the miracle of us || drarry

21 | the letters

Harry didn't really know what it felt like to hate until Draco died. He didn't know what it felt like to despise himself, despise Inigo, despise the world to the point of not knowing where to put all that rage.

In spite of not knowing, he whittled that anger down until it could fit into a box, made it so small that it was out of his sight, and ignored it.

Harry didn't want to talk about what he was feeling, and he definitely didn't want to talk about what was missing.

He wanted to be brave, so he put on a courageous face and tried to pretend that it was for Draco, but it wasn't.

Walking through the house felt like a grave marker, and even though Draco had been given a proper burial, Harry still hadn't gone to visit the grave. No matter how many times Ron or Hermione brought it up, he still hadn't gone to visit.

He had gone back to work after a week, avoiding all mention of Draco's name, of the trial, of Inigo. He went about his days with a carelessness, heart too heavy for him to worry about his own wellbeing.

One day, by a stroke of fate, Harry came across a stack of Draco's drawings on a table in the house. A memory sparked in his mind, of Draco asking him to read the letters on the back of his drawings if things went wrong.

By the time Harry picked the first one up, his eyes were already burning with tears, his chest tight.

Dear Harry.

The familiar curves of Draco's handwriting filled the page. Harry felt along the sides of the paper, at where Draco had likely spilled ink. He took a shaky breath, then kept reading.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing. To be fair, I don't really know what you're doing, either. If our old Hogwarts class knew about this, they'd all probably throw a fit or something.

You're not home right now. To be honest, I think you work a little too hard. Rest is a thing too, you know?

I mean, I hope you're doing okay right now. I'm bored, in case you haven't noticed. Come home soon.

- Draco

Harry was crying now, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed them, but he swiped furiously at his eyes. The next letter was still blurry before him.

Dear Harry,

Bored again. I think if you really wanted to, you could skip work. It's not like one less Auror is going to make a difference.

Okay, so my motives are selfish here. Still. I'd rather be with you right now, and something tells me you feel the same.

Again, selfish.

I drew the Slytherin Common Room today. I don't think you've ever been in there, and if you had, I don't know why.

I'm also literally just looking for things to write down but I kinda suck at this stuff.

Come home soon.

- Draco

The letters continued like this, little updates on his day, with the same signatures. Harry read every single one of them, savoring the way his E's curved up and his little jokes.

Harry missed him so much more than he knew.

By the time he got to the last letter, his chest felt lighter somehow. He exhaled, then began to read the final one. It was the longest out of all of them, and tear-stained, as if Draco had been crying as he wrote this.