Dear Stranger

Chapter Five

Draco awoke on Tuesday to a bit of drizzle on the window panes and a familiar Eastern Screech on the window sill.

"Morning Henry." Draco said as he opened the window to let Henry in from the cold and to collect his letter. He opened the cold and slightly damp letter with unparalleled expectation.

Dear Stranger...

The Three Broomsticks. A bit too public for his taste but at least a familiar environment. He wondered if she knew about The Three Broomsticks because she had been a Hogwarts student. It was a popular pub so he wouldn't be surprised if she had just thought it a good location. Then again, if she was a witch living somewhere in London she must have attended Hogwarts. Unless for some reason she attended Beauxbatons. Had she been in his year and he had simply not noticed her? He probably would have known her if she had been a Slytherin, even if she had been a year ahead or behind.

His mind was reeling through the possibilities while he jotted down the time and place on his calendar, not that he would forget but rather to be official and remind him that it was real. Then it occurred to him; when he walked into The Three Broomsticks on Sunday at 2:00, how on earth would he know which one was her? Dear Merlin.

He pulled out a quill and parchment.

Dear Stranger,

That sounds wonderful. I can't wait. But it just occurred to me, how will I know which one you are? It may prove to be rather awkward if I just walk about asking random girls in a bar if they're my stranger.

Until we write again,

Your Stranger

Draco folded the parchment as always and sent it off with Henry before starting his morning routine.

It was just turning to light outside his window when he had gotten out of the shower. Draco smiled as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. "In a week's time, you'll be even happier than you are now. Imagine that." He said to himself. He pulled a towel over his head to dry his platinum blonde hair. He dressed in sensible all-black suit before deciding it looked much too dark for his mood. He didn't have much in the way of color, but he changed into a grey shirt. He looked at his reflection once more. "Well, I suppose that's a bit more cheerful." He threw his black robe on over the top and grabbed his case before setting off towards the fireplace.

Halfway down the stairs, something stopped him. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it felt like something being lifted off of his shoulders. Loneliness. He had had the entire manor to himself for nine months now. His father was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for crimes against the wizarding world and association with the Dark Lord. His mother served a year of house arrest but she refused to remain in the Manor after and instead took up residence in France. After the many crimes that had been committed in the Manor during the War-- "many of them in this very room" he thought to himself-- she decided she did not want to return to a place so foul. It wasn't until this very moment that he realized he didn't want to be there either.

This house was large and empty and cold and full of terrible memories he never wanted to remember. He shivered as he reluctantly recalled Hermione Granger being tortured on the marble floor in front of him, screaming in pain as his aunt stood above her wielding her wand in maniacal laughter. Him, standing there stone-faced and useless. He had to get out of this house. There was no reason for him to stay. He no longer cared about upholding the glorious name of Malfoy. There were parts of the house he hadn't even been to in the past nine months. All he needed was a kitchen and a bedroom. Why pay for the upkeep of the Manor when you weren't even properly utilizing it?