Chapter Text
Draco let out a deep sigh as he moved yet another box that weighed twice his own weight. He let himself collapse into an old, rickety armchair for a moment, deciding he deserved a break. For the past two days, he had been attempting to clear out his loft. Attempting being the key word here.
Draco was not one to favour physical labour. Sure, he played games of football with his friends sometimes, but that didn’t require carrying around boxes that might as well have two of his friends shoved in there considering the weight. He had chosen Architecture as his profession for a reason. He got to have all the fun of designing things without having to actual build them. It was Draco’s ideal situation.
However, physical labour could not always be avoided. He eyed the particularly heavy box that made him collapse into the chair. Why on earth did he have something so heavy. He racked his brain in an attempt to work out what on earth could be in there. Maybe something of his mother’s? Or maybe some old toys from his childhood, but he couldn’t work out why he would have those in his own house. As he stared at it, he came to realise that he didn’t recognise the box at all.
It wasn’t one of the simple brown boxes that he used for storage. This one was fancier, a delicate floral pattern decorating it. The colour had faded, but Draco could make out flowers of all colours swirling around in the most hypnotising way. He cocked his head to the side slightly, before sliding off the chair to kneel beside it. The lid was simpler, he noticed as he peered down at it. It was one red flower, nearly crimson, with a gold detailing. It was rather beautiful, actually.
Draco would be able to appreciate its beauty more if he knew where the fuck it came from, though.
He eased the lid off, dust escaping from the edges. He dropped the lid very quickly, holding his hands up and far away from it. Draco was not one for germs, not that anyone is really. But he had always had this outright fear of any illness possible. Coming up into the loft took days of convincing in itself. Using a handkerchief to hold the lid of the box, Draco finally pulled it all the way off.
Inside sat stacks upon stacks of letters. Draco grew somehow even more perplexed. In all honesty, he had never seen this many letters in his life. Each one was placed in a worn-down envelope and were held together in groups by faded rubber bands. Red ones. The paper of the envelopes had curled at the edges with age, growing flimsy. Draco cautiously reached out to pick one of the piles up with the handkerchief. He peered down at the writing on the front, and upon processing what it said, his confusion grew impossibly larger.
Draco Malfoy
The Manor
Sudley Gardens
He fumbled through the remainder of the letters in the pile, and they were all the same. All addressed to him. He had never heard of Sudley Gardens. He certainly did not live in a Manor. He was comfortable in his Victorian Terraced house in London. His parents were rather well-off, sure, but he would not consider their home a Manor.
Regardless, these had somehow ended up in his loft. Without him ever seeing them. Suddenly, Draco felt as though he was in some twisted film, like a supernatural one with evil spirits. Yet, he was too intrigued by the letters to throw them away. He pulled one out from the pile held by an elastic band, turning it over to open it. In the top left corner was what Draco assumed to be a return address, but it had completely faded with time, leaving it unreadable.
He peeled the letter open, the paper feeling incredibly flimsy. Inside, was a single page letter, the paper in about the same state as the envelope. He felt a deep sense of Deja-vu all of a sudden as he turned the letter over in his hand. The handwriting was scrawled onto the page. It reminded Draco of the handwriting of a professor. During his time at University, Draco had come to learn that nearly all professor’s had similar handwriting. It was rather funny, actually.
He felt as though he was invading someone’s privacy as he looked at the letter, holding off on reading it for a moment. Sure, they were for some reason addressed to him, but Draco had no idea where they possibly could have come from. He was not this person’s Draco. Maybe they belonged to an old relative. There were several repeats of names in his family, so surely there was another Draco Malfoy. His mother or father must have stored them in his loft when he was away one day and forgot to mention it. Yes, that must be it. Draco was content with that conclusion, and it eased his mind a little.
However, he was still incredibly curious about the letter that sat in his hands. There would be no harm in reading it, really. It might help him feel more connected with his ancestor’s, if anything. Draco contemplated for a moment, before shifting to sit cross-legged, and reading the letter.
Tuesday August 13th, 1963
My love,
It has been literally twelve hours since I last saw you, and yet it feels like an eternity. Secrecy is oh so tiring, don’t you agree? I miss you so much.
I spoke to Hermione today. She and Ron are doing incredibly well. In fact, she let me in on the most amazing secret. Her and Ron are expecting! I am over the moon, as you can imagine. They are unsure right now of whether it is to be a boy or a girl, but they are already planning ideas for names and such. You know how Hermione is, she is always two steps ahead, if not five. If a girl, her name is to be Rose. I think that is such a beautiful name. If a boy, Ron has proposed the name Hugo, or Fred, in honour of his late brother.
I am so very happy for them. We must go visit them when you return.
How is your time in Paris? I know it is due to familial obligation, but please to try to enjoy it, my love. I hope one day that we are able to travel with such ease. I want to take you to Italy. Now, I know you are fond of France like no other and have told me it would be ‘blasphemous’ to betray it, but please do put your dramatics aside for just a moment. Allow me to be hypothetical. I think Italy would be a most beautiful holiday. We could travel all over, including to Rome. In any sense, I think that everywhere would be beautiful as long as you were there.
It is rather boring here in your absence. I have spent a lot of time with Ron and Hermione, of course. I have also taken the time to visit Dean Thomas, who has gained a new roommate! His name is Seamus Finnegan, an Irish man, if you couldn’t already guess by the name. He is very funny, and he and Dean seem to get on swimmingly.
I have been keeping your letters tucked away safely in a small box, but I think it may be time for me to invest in a new one. I am currently looking at it, and it is completely overflowing. In all honesty, I have absolutely no idea where the lid has gone. I am sorry if this letter seems rushed, it’s because it is. Hermione is currently stood in the doorway to my kitchen. We are going out to the drive-in with our friends and are already late, so Hermione is telling me we are going to have to book it soon.
Okay, I do have to go now, Hermione has started to tap her foot, which is never a good sign.
All my love,
- H
Huh. Draco sat and merely stared at the letter for a moment. Whoever this Draco was, it seemed as though they were in love with this elusive ‘H’ person. Secretly, at that. He had never heard of another Draco in his family being in love with someone with the initial ‘H’. Just the one letter was going to make Draco’s hunt for this person significantly more difficult. The way they wrote was beautiful, Draco had to admit. It felt as though their pen was inked with flowers. Draco could tell they were in love by just the first letter of what could be hundreds.
Draco yearned for that sort of love, the sort of love that can last decades through words. The type of love that can be recognised in the next century. He had always craved it for most of his life. It was odd. He had never experienced it, but it felt as though he had somehow lost it. He yearned for arms to hold him that had never held him before. He missed the feeling of gentle, kind lips on his own, despite the fact that these specific lips had never met his.
Maybe his expectations for love were just impossible high. Draco had always been picky.
He heaved himself up from the floor, making his way over to one of the boxes waiting to be brought downstairs. Inside one of them was a book of the Malfoy family history. It was filled with photos, newspaper clippings, letters, and most importantly, a family tree. This would be the easiest way for Draco to work out if these belonged to a relative.
He flipped through the pages and poured over the extensive family tree. He could roughly guess when the sixties were based on his relatives ages. Judging from the letter, he assumed this ‘H’ was in their 20s. Based on this, Draco searched around his family members that he knew were born in or around the 1930s.
And yet, nothing. Nothing that pointed to these letters belonging to someone else. Draco heaved a deep sigh, tossing the book back into the pile. He leaned up against a stack of boxes in a deep state of confusion, eyeing the letters.
If they truly did belong to him, then how on earth would that even work? It was all far too confusing. Draco decided in that moment that he truly did want to seek out this ‘H’ person. To ask questions. Because, God, he had so many questions. He did notice that the friends they mentioned had full first names. However, they were incredibly common. The amount of twenty-something year olds in the 1960s named Hermione must have been through the roof. Draco, in a state of frustration, kicked the box to the side.
He felt like he was being pranked, like someone was watching him have a mid-life crisis at the age of twenty-five. He stared down at the box, letters now scattered around it due to the force with which he kicked it. He let out his millionth sigh of the day, before crouching down to start collecting the letters. As confused and borderline terrified as he might be, those letters were the only shot Draco had at working out what was going on.
He picked up the final letter, holding it in his hand for a moment. If he was going to work out who this person was, then he had to read more letters.
Wednesday September 2nd , 1963
My love,
Must you spend all your time at classes? It has been a whole day! You are being kept away from me by some pencils and watercolour paint pallets. I feel utterly betrayed. By the time you receive this, it will most likely be Friday. Which I am incredibly excited for, by the way. I have such a wonderful plan for the day, you are going to love it. I just know it.
Well, if it is Friday when you receive this. Hello! What will you be wearing today? I have had my outfit planned all week, in fact. I do hope you like it. I have no doubt in my mind that you will look as beautiful as ever.
As you know from my last letter, the first day of my new job was today! The university itself is beautiful, I really think you would love it. It would be lovely for you to come and visit. I have my own office, which makes me feel far fancier than I should ever be considered. It sounds so odd that I'm a professor now.
Draco barked out a laugh at this. All professors truly did have the same handwriting.
Yet, you’re a student, and older than me. How funny!
My students were, oddly enough, incredibly nice. I am teaching a rather large class, which was incredibly intimidating. I can already tell that they have such a passion for Philosophy, and they were all so enthusiastic. I have begun decorating my office too. In all honesty, that is what I have been the most excited about. I am thinking of making it cosy, lots of reds and oranges. I know that is arguably your worst nightmare, but I think you’ll grow to love it.
There's even a fireplace. A fireplace! How perfect is that! With it getting chillier, I am so grateful for it. I will need your help with the decorating. Your artistic eye is, obviously, far better than mine. So yes, I am enlisting you to help me. You have no choice. Also, it just so happens to be the perfect opportunity to get you alone, so you must come. No say in the matter, my love!
I have a surprise for Friday, which you are going to absolutely love, I have no doubt about it.
I know you won’t be able to send another letter before we see each other, so I won’t ask my usual questions. I'll just wait until I see you!
Until then, all my love,
- H
So, this Other-Draco was an artist. Draco smiled fondly at that. He knew exactly what it was like to have a passion for art. In fact, he caught himself smiling fondly at the entire letter. ‘H’ was incredibly enthusiastic, from what Draco could tell. He pondered on the fact that they were a professor of Philosophy. If only they had mentioned the name of their university, or if only the bloody return address hadn’t completely faded off.
Draco grabbed the remainder of the letters from the initial pile he grabbed, alongside the two that he had already read, and made his way out of the loft. He all but ran into his study, chucking them onto the table as he rooted through his drawers for an empty notebook. An empty notebook in Draco’s house was an incredibly rare occasion. They were always filled to the brim with sketches and notes of potential projects. Luckily, he had just purchased a leatherbound one from an old stationary shop. It was one he had never been to before, tucked away in a cobblestoned alley.
The entire shop was beautiful, filled with both antiques and stationery of all forms. He had instantly fell in love with the notebook. The girl at the counter had narrowed her eyes at him for a moment when he bought it, looking at him as though his mere existence confused her. Regardless, she sold him the notebook, and Draco had been waiting to use it.
In this moment, he sat down at his desk and grabbed a pen, before hastily noting down information from the letters.
- Someone named ‘H’ (WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE USED YOUR REAL NAME?)
- Professor ??
Draco He me??? I?? Some Draco is an artist- This is so confusing
- Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus
- The Manor ??
Draco leant back in his seat, tapping his pen against his lip. This was, by far, the weirdest thing he had ever taken on. His life was interesting enough, sure. But not this interesting. The most interesting thing that had happened in his life recently was two of his best friends, Pansy and Daphne, starting to date. The fact that the most interesting thing in his life up until now had nothing to do with him really said a lot. Maybe his life wasn’t that interesting.
Before he could fall too deep into his thoughts, Draco abruptly stood up and made his way up to his loft once again. After a great struggle, one that caused him to bash his knees against the box many times, Draco eventually managed to get the box downstairs and into the living room. He stood in front of it, glaring at it. Why did it have to be so heavy.
He stood with his hands on his hips, and decided that tomorrow, he would begin to make his way through more of the letters and find out as much as possible. He was going to work out who ‘H’ was if it was the last thing he did.