[image description: two panels of Teen Comix. The first shows a close-up of someone wearing a shirt reading: “You would not believe your ears if”. the second panel shows a person wearing black sunglasses and a shirt reading: “ten million fears”. end description]
So you know how owls don’t need an address to find the person the letter is addressed to? What if these owls were even cleverer than that?
Imagine Draco, sometime after the war, sitting alone in his flat and not knowing what to do with himself. He feels so empty, but on the other hand, there’s so much he wants to say. But who should he talk to? There’s nobody there. So he just begins writing his thoughts down. Sometimes it’s little poems. Sometimes it’s like he’s writing a journal. And sometimes he writes letters, addressed to no one. He keeps writing every day and whenever he’s finished, he puts the piece of parchment onto the little pile on his desk, where he keeps all his personal writing.
If Draco had been paying more attention, he would have noticed that this pile wasn’t getting any bigger. It stays exactly the same, because his sneaky little owl delivers one per day to the person she thought could help Draco the most.
When she lands on her usual windowsill on Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the window is already open and Harry is smiling at her with a treat in his hand.
“You’re very punctual,” he murmurs as he strokes her feathers. He carefully takes the piece of parchment out of her beak and smiles as she starts nibbling at her treat. Harry suspects Malfoy still doesn’t know that his owl is bringing him these letters.
Harry had been puzzled himself at first, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out who had written these. After that, he had tried to talk to the owl, tried to explain to her that she must have gotten the wrong address, because surely this wasn’t meant for him.
But the owl had come back every day, bringing Harry another piece of parchment and Harry had found himself mesmerized by them. The poems were heart-wrenching, Malfoy talking about his day made Harry want to go over there and talk to him. But he doesn’t dare. He would have to admit, he read Malfoy’s most inner thoughts without his consent. And Harry doubts, the Malfoy he would be facing would be the same as the Malfoy in these letters.
Sighing, Harry settles down on the couch and begins to read today’s owl post.
I had a dream last night. It wasn’t one of my usual nightmares, but I guess you could still call it that, because this will very likely haunt me for the rest of my days. It was about him. We were younger, much younger. We were on the Quidditch pitch, but not as enemies. We were just flying together, laughing together. It was so strange to see him like this. His eyes didn’t hold the resentment I am used to. He was looking at me like I was his whole world. It still hurts to think about it now. The worst part, however, was the way he cupped my cheeks and smiled at me, right before he kissed me. I could still feel his lips on mine when I woke up. I wasn’t even sure if I had been dreaming or not for a second. Then, reality crashed down on me again. Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if he knew. If he had known back then. I’m not sure if it would have made a difference. All he ever did was hate me, just as much as I pretended to hate him. I regret he never saw the truth. All I ever wanted was him. And for one night, my mind granted me that wish. However, I hope it doesn’t happen again. Only if my mind decides to let me dream forever.
Harry feels dizzy when he puts the letter down. It’s true, he never saw the truth, never even knew there was a truth to be seen. He had never thought to look beyond their fighting and mutual obsession. Never thought it could mean something else entirely.
But over the past few weeks, he discovered a whole different side of Malfoy and thereby discovered something about himself. He wants to take Malfoy’s pain away. Maybe he’s been wanting to do that for a while. And now, Harry knows he can.
He jumps up from the couch and locks eyes with the owl, still sitting on the windowsill.
“You clever little thing,” he whispers to her, as he strokes her feathers one more time. She hoots happily, as if encouraging Harry to hurry up. So he does. He hurries out the door, to apparate to Malfoy’s flat. He has no idea how he will do it and how long it will take Malfoy to believe Harry’s intentions are genuine, but it doesn’t matter.
He will do everything he can to make Draco Malfoy’s dreams come true.