A/N: well, it's been a long time since I wrote this story, so no promises on the continuance. I seem to have lost my outline, so we're winging it!

Dearest Ginevra,

There are not words to say the things

To the lady of the Potter household,

Your husband's a git but so am I. You must know by now why I came to you, why I asked of you the things I did. It was improper, to say the least, and the only reassurance I have to give to you is that it will not happen again. I am sorry for any pain or discomfort I may have unintentionally passed on to you.

I am not a good man, by any standard. I have done many things that I have come to regret, either through my own guilt or by the forced guilt of others. However, I do not regret what I did with you, and I do not intend to. I simply wish that you might be happier for our encounter, rather than despondent.

I am despondent. My wife is nearly catatonic over her loss, and is staying at her mother's. I am not sure the change of scenery will aid in her mental recovery and I am not sure what it is doing for mine. I have not spoken to my father since he left for the Balkans. I thought it would be lonely in the mansion with just myself and the house elf, whose name I forget to remember in the first place, who will NOT STOP CRINGING despite the many times I tell him I cannot hit him under the new laws WHICH I AM FOLLOWING. It is lonelier than I had imagined.

It is astounding, the nonsense your head will fill up with when you leave it empty. For the first time in my life there is nothing to be done. My father's case is being dealt with by some minion, and I have spent as much time as I can busying myself with my finances. I believe Gringrotts is screening my owls.

I am practicing my magic, and I continue my studies with a private tutor, but it is unfulfilling. I am barred from serving as an Auror as a former death eater, no matter that my service to the Dark Lord ended before I gained my majority. It will be long before I may try to gain my father's place in the ministry, for similar reasons. It is nearly untenable to remain within the community of magic. It is untenable to remain ensconced within the Malfoy Manor. I will drive myself mad.

It is difficult to be compliant when you have been told all your life that the rules are meant for other, weaker beings. All my life I knew that I was better than the ordinary wizard, more than the ordinary death eater. Now I must smile at those that wish me and mine dead, react to the stones they throw when I would have had their families murdered preemptively. The game board is smaller, the stakes higher, and I spend my days back and forth in the two moves they have given me. But I am a Malfoy, and I will not be a rat in their maze. I await my opportunity.

I am told that in certain cases, necessity is the mother of invention. I love Astoria, but am bored, Ginny, and you amuse me. It is not my objective to hurt you, but I am not sorry for what happens next.

Draco laughed and held the letter between his fingertips, burning the parchment with an unspoken spell. He searched in his writing desk briefly, for a slip of heavy parchment written in dark green ink that shone silver in the light.

To whom it may concern,

On January 5, an unnamed baby girl was stillborn to Draco Abraxas Malfoy and Astoria Malfoy née Greengrass. The family remains in mourning.