Drarry AI Oneshots

Love Letters in the Wrong Hands

Draco Malfoy stared at the letter in front of him, his quill suspended in the air as he considered the words he'd just written. The parchment was filled with careful, flowing script-an admission of feelings he had never intended to put down on paper. He had told himself countless times that these emotions were temporary, that he'd move on, that they'd disappear if he ignored them long enough.

But they hadn't.

And now, here he was, sitting in the quiet of the Slytherin common room late at night, with nothing but the flickering firelight to keep him company. The letter was an impulse-a way to finally release everything he'd been holding in for months. He had never planned on sharing it. It was just a way to organize his thoughts, to get them out of his head and onto something physical, where he could see them, feel them.

Harry Potter.

Draco's fingers tightened around the quill as he stared at the name on the page. Of all people, it had to be him. The boy he had hated, envied, and fought against for years. The boy who had saved them all. And somewhere along the line, Harry had become more than just an adversary in Draco's mind. He had become the thing Draco couldn't stop thinking about.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, dropping the quill onto the desk. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. He never intended for Harry to know. Harry didn't need to know. What good would it do? Their tentative friendship-if you could even call it that-was fragile at best, and if Harry ever found out about Draco's feelings, it would shatter completely.

No, this letter was never meant to be sent. It was simply a cathartic exercise. A way to free himself from the weight of it all.

Or so he thought.

The next morning, Draco's routine was thrown off by a series of unfortunate events. First, he overslept. Then, he'd misplaced his Potions notes somewhere between the dormitory and the library. And as if that wasn't enough, he had a run-in with Peeves that left him drenched in ink by the time he reached breakfast.

By the time Draco had settled down in the Great Hall, his mood was already sour. He barely touched his food, opting instead to focus on his schedule for the day. He didn't even notice when Blaise slid into the seat next to him, smirking as he tossed a familiar roll of parchment onto the table in front of Draco.

"What's this?" Draco asked, frowning.

Blaise shrugged, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. "I found it mixed in with your Transfiguration notes earlier. Figured you'd want it back."

Draco's heart stopped as he recognized the parchment. The letter. The letter.

He had completely forgotten about it in the chaos of the morning. It had been sitting on his desk the night before, unsent and unread. He hadn't even sealed it or folded it away. His mind raced as he tried to remember where he had left it, but everything was a blur.

"Merlin," Draco muttered under his breath, grabbing the letter and stuffing it into his robes before anyone else could see. He was about to say something to Blaise-thank him, maybe, or brush it off-but the words caught in his throat as someone else approached the Slytherin table.

"Malfoy."

Draco looked up, and his blood ran cold.

Harry Potter was standing right there, holding another familiar piece of parchment in his hand.

No. No.

Draco's stomach dropped as he stared at the letter in Harry's hand-the very same one he had written the night before, the one confessing everything.