; not even his father had that access. It was strange, but he was starting to feel as if the letters were a very private thing, as if he should respect Potter's privacy. But that thought led places Draco didn't want to go, so he tried to put it out of his head for the interim between then and the next owl. He almost succeeded.

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July 15

Sirius

I keep thinking about you, what you would think of this or that. You always had an opinion, and even though you weren't always right, it was comforting somehow. To know that I could turn to you and ask you something, and you'd always give me a sincere, legitimate answer, no matter the question. I have so many questions to ask you. Where are you now?

Would you be disappointed in me now, to learn what a wreck I am? The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. Did you know? If I had been in Slytherin, if I hadn't protested, would you still have given me a chance? Maybe not.

It's taken a while to realize this, but prejudice is something the whole wizarding world is guilty of, maybe especially me. But it's so difficult when everyone who depends on me is telling me one thing, and my conscience says something different. I've been so afraid of being rejected, hated, alone, that I've ignored myself, and that's selfish. Difficult to admit, even now, that I'm guilty of that, but isn't that what being selfish means? So I'm going to do what I think is right from now on, regardless of how hard it is to do, stand up for the people I despise when they aren't being given a fair chance. I don't care what others think of me anymore. If they can't like me and accept me as I am and what I have to do, then I'll find new friends, new people that will support me. It'll be really hard, but I think I'll be better off for it.

And isn't everything worthwhile difficult to achieve, anyway?

Harry

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Fwoosh! Major sorries for taking so long, totally unexpected. Writer's block came up and bit me on the ass, unfortunately. But I think I got it out of the way now. School's hectic, though, and me, little perfectionistic honors student, am an overachiever, so don't expect rapid updates, but also don't expect really slow ones. Special thanks go to Ca for loving it and getting it past the idea, and also to Lara Black, Sand3, AoiGensou and padfoot887 for the wonderful reviews and for placing me on your favorites list, respectively. You all motivate my writing.

But seriously, I didn't mean for this to turn out so angsty. O.o;; I thought it was going to be fluff, and this is light angst by my standards (aka what I usually read ;; ) and I'm sorry for making you guys cry, but I also love that I can provoke such a response out of you. And hey, Sand – I feel the same way, so don't worry.

:grabs eagerly for cookies from Aoi: Gimme! Yum. And yes, it helped motivate me greatly. I actually went and made brownies right after you said that. So, as thanks to all my reviewers, you each get a brownie! Seriously, I never would have cranked out this chapter if you hadn't said something, each and every one of you. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when I get reviews. :throws celebratory confetti at you: This story has the potential to go right through the war, very detailed, no skiving out on the Voldemort Issue or anything, and as realistic portrayal of the characters that I can manage. Sorry for such a long Author's Note, and here's my questions for the chapter:

How was my characterization of Draco? I try to make it really believable and accurate. Harry's letter content? I've never lost anyone myself so it's mostly supposition. Do you want me to write out every letter Draco receives, or what? It'll draw out the time between then and when Hogwarts starts, just so you know. Do you want more letters, more Draco, or more Harry?