Bound by Love

Chapter 4: Childhood Shadows

Harriet's POV

The days felt heavier after each letter from Draco. He had become more open, more vulnerable in a way I never expected. His words lingered in my mind long after I'd read them, stirring something inside me that I couldn't quite name. Maybe it was the fact that, for once, someone wasn't treating me like a hero or a burden. We were simply two people trying to understand ourselves and the worlds we had grown up in.

When Hedwig returned with Draco's latest letter, I found myself sitting at my desk, running my fingers through the strands of my inky curls absentmindedly, wondering how I would respond. His words had struck me deeper than I wanted to admit.

"I've spent my whole life being told what's expected of me, how a Malfoy should act, what a Malfoy should want."

For someone who had always seemed so sure of himself, it was a startling revelation. I read over his letter again, feeling the weight of it, and realized it was time to share more of my own past. If this strange connection between us was to grow, I couldn't keep hiding behind sarcasm. He had opened up about his family, and I needed to do the same.

I dipped the quill into the ink and began writing, my thoughts pouring onto the parchment.

Draco,

You said you've been told your whole life what's expected of you, what a Malfoy should want. It's strange, because while we grew up in completely different worlds, I understand that feeling. I may not have had parents around to tell me what I was supposed to want, but the Dursleys made it clear I was unwanted. I was never meant to belong anywhere. And yet, somehow, I always felt like I had to prove myself—to prove I wasn't the worthless, freakish child they kept in a cupboard under the stairs.

I paused, feeling the familiar ache that always accompanied those memories. Talking about my childhood wasn't easy, but Draco had shared so much already. Maybe it was time to trust him with this.

For most of my life, I didn't even know I was a witch. The Dursleys made sure I never felt special. I was always less. Less important than Dudley, less worthy of love, less of everything. I lived in a cupboard for the first ten years of my life, with only the spiders to keep me company. I wasn't allowed to ask questions, wasn't allowed to be myself. I learned how to be invisible, how to disappear so that I wouldn't get in trouble.

The words flowed out faster now, and I didn't stop to rethink them.

I guess what I'm saying is, I understand what it's like to feel like you're living someone else's life. To feel like you don't fit in anywhere. Even at Hogwarts, it's like I'm constantly trying to live up to this idea of who I'm supposed to be. The Chosen One, the hero. But I never asked for any of it. I'm just... me. A girl who spent most of her life being told she wasn't enough.

I paused again, staring at the words. They felt raw, exposed. But maybe that's what this was about—being honest with someone who understood in ways I hadn't expected.

You said you're not sure where you fit anymore. Maybe none of us are. Maybe we're all just trying to find a place where we belong, even if it's not the one we grew up in. But I don't think we have to carry the weight of everyone's expectations anymore. We can decide who we are.

I sealed the letter, feeling a strange mix of relief and vulnerability as I handed it to Hedwig. She took off into the night, her white wings gleaming in the moonlight. As I watched her disappear into the darkness, I realized that for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel quite so alone.

Draco's POV

Potter's latest letter hit me harder than I expected. I unfolded the parchment in my room, my hand brushing through my hair as I read her words. The image of her—small, alone, locked in a cupboard for ten years—made something tighten in my chest. It wasn't pity, exactly, but a deep, unsettling empathy.

I had never considered what her life might have been like outside of Hogwarts. The way she had always held herself, strong and defiant, never suggested that she had grown up in such a cruel environment. And yet, here she was, admitting it to me. That vulnerability... it was something I understood all too well.

I sat back in my chair, staring out at the darkening sky, the weight of her words pressing down on me.

"I was always less... less of everything."

How could she feel that way? Potter—the girl who had faced Voldemort and lived, who had saved countless people—feeling less? It was absurd, and yet, I could see it now. I could see how the weight of her childhood, of living under constant rejection, had shaped her. And suddenly, it made sense—the way she fought so hard, the way she always pushed herself to be stronger, better. It wasn't just about the war. It was about proving to herself that she was more than what those Muggles had made her believe.

I picked up my quill, not sure how to put my thoughts into words. But I had to try.

Harriet,

Your letter... it was hard to read. Not because of you, but because I never imagined your childhood like that. I've always thought of you as strong, defiant, always ready to take on the world. I never thought about what you might have gone through before Hogwarts. But now that I know... it makes sense. The way you fight so hard. The way you refuse to back down. It's because you've had to fight your whole life, hasn't it?

I paused, running a hand through my hair as I tried to put my feelings into words.

You say you felt like you were less. But you've always been more. More than those Muggles ever deserved. More than I ever gave you credit for. I don't say this lightly, but you've always been stronger than me in ways I couldn't understand until now.

I leaned back, staring at the parchment for a moment before continuing.

My childhood... it was different from yours, but in some ways, it wasn't. I was given everything I wanted, told that I was superior simply because of my name, my bloodline. But what no one ever told me was that being a Malfoy came with a price. I had to be perfect. There was no room for mistakes, no room for weakness. I was trained from the moment I could walk to be something I wasn't sure I wanted to be. My father, especially, made it clear that failure wasn't an option. And that's the thing—I never had a choice. My life was planned out for me from the start.

I stared at the words, feeling a strange sense of relief as I finally admitted it.

Maybe that's why I've always been so... angry, so desperate to prove myself. It's not because I wanted power or control. It's because I didn't know how to be anything else. But now... now I'm not sure who I am anymore. And maybe that's a good thing.

I sealed the letter, handing it to my owl. As it flew off into the night, I felt lighter. This strange connection between Potter and me—it was becoming more than just letters. We were unraveling each other's pasts, breaking down the walls we had built for so long. And maybe, just maybe, we were finding a way to move forward.