Letters To A Friend (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

I.

DOLLY's POV

1st September 1995

When I woke up this morning, my throat felt raw, and the face staring back from the mirror didn't offer much comfort. My eyes were swollen, puffy, and my nose bright as a Christmas bauble. Hardly inspiring. On any other day, I'd recoil, maybe feel a flash of embarrassment, but now? Nothing. Just the same heavy numbness that had settled over me since the summer.

Downstairs, Grimmauld Place buzzed with its usual morning activity—Mum was fussing over breakfast, Dad whispering with Moody about something Order-related, while my brothers clattered about trying to keep quiet. Well, except the twins, who never managed subtlety. It was so normal, yet none of it felt real. The chatter, the urgency—it was all background noise, as though I were watching from a distance, detached from the world around me.

I couldn't escape the tension in the house. The Order was always there, adults whispering secrets they thought we didn't notice. But we did. Every shadow in this place seemed alive with fear, and Cedric's death only made it worse. His absence hung over me like a storm cloud, and with it came a new dread—this creeping fear that the world was breaking apart, and no one could stop it.

Ginny and Hermione hovered constantly, their attempts to help only adding to the weight pressing down on me. I loved them, but they never left me alone. Sharing a room with them was suffocating—every time I tried to steal a moment to myself, one of them would ask if I was alright. Their concern was stifling, a reminder that everyone was waiting for me to shatter.

Mum was just as bad. She hovered more than ever, always with that worried look like she wanted to ask how I was but couldn't bring herself to. I suppose she thought avoiding the topic was for the best. But her silence made it worse. No one talked about Cedric, and it left me floundering in my grief, alone with my thoughts.

Dad, in his way, tried too. He'd come up with stories from work, hoping they'd distract me, as though his voice could fill the empty space Cedric had left behind. But nothing worked. I just sank deeper.

So, I started avoiding everyone—slipping away to the darker corners of the house where no one thought to look. The musty drawing room, the creaking stairs that led to nowhere. I could hide there, pretend that maybe, for a little while, the world would forget I existed. But it never did.

The only thing that kept me from losing it completely was the thought of school starting again. Hogwarts had always been my sanctuary. But this year, even that felt different. The thought of returning filled me with dread. How could I go back without him? How could I face the Great Hall, play Quidditch, sit through lessons, knowing Cedric would never do any of it again?

I sighed, pulling on my school robes as if they belonged to someone else. The person I used to be—the one who was excited, laughing, planning for the future—she was gone. "Just get through the year, Dorothy," I whispered, knowing full well it wouldn't be that simple.

Breakfast was a blur. I sat between Ron and Ginny, pushing toast around my plate while half-listening to Mum's frantic instructions. She asked me, again, if I was alright. "I'm fine, Mum," I muttered, the same lie I'd been telling all summer. She didn't push, but her eyes lingered on me a moment too long.

Packing for the station was a whirlwind of chaos, Mum's voice rising above the din as she hurried everyone along. Harry was there too, looking just as out of place in our madness as I felt inside. The journey to King's Cross came and went in a haze of trunk-lugging and hurried goodbyes. Before I knew it, we were on the platform, the Hogwarts Express waiting to whisk us away.

I lagged behind the others, dragging my feet, the weight of the coming year pressing down on me like never before.

The second I boarded the train, I knew I'd made a mistake. The pity was immediate, suffocating. Eyes followed me everywhere, their looks heavy with sympathy. A girl from Hufflepuff caught my eye, offering a tentative smile. "You alright?"

I forced a grimace, hoping it passed for a smile. "Yeah, just knackered." It was a lie, of course. One more lie to add to the pile. Every "sorry" I heard stung like salt in an open wound, each one scraping at the raw grief I'd tried so hard to bury. It wasn't much different from how Dad would hover outside my door all summer, chattering about his day as though nothing had changed. His words only deepened the ache. I stopped going to dinners weeks ago.

By the time we reached Hogwarts, the thought of the Great Hall—the noise, the light, the chatter—made my stomach churn. I couldn't face it, not yet. Instead, I let my feet wander, carrying me aimlessly through the castle's twisting corridors. Hogwarts felt bigger than I remembered, its maze of stone hallways a perfect match for how lost I was inside. The walls, usually so full of life, now seemed to close in on me, the familiar warmth replaced by a chill that settled deep in my bones.

And then, just when I thought I couldn't bear the weight any longer, there it was—a door. It stood alone in an empty corridor, as if it had been waiting for me. Without hesitation, I opened it and stepped inside.

The Room of Requirement. Of course. It always knew what you needed, didn't it? Right now, what I needed was space—solitude. And for once, the room gave me exactly that. I could finally be alone—no stares, no whispers, no sympathy. Just silence. Blissful, absolute silence.

I curled up on a sofa, soft enough to swallow me whole, and for the first time in weeks, the knot in my chest loosened, if only slightly. Tomorrow's burdens could wait; tonight, I had this.

When I woke the next morning, I was still there, curled up on a sofa so soft it felt as though it had swallowed me whole. My face was tight from dried tears, but at least my throat wasn't burning anymore. Small victories, I supposed. I knew I couldn't stay hidden forever. People would notice. Ginny would definitely notice, and before long, there'd be an owl speeding off to Mum with a frantic note about my disappearance.

I sighed, pulling myself upright. The room remained as it had been, quiet, waiting. But as I gave it one last glance, something caught my eye. Half-hidden beneath a blanket, as though it had been carelessly tossed aside, was a book. It was simple, worn around the edges, with nothing particularly striking about it—except for the inscription on the cover. "Podemos estar separados, pero nunca distantes." The words were soft, faded with time, but they tugged at something deep within me. "We may be apart, but never distant."

The rest of the pages were blank, waiting—waiting for what, I wasn't sure. Yet there was something about the book, something in the quiet promise of those empty pages, that whispered to me. I couldn't explain it, but I felt drawn to it, as though it were offering me something I didn't yet understand.

Without thinking, I slipped it under my arm and left.