bury a friend • drarry

l e t t e r s

Chapter Eleven:  

The world wasn't as it was supposed to be. It  never was and it never had been, but the fact that he hadn't been able to talk to Harry in too long seemed to exaggerate that.

The ceiling of his dorm was cracking, Malfoy realized as he sat in bed for a few more moments, remembering the way Harry's hair smelled and how his cologne was always a bit too strong. He rolled over, pressing the sheets to his face and breathing in. They still smelled like Harry.

But the clock said it was too late.

It was always too late.

Malfoy never seemed to get a moment to relax these days. Not with him running around all day for the Dark Lord and the mounds of homework that was piling up. Not to mention the fact that Pansy wanted to go on more dates now, and he father insisted on seeing him more regularly.  The only person Malfoy really wanted to see was the one he knew he couldn't. The only person Malfoy really wanted to see was the boy with the lightning bolt shaped scar, otherwise known as the boy who lived, otherwise known as Harry Potter.

He looked over at the parchment lying on the nightstand beside him and an idea started to form in his head. He could write to Harry instead. And he suspected that if the teachers were to see it, there wasn't much they could do about it. They had laws now that prevented teachers from being homophobic.

Malfoy picked up his quill and carefully dipped it in ink, writing on his nightstand for fear that someone might notice if he were to go write in the common room. He kneeled beside him bed.

Dear Potter,

I miss you. I fucking miss you so much it's almost unbearable. I just want to see you again, but I know if we try someone will catch us. I've been feeling like shit recently, and I can hardly sleep at night. I keep having these weird dreams, but at least I don't talk in my sleep the way you do. I keep having this repetitive dream. It happens over and over and it somehow still scares the living daylights out of me everytime.

It goes something like this:

I'm in a completely black room, everything is dark, but I can still see that I'm tied to a wooden cross. The ropes binding my wrists ache from me pulling against them and the skin around the ropes is starting to turn a purplish yellow colour. That's when I notice my father, my mother, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and you all begin to approach me. Pansy is holding what looks like a bag of nails. That's when I start pulling harder at the ropes to escape. That's when I realize that you all intend to crucify me. Even writing this my hands are shaking at the memory. Even writing this the hateful look in everyone's eyes seems to come back to me. You called me a sinner, Harry. And a faggot, and a pansy, and a sodomite, any other shameful words you can come up with, the whole group of my family and friends were screaming it at me as Crabbe and Goyle held down my arms, and you and Pansy began to nail down my wrists. Although not before you placed the crown of thorns on my head. First it was the crown, then my arms, then my legs, then you let me bleed out for what felt like forever, you made me feel the pain for what felt like forever before you finally nailed the last stake through my heart.

I wake up in a start after the nightmare, and I can't go back to sleep. All I really want is to have you here with me.

You better fucking write back.
Malfoy

After he finished scribbling down everything he had to say he sealed it into an envelope. His father had invested in a good owl to deliver his letters, and it was about time Malfoy used the creature. He opened the cage and gently scratched the bird's head, before it extended a leg and allowed him to tie on his letter.