Draco had thought it was a joke at first, and he had thrown the letter away with a scowl. But it had been enough to plant a tiny seed of hope, even if he wouldn't admit it. Maybe there was someone out there who still cared about what happened to him – other than his parents, that is. When another letter came two days later, Draco still scowled, sceptical that it wasn't a joke, but he allowed himself to be hopeful. After all, answering it couldn't make his life any worse. His entire family was on probation for the part they played in the war. They were lucky not to be in Azkaban, Draco knew that, but still, he hated it. They weren't allowed to leave the Manor without a Ministry escort and they were only allowed the basic use of magic. All he could do was replay the events of the last two years over in his head and feel as though he would have been better off dead. But then he read the letter again and wondered...

Dear Draco,

I know you're probably miserable right now and don't feel like answering this letter. I'm guessing the previous one went in the fire as soon as you read it. I can't say that I blame you; you probably don't want to talk to anyone. But I'm hoping that even if you don't write back, even if you throw this away, that you'll at least read it and give some thought to what it says.

I know you must feel like the entire world hates you right now, and yeah, I suppose most people do, but I need you to know that at least one person doesn't. I don't. Not anymore. I can't say that I know what you've been through, I doubt anyone can, but I can say that I've been through a lot too, and if you ever wanted to talk about it, I'd be happy to listen. I won't judge you for what you've done or haven't done. I've made plenty of mistakes and I'm the last person to point out yours.

I wish you'd write. I don't know exactly why, but I'd like to hear from you. If for no other reason than to know you're okay. If you don't, I'll understand, but I will write to you again. I can be annoying like that sometimes. If you do chose to write, just send it with this owl, he knows how to find me.

Sincerely,
A friend – or at least I hope to be.

He wasn't sure why the letter brought tears to his eyes, but it did. The thought of having someone to talk to was ... a relief. But could he trust this person? Did it matter? He shook his head. No, it didn't matter. His life couldn't get any worse.

Dear...

I'm not sure what I should call you. I'd like to call you a friend, but I don't seem to have any of those anymore and I'd hate to get my hopes up now. You're right about a lot of things. Your last letter did go into the fire, but not without planting a seed of hope. Perhaps it's foolish. I should have outgrown such foolishness by now. You're right about me being miserable, too. And about me feeling like the whole world hates me. I see evidence of it every day in the howlers that my family receives. My mother thinks I don't hear them, that I don't know how far we've fallen, but I do. Perhaps more than they do.

I've made some terrible mistakes. Many you probably know about if you've read the Daily Prophet. But many, the ones that haunt me the most, you would have no way of knowing. I wish I could talk about them, but I don't know if I can. I do appreciate your concern, but I don't understand what you want from me. There is nothing I can do for you in return for your kindness other than thank you for it. It's not much, and I'm not accustomed to giving it, but I give it to you freely, if you want it.

Your friend,
Draco

~~~~~

Draco,

You don't know how relieved and pleased I was to get your letter. I don't want anything from you, other than what I'm offering you. To talk to me, to listen to me, to be my friend. I have friends, lots of friends, but they don't ... it's complicated. They look at me and see who they want to see, they don't see who I really am. They see someone who knows what he wants, knows who he is, but in reality, I don't know either. My life should be good. It should be better than it's ever been, but ... it's not. I don't know why, it's just not.

Sorry, I didn't mean to go on about myself, but thank you for listening. I do know about many of your mistakes, maybe more than you realise, but if you'd like to talk about them, I'll listen. Isn't that what friends are for?

Thinking of you,
James

~~~~~

James,

I like the name. Is it your real one? It doesn't matter, I suppose. I've had lots of friends in the past, and I know what you mean, they never really knew me either. Not the real me. The me that I was when no one else was around. The me that didn't care about the Dark Lord or my responsibilities as a Malfoy. The one who just wanted to play Quidditch whether I won or not, just for the sheer joy of playing. The one who wanted to grow up and be famous for making potions that saved people's lives. I wonder sometimes if that person didn't die in my sixth year. He hates what I became. What I've become.

Sorry, I guess that's a little morose isn't it. My mistakes are so many that it would take years to talk about them all. But I suppose most of my mistakes were born from just a few. When I look back on my life, I can see clearly the mistakes that laid the groundwork for all the others. It's amazing that choices you make when you're eleven can have such a lasting effect.

Morosely yours,
Draco

~~~~~

Draco,

It was good to hear from you so quickly. A good friend of mine once told me that it was our choices that make us who we are. I guess that was his way of saying what you said in your letter. That our choices build the groundwork for who we will become. I'm lucky enough to have made mostly good choices, but the bad ones were catastrophic.

What choices could you have possibly made at the age of eleven that would have affected you so? It's frightening that decisions made at such a young age could be responsible for such pain.

I wish I had known the real you. I think I would have liked him very much. I'm hoping he's still around and that I'm getting to know him right now.

Optimistically yours,
James

~~~~~

James,

I have to admit I look forward to your letters. They do make me feel a bit better. Thank you. I do believe you are getting to know the real me. It's easier this way, I think, through letters. I think I've shared with you in these last few weeks more than I've shared with anyone since I was a small child. I don't know why I find it so easy to talk to you. Why your words are such a comfort.

Which mistake should I tell you about first? I suppose I should start at the beginning. I was eleven, getting my robes fitted for Hogwarts when I met a boy my age. He was an odd boy. Quiet and scruffy looking, nothing like anyone I'd known before. He had the most beautiful green eyes I'd ever seen. There was something about him, something special. I tried to impress him that day, but I didn't. I think I made him angry. I didn't realise it at the time, but looking back, I can see why what I said would offend him. I didn't mean any of it then. I was just doing what I knew people expected from me.

Well, it turned out there really was something special about the boy and that realisation led to the second biggest mistake of my life. The boy turned out to be Harry Potter. Yes, the Harry Potter. I wanted nothing more than to be friends with the boy with the scruffy hair and the bright green eyes, but I didn't know if I could be friends with Harry Potter. My father wouldn't have approved. I tried anyway. And failed miserably. I think that was the beginning of my proficiency in failing. I should have known then. I should have stopped pretending to be who my Father wanted me to be and started being who I was. But it's too late to go back now, isn't it?

Regretfully yours,
Draco

~~~~~

Draco,

I have to admit your last letter surprised me to no end. I would never have thought you ever wanted to befriend Harry Potter. Your rivalry is legendary, after all. Why did you want to be his friend? What would you say to him now if he would listen?

Curiously yours,
James

~~~~~

James,

I think that was your shortest letter yet. Am I boring you already? It's all very complicated. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be Harry Potter's friend. I wanted to be friends with the boy that I met in the robe shop. The boy with the sad eyes and the obvious insecurity. I wanted to ... I'm not sure if I should go any further. I think perhaps I've already overwhelmed you.

What would I say to him? I don't know where I would begin. I would thank him for saving my life. I still don't understand why he did. Other than that, what more could I say? I guess I'd say I was sorry. Sorry for all the terrible things I said to him over the years. I'd tell him I wish things could have been different. That I wish I hadn't been Draco Malfoy and he hadn't been Harry Potter. That we had been just two normal boys in a robe shop that day. I think then we would have been friends. Maybe we could have been more.

Wistfully yours,
Draco

~~~~~

Draco,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond. I've had some decisions to make and I wasn't sure how to approach it. Draco, I don't know how to say this without you getting angry and I really don't want you to be angry. I haven't been completely honest with you. I really did want to be your friend. I still do. I've meant everything I've said. But I ... you have the right to know who I am before you say anything else. I'll be perfectly honest, I'm afraid you'll hate me. That thought bothers me more than you could possibly know. I think ... I think we could be good friends. Maybe we could even be more. I'd like to meet you, but I'll leave the decision up to you.

Hopefully yours,
Your friend

~~~~~

So I guess James isn't your name then. I don't understand what I said wrong. I've enjoyed talking with you over the last few months. More than you can know. I don't know why you think I would hate you. I don't think I ever could. You've become ... important to me. I don't fully understand it, but you have. I should be pleased that you want to meet me, but your words have made me nervous.

As you know, I can't leave the Manor without an Auror escort, so, unless you're an Auror, we'll have to meet here. Anytime is fine with me. I'll be here.

Anxiously yours,
Draco

~~~~~

Draco,

Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me. I wish I could say you won't regret it, but I'm not so sure of that. It's okay to be anxious. Quite honestly, I'm terrified. I'll be at the Manor at six. All I ask is that you let me explain before you hex me.

With love,
H. James

Draco was sure he'd paced a bald spot onto the rug. Six o'clock felt as if it would never arrive. He'd read over the last few letters a hundred times. He hoped he wasn't imagining that whoever was writing the letters truly cared for him. He was afraid to guess why James was so convinced he'd be angry. He couldn't imagine being angry at the person who wrote such beautiful, honest words. When the door chime finally rang, he prepared himself for the worst, but hoped against hope for the best. When he opened the door, he wasn't quite sure which he'd got.

"Draco, please..."

Draco couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He'd bared his soul to the one person he never would have talked to. The one person he could never have talked to. "Why?" was all he could manage.

Harry licked his lips and took a deep breath. If Draco didn't know better he would have sworn his eyes were moist. "I'm sorry, Draco. I just wanted ... I wanted to help. I knew everyone had abandoned you. I knew what the end of the war cost you. I really did just want to be your friend."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess..." Harry shook his head. "I don't know, but please don't hate me."

Draco didn't hate him. He'd never truly hated him. "Come in. I guess we have a few things to discuss."

Harry followed Draco in silence up the stairs and down a long hall to a large oak door. Draco pushed it open and allowed Harry entrance into a small sitting room, very similar to the common rooms at Hogwarts. He sat on the plush velvet sofa, hoping Draco would sit next to him.

Draco hesitated for an eternity before he finally sat next to Harry on the sofa. "What I said ... in the letter, about you..."

Harry smiled. "You mean about the scruffy boy with the sad green eyes?"

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes. I ... I don't know what to say."

Harry reached out and touched Draco's arm lightly. "Say we can try. That we can put aside Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and just be us. The people we are without the names. Say I can be the scruffy boy with the sad green eyes and you can be the boy who just wants to play Quidditch. Say you don't hate me, that we can be friends, that maybe, someday, we could even be more."

Harry's voice cracked on that last sentence and Draco looked up at him, surprised to see this time his eyes were moist and glassy with unshed tears. He laid his hand over Harry's and it felt so warm, so comforting, like home should feel. "I don't understand why you want this, Harry," Draco whispered. "You have everything. Why would you want me?"

Harry scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his back. When Draco didn't push him away, he couldn't resist pulling the man closer. "I don't know. I just know that I do."

"I wouldn't be worth the trouble, Harry. I can't even leave the house."

"I'm an Auror, Draco. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"You have this all figured out, don't you?"

Harry grinned and relaxed a little, leaning back against the sofa, bringing Draco with him. "Yeah, I do. I have an answer for any and all objections you could possibly throw at me."

Draco leaned his head on Harry's shoulder and snuggled into the crook of his neck. "Will you still write me letters?"

Harry ran his fingers through Draco's silky white hair. "Every day if you want me to. And gifts, I expect you'll want gifts."

Draco chuckled as he looked up into those green eyes that weren't sad anymore but sparkled with something indefinable. "And kisses. I'll want lots and lots of kisses."

Harry cupped Draco's cheek in his hand and leaned down, brushing his lips against Draco's ever so lightly. "As many as you want, Draco," Harry whispered. "Anytime you want, as often as you want."

Draco threaded his fingers through Harry's messy black hair and pulled him in for a deeper kiss, parting his mouth to encourage that bold, Gryffindor tongue to go exploring. Harry wasn't nearly as slow to catch on as Draco had previously thought. In fact, he was rather adept at taking a hint. His strong arms wrapped around Draco's thin frame and it took all of his self-control to keep from climbing into Harry's lap.

When Harry finally pulled back from the kiss, he looked at Draco with concern in his eyes. "Draco, there's something else you should probably know."

Oh, no, Draco thought, his heart pausing. "What?" he asked quietly.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Now he knew his heart had stopped. He had no idea how to respond. "Harry, I ... I don't know what to say to that."

When Harry grinned, it somehow released Draco's pulse, and his heart began pounding loudly. "Just say you don't hate me, and we'll go from there."

Draco felt no need for self-control now. Harry's eyes were boring into him, twinkling and begging, it was too much to resist. He climbed into Harry's lap, knees on either side of his hips, arms wrapped firmly around his neck. "I don't hate you, Harry," he said against the other man's lips before kissing them softly. "I most definitely don't hate you."

The End