Bound by Love

Chapter 1: The First Letter

Draco's POV

The manor was suffocating in its stillness. The usual silence felt heavier this summer, and though I'd never admit it out loud, I found myself restless. My hair, now longer than usual, fell past my ears as I stared out of my window, the sun casting a dull glow on the perfectly manicured grounds. Everything here was in order, pristine—yet there was something amiss.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming lightly on the desk. The image of Potter—Harriet Potter, with her wild black curls and defiant green eyes—kept flickering in my mind. It was irritating. No, not just irritating. Confusing. Why was she taking up space in my thoughts?

I glanced at the blank parchment before me, then at my quill. The urge to write to someone, anyone, was ridiculous, but for some reason, Potter seemed... fitting. We hadn't exchanged words since school had ended, but something about the silence this summer was unbearable. At least she would understand that.

Before I could second-guess myself, I dipped the quill in ink and began to write.

Potter,

The formality of her last name felt out of place now, but what else was I supposed to call her?

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Perhaps boredom. Or perhaps because it's quieter this summer than usual. The manor is always silent, but this year, it's oppressive. I suppose I imagined you would understand that, living with those Muggles.

I smirked as I wrote that, knowing it wasn't entirely meant as an insult. The way she lived with her relatives—it was common knowledge by now, and from the few mentions she'd made about them, they didn't seem much better than cold strangers.

Tell me, how is your summer so far? Dull, I assume. Mine is as well, though that should come as no surprise. Do you miss the chaos of Hogwarts? I almost do, in a strange way. It's better than this quiet.

I paused, scanning the words. It was strange to admit, but perhaps it was the truth. Hogwarts—chaotic as it was—had been a distraction. This summer, however, brought nothing but empty rooms and silence.

With a swift motion, I sealed the letter. My owl, sitting patiently on the windowsill, regarded me with its sharp eyes. I handed the letter to him, feeling a strange sense of finality as the owl took flight.

"Take this to Potter," I muttered, watching as the bird disappeared into the distance. And now... I waited.

Harriet's POV

It was late afternoon when the owl arrived. Not Hedwig, but a sleek, elegant eagle owl. I blinked, setting down the book I had been half-heartedly reading, my eyes narrowing at the letter clutched in the owl's talons.

The seal gave it away immediately—Malfoy. Of all people, why would he write to me?

The letter unfolded easily in my hands, and as I scanned the familiar, sharp handwriting, confusion turned into curiosity.

Potter,

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. Perhaps boredom. Or perhaps because it's quieter this summer than usual...

I stopped, re-reading that line. Boredom? From Draco Malfoy? The very same who seemed to enjoy making my life miserable at every turn? But as I read on, it became clear that this wasn't the usual sneering, arrogant tone I'd grown accustomed to. He sounded... lonely, maybe. I wasn't sure. It was subtle, but it was there.

I let out a small sigh, glancing at my reflection in the mirror across the room. My curls—dark, untamed, and as wild as ever—fell over my shoulders in a cascade. Aunt Petunia had made several snide comments about it over the last week, but I had learned to ignore her. It didn't matter what she thought.

I returned to the letter, reading his question.

Tell me, how is your summer so far?

How was my summer? I rolled my eyes at the thought. Dull didn't even begin to describe it. The Dursleys had been their usual selves, practically ignoring my existence. It was lonely, but it wasn't anything new. The weight of isolation clung to me, just as it always had.

With a resigned sigh, I grabbed my quill. There was no reason not to reply, and I had nothing better to do. Besides, something about the tone of Malfoy's letter intrigued me. It wasn't a challenge, not really. It was just... conversation. Unlikely as it seemed.

Malfoy,

I wasn't expecting this, to say the least. If you're writing out of boredom, I suppose I can't fault you for that. My summer has been as dull as ever, though I imagine your boredom looks a lot different from mine. The Dursleys have been their usual charming selves, if that's what you're asking.

I hesitated for a moment. Was I being too blunt? No, this was Malfoy—he would expect nothing less from me.

I don't miss Hogwarts, but I do miss being somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. I don't suppose you'd understand, but maybe that's why you wrote. Maybe you do understand more than I give you credit for.

The words came easily, almost too easily. And before I could rethink them, I sealed the letter and sent it off with Hedwig, watching as she flew out into the evening sky. There was something oddly satisfying about it—this unexpected exchange. Maybe it would lead nowhere, or maybe... maybe it would lead to something more.

I sat back in my chair, glancing out the window as the sun began to set. For the first time in weeks, I felt a twinge of curiosity stir within me. What would Malfoy say next?