Author's Note: Ah! Sorry I left it there, I know, I'm horrible! Hopefully this chapter will make up for that! Harry's POV.
Chapter 20
Harry took a deep breath before glancing down at the dreaded page. The worn parchment of the first entry wasn't attached to the journal; it was instead loosely tucked into the inside of the front cover. He toyed with the edges of the frayed sheet nervously. Malfoy must have looked at this many times for it to become this shabby. Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes before opening them slowly to make out the first words in the entry. He gasped.
"He wrote to me?" he whispered incredulously, staring at Malfoy's impeccable script. The letter was dated the day that they went to Hogsmeade. He scanned it with unhurried interest. It was sarcastic and witty, yet sweet and carefree. It was so Malfoy. Harry read and reread every word in disbelief. He ran his fingers over the signature.
Love,
DM
Love? Harry stared at the word for a few minutes. What does that mean? Did Malfoy really love me? He shook his head. It was a common way to end a letter, why was he freaking out over it? With growing interest, he flipped over to the next page. It was another letter with the same date.
Harry,
I'm so stupid! Why did I have to open my big mouth and say those awful things that I did? You were right, I knew how much those words would hurt you; I used them strategically because I knew that. Because I'm a fucking sick bastard. It's a terrible reflex of mine to push people out, push them away when I feel vulnerable. I shouldn't have pushed you, Harry. The second I said it I wished I could take it back. I wish I could take back all the dreadful things I ever said and did, but this one was the worst—
Some of the ink was smeared, blurring out a couple of lines. Harry realized that they were teardrop blots.
I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.
Love,
DM
Harry turned the thin, damaged pages gingerly, slowly reading through the rest of the entries.
December 20th
Harry,
I guess it really is over. You and I, I mean.
You went to the Weasley's for the holidays yesterday. I tried to talk to you before you got on the train, but you wouldn't listen. I understand that, and I don't blame you. I don't deserve you, your attention or your love. I knew that from the start. But it still hurts like hell to have to sit here and know that I've blown it. That I had it everything and I just let it all slip away. When you smiled at me, it used to shatter my heart. Now it shatters because you don't.
Love,
DM
December 23rd
Harry,
I'm spending the next two weeks at Hogwarts for Christmas. There's not much company here, Pansy's gone home and Blaise went to Italy with his mum. Even though I know you would just go on ignoring me, I wish you were here. Just so I could see you.
I tried to send you an owl but I never got a reply. I doubt you even looked at it. I know that I should just stop trying, but I can't bring myself to. I'm lonely now, but I guess it'll be even lonelier when you come back.
Love,
DM
December 25th
Merry Christmas, Harry.
Love,
DM
December 30th
Harry,
I write to my mother every day now. It's starting to become quite an unhealthy obsession, writing to people who will never obtain my letters. It's depressing, but it actually does give me comfort. You were right. I can imagine my mother receiving the letter and reading it with her afternoon tea. I imagine her laughing with me, sympathizing with me, connecting with me.
Writing to her makes me feel as though she is here with me. I guess that's why I'm still writing to you, too. Lets me pretend that you'll get them and come back to me when you do. Like everything will be okay and you'll appear by my side, laughing at how ridiculous and dramatic I am and kissing my nose for it. I'd give anything for you to do that again.
Love,
DM
January 1st
Harry,
Articles keep coming in about what happened in Hogsmeade. I saw one that displayed you leaning on Weasley's arm with tears running down your face. It broke my heart. How dare they broadcast your pain to the entire world like it's some kind of mindless gossip? Like it's not somebody's LIFE that they're feeding off of? Can't they see that you're hurting enough without them harassing you? They don't even care about your feelings, even though you're the fucking Savior of the whole damn wizard world. You saved them from the darkest fucking wizard of all time and this is how they repay you. They're ungrateful little leeches and it makes my blood boil.
This stupid arse Ravenclaw fifth year tried to be funny yesterday at dinner. He filled my bag with the offending articles and when I confronted him about it, he just smirked at me—SMIRKED at me, a Malfoy for fucks sake!—and said that he didn't realize that you were thick enough to care about lowly scum like me.
I can't believe that pipsqueak had the nerve to say that about you! I almost started full on cursing every single Unforgivable at him. Unfortunately, I was stopped from doing that when Snape interfered. But I did manage to slip in a nasty bat-bogey hex before he did. Wasn't as good as Ginny Weasley's, but it was good enough to get me a week of detention. Worth it, I think. NOBODY insults you in front of me, especially not an idiot Ravenclaw. (That was ironic, was it not?)
Anyway, I would perform any of the Unforgivables to defend you… Oops, you probably would not approve of that. But just know that I still would.
Love,
DM
January 2nd
Harry,
I called you Harry when you were leaving Hogsmeade but I don't think that you heard me. If you could read these letters, I bet you would wonder why I continue to call you that. I mean, before all of this happened, I was perfectly content with calling you Potter. It was so comfortable, so familiar. I liked it.
But you know what I've realized since then? Being comfortable was a mistake. Because being comfortable is being safe and I've learned that love is not. It's the scariest fucking thing I've ever known and I was afraid of it. But I'm not anymore. By calling each other by our surnames it kept us in the same sphere of our past, in that sphere where we once hated each other, where we once spoke those names with malice and not affection. Where we used them as a tool to hurt each other.
I couldn't do it any longer, Harry; I couldn't hurt you anymore than I already have. I can't refer to you as Potter because it reminds me of when I was nothing more to you than a nuisance. It's sort of ironic, because that is what I am again to you now. I should have called you Harry the moment I had you. Maybe it would have been different.
Love,
DM
January 4th
Harry,
Winter holidays are over and you're back. I was late to dinner, trying to gather up the courage to go down and try to speak to you again. But when I did, you ran away as if I were the plague. That's when I knew, Harry, when I saw the look on your face. That's when I knew that I couldn't keep running after you any longer. You clearly didn't want me to. I understand. I'll stop trying to talk to you.
Love,
DM
January 5th
Harry,
Blaise saw you run at dinner and questioned me about it. I couldn't tell him. He's my best friend, but I couldn't. I know he'd just tell me that I was stupid for saying what I did. Tell me that I could've tried harder. That I need to find you and make you listen to me and understand. But I won't, Harry. I stand by what I said before. I'll stop, because it's more fitting that you just forget about me. You deserve better.
Pansy confronted me about it too. I refused to tell her about it, but she's very persistent in trying to help me. I did tell her about how I am writing to you, though. She thinks that I should send them to you. I told her that I couldn't. You probably wouldn't read them anyway and it would rip away any dignity I had left. I still have my Malfoy pride, if nothing else. And I used to be perfectly happy with that, but now I scorn it. I wish that I didn't care so much, but it's in my Slytherin nature to take care of my pride. I wish I were more like you.
I take back everything negative I have ever said about you Gryffindors. At least you're bold enough to let yourselves act with your hearts. I'm only brave enough to write with mine.
Love,
DM
January 7th
Harry,
These past few days have been a living hell. I don't know how you do it, but you've managed to completely disregard me while spending every minute with me, at the same time. If you weren't so good at ignoring me, I would give you props on your ability to ignore me so thoroughly. But I guess that would kind of annihilate the point, wouldn't it?
I hope you aren't getting as much shit as I am for what happened. I doubt that you are since you are universally well liked, but you never know. Now that holidays are over, it's not just that snotty fifth year Ravenclaw who dares to taunt me. It's everybody. People who only just tolerated me before this incident now spit on me like they used to right after the war ended, given that they have a reason to again.
It actually doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. Sure, it's tedious to put up with, but it seems like such a light punishment for the whole lot. I guess what I mean to say is, I deserve it. I do not pity myself, really, I don't. I truly believe that all the wrongs that I've committed in my life, the horrible things that I did before I switched sides, the way I treated people as my inferiors and more recently, what I've done to you, that yes, I do deserve all of it.
And it's not so bad, being hated by everybody. Well, it wouldn't be so bad if it were everybody BUT you.
But that's the thing. It is EVERYBODY that hates me. Including you. I remember you told me once that you could never hate me. I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now. You probably don't even recall saying it. But if you did, I bet you'd regret it.
Love,
DM
Did he really have that much lack of respect for himself? Were people really acting that way to him? Harry felt tears running down his face. He could just barely make out the words on the last entry through them.
January 9th
Harry,
Remember when you said that you loved me? I know that you don't anymore, but I loved you too. I still love you and I probably always will. I just wanted you to know that.
Love,
DM
Harry dropped the book onto the floor with a thud, sliding down to muffle his sobs with the couch cushion. Malfoy—Draco—he really, truly cared for Harry. And he was hurting badly. There was no trace of anger, no trace of scorn or conceit in any of the letters. Harry felt as if he had just read the contents Draco's heart. He blubbered into the pillow for a long while. He cried for Draco, for his mistakes and his losses, for his grief and his loneliness. He cried for himself, for being so blind, so stupid, so unforgiving. For not listening to anyone. He cried for their shattered relationship, so full of misunderstandings and heartbreak.
After some time, Harry sat up in the chair and wiped his tears away. He stared at the dwindling fire, vision still blurred from leftover tears. Should he go confront Draco? If he did so, would he demand forgiveness, or beg for it? Would he try to get back together with him, or just forget all about it and move on? Should he talk to his friends about what to do, or should he just go do it? And what was it that he was supposed to do anyways? Harry's thoughts were in a jumble, in a crying-induced haze. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Picking the book up off the floor, he stood from his chair and headed back to the boys' dorm. He placed the journal on Draco's trunk and turned to face the bed.
Draco was sleeping peacefully, his face more relaxed and untroubled than Harry had seen in weeks. He leaned over and lightly touched the boy's cheek, letting his eyes drift over him, letting himself feel every stab of emotion as he did it. Harry sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, never taking his eyes off of Draco's sleeping form as he slipped into bed beside him, careful not to squish Rebecca. He glanced at Draco one more time before drifting off to sleep again.
When it was almost dawn, Harry woke to soft noises coming from beside him. He didn't open his eyes and lay very still. "Harry," it was Draco's voice. "Harry," he whispered again almost inaudibly, before taking his hand and squeezing it quickly, gently. Then Draco's hand slipped away and Harry heard the rustling of sheets as he turned from him. His hand felt empty, but his heart felt emptier. He's obviously hurting, he thought, listening to Draco's breathing slow as he fell asleep. But he also said that it would be best if I moved on. And it would be better if I did. Wouldn't it? Harry bit his lip and turned to look at Draco. What do I do? Tell me what I should do.
As he thought it, Draco's hand shot out and grabbed his again. Harry stared at their joined hands in shock. "Draco?" he whispered, "are you awake?" The only answer was the sound of Draco's rhythmic breathing. Harry gazed down at their hands again.
"Love you," Draco sleep-mumbled, snuggling closer to him, "Harry..."
Harry's heart broke and he felt tears reforming in his eyes. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to Draco or to himself, not anymore. Harry gazed down at the sleeping blonde before he leaned back and closed his eyes again, letting the tears stream down his face without a sound. He knew what had to be done.