Letters To A Friend (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

X.

Days blur together as I move through the motions, pretending everything is fine. The usual routine—classes, meals, DA meetings—all blend into one exhausting cycle. My smiles are forced, my laughter hollow, and no one seems to notice how far away I've drifted. It's easier this way, keeping everyone at arm's length, letting them believe I'm managing. Even Ginny's stopped asking if I'm alright.

Weeks pass, and the suffocating pressure inside me only builds. The frustration from being cut off from the team still stings. It felt like the final blow, a public rejection that deepened the sense of isolation I've been battling. I find myself spending more time alone, avoiding the crowded common room and skipping meals when I can. The only place that feels remotely safe is my bed, tucked behind the curtains, where I can pretend for just a little while longer that the outside world doesn't exist.

But even there, the silence is unbearable. My best friend's absence is a constant ache I can't escape, and every time I try to push it down, it claws its way back, stronger than before. On top of everything, my daily reports to Umbridge weigh heavily. I report on my fellow students, their conversations, their movements—all under the guise of keeping Umbridge's suspicions at bay. Each day feels like a betrayal, and it's becoming harder to compartmentalize my role as her informant from my feelings of frustration and anger.

The more I pretend, the more I feel myself slipping. The weight of my choices presses down harder, and then, one evening, as I sit alone by the window, staring out into the dark grounds of Hogwarts, it hits me—I can't keep this up forever. Something has to give. But even if I think this, I know I don't have the courage to actually act on it.

That night, unable to bear the oppressive silence of my bed, I decide to sneak out of the Hufflepuff common room. It's a gamble, but the urge for a small escape is overwhelming. I move quietly through the darkened corridors, careful not to make a sound. The castle is unusually still, the quiet broken only by the occasional distant creak.

I make my way to the kitchen, hoping that a midnight snack might offer a moment of comfort from the turmoil in my mind. The warmth of the kitchen hits me first, followed by the gentle smell of freshly baked bread. It's quiet here, much quieter than usual. Only Kreelan is present, tidying up the last bits of mess from the evening's cooking.

She looks up from wiping down the counters and smiles warmly. "Miss Weasley, what brings you here at this hour?"

I manage a weak smile in return. "Just needed a break, Kreelan. Thought a little something might help."

Kreelan's eyes soften with understanding. "Of course, Miss Weasley. What can Kreelan get for you?"

I take a seat at the long table, feeling a bit of the tension ease as I watch the house-elf prepare a tray of pastries and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The warmth of the kitchen and Kreelan's quiet presence provide a small comfort that I haven't felt in a long while.

As Kreelan sets the tray in front of me, I take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions inside. "Thank you, Kreelan."

Kreelan nods, seemingly sensing that I need more than just a snack. "Is Miss Weasley alright? You look troubled."

I look down at my mug, feeling the weight of Kreelan's question hang in the air. I want to respond, to let it all out—the frustration, the grief, the overwhelming loneliness—but the words catch in my throat. Instead, I offer a small, tight nod.

"I'm managing," I say, the familiar phrase slipping out before I can stop it. My automatic response, a mask I've worn for so long it almost feels real. But even as I say it, I know it's not true.

Kreelan's expression softens with gentle concern. "Sometimes, it helps to talk. Kreelan is always here if Miss Weasley needs to share."

I look down, biting my lip before asking, "Kreelan, do you believe in the afterlife?" The question sounds ridiculous the moment it leaves my mouth, but I've been thinking about it so much lately that I can't help myself.