human again / hp.

Chapter 97

The scent of ink and roses filled the east sitting room, blending with the scratch of my mother's quick, elegant handwriting. We'd been at it for nearly an hour — writing thank-you notes to the dozens of guests who had attended the Malfoy Christmas Ball. It was a yearly tradition, one I'd never managed to escape. Apparently, etiquette demanded a handwritten note of gratitude for every dance, compliment, or galleon slipped into the Manor's holiday coffers.

I was using the parchment with the Malfoy crest pressed faintly in silver at the top — subtle, but present. The ink was a custom blend, too, something called "Winter Moon" that shimmered faintly when it caught the light.

"Straighten your strokes on the Gs," Mother said absently without even looking at me. "They curl too high. It looks childish."

"Yes, Mother," I replied automatically, adjusting my grip on the quill.

This was what being a Malfoy daughter meant — elegance, poise, polite gratitude, and a silence so sharp it could cut glass.

By the time we finished, my wrist ached and I had a smudge of ink on my ring finger, but Mother pronounced them satisfactory. She handed the stack off to a waiting house-elf and gave me a slight nod, which was as close to praise as it ever got.

"You may go," she said.

I stood, dipped my head slightly in the required way, and left.

The moment I stepped into the corridor, the quiet of the Manor seemed to stretch out around me. I walked slowly, heels tapping faintly against polished floors as I made my way back to my room. There was a low ache behind my eyes — the kind that came from too many hours of looking perfect.

When I opened my door, I didn't expect anything different. Maybe a quiet moment, maybe a page or two of my book. But instead, there she was — perched on the windowsill, perfectly still in the soft morning light.

"Hedwig," I whispered, already crossing the room.

She turned her head toward me with a low hoot, eyes bright. Another letter was tied to her leg, and my heart jumped in that stupid, quiet way it always did when I saw his handwriting.

I untied it carefully, fingers a little too eager, and gave her a soft scratch along the feathers at the base of her neck. She leaned into it for a second, then turned to preen one wing while I opened the letter.

It was slightly crinkled, like he'd written it in a rush — but that was Harry, wasn't it?

Celeste,

Thanks for the book. It's actually hilarious. It was a nice thought, and I appreciated it more than you can probably guess. I started reading it while Hermione and I waited in St. Mungo's.

Speaking of which — we were there because we went to visit Ron's dad. He's doing a lot better. They had him in this ward full of all kinds of weird injuries, but the Healers said he'll be okay. 

We also accidentally ran into Gilderoy Lockhart. Still smiling like he's on the cover of one of his books and he insists on signing things, still doesn't remember a thing. It was strange. Sad, actually.

I hope the holidays haven't been too difficult for you, and I know you've got your own pressures to deal with. But I'll be seeing you soon I have something important to discuss with you, and I'm looking forward to that.

Take care, and I hope the rest of your Christmas goes smoothly. We'll talk soon.

- Harry