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To Harry,
I’m so sorry dear. I’m sorry that you have to read this now when you’re probably at one of the lowest points in your life. But I know you’ve been here and back thousands of times already and I know that you’ll make it out again. I just needed to get all of my thoughts down on paper and I hope you’ll indulge me by reading this through till the end.
I want to tell you a little story. Our story.
After the war ended, we both decided it was best to settle down. I took Father’s old job at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries and on the Board of Governors for Hogwarts, and you took an Auror position in order to reform the justice system in your godfather’s name (quite admirable, might I add). We lived a simple life: I left Malfoy Manor and bought us a flat in the city, a cosy place that I originally never would’ve considered if I hadn’t seen the way your eyes lit up as you tried planning where all the furniture would go. I had brought my dozens of boxes from home while you only had one, but we shared everything as if that was the way it had always been. It was an unspoken agreement between us that my stuff was yours and yours was mine, and there was no doubt in my mind that this was how things were meant to be.
The years immediately following the war were hard for us. Rebuilding Hogwarts took more time and effort than anyone anticipated and the Board was finding difficulties in funding all the necessary areas. We fought the evening I came home from work and you had just read in the Daily Prophet about how I led the discussion on cutting Defence Against the Dark Arts from the school’s program. I tried to explain how it would only be for a year or two at most, just until Hogwarts was up and running again, but you were too upset to listen and I was too angry to find the right words. I still slept beside you that night, facing the wall of course, because I knew your job was exhausting and that we’d forgive each other in the morning.
But that Auror job really started to take its toll on you. I could see it in your eyes, in every crease in your face, in the way you took up smoking only a year into the position. You always brushed me off when I asked how you were faring; I know you were only sparing my feelings, but I could see right through you every time. It was easier to leave you to your thoughts rather than to press on. Easier for me at least. I wish I hadn’t left you alone, I wish I had bugged you for an answer until you were red in the face and threatening me with your wand . . . but I didn’t. I let you stew in a pot of your own emotions, waiting silently for the day that they would boil over, ready to catch whatever spilled out with my bare hands.
It never did though.
The day that I thought would come, never came; I had been sitting there like a fool, on my knees and with my palms turned upwards in preparation, only to receive a droplet when I expected a rush of hot water. Instead of the yelling that I thought would take place when I brought up how you seemed to be withdrawing from me, you locked yourself in our room and returned half an hour later with an apologetic smile plastered onto your face so thickly that I couldn’t see through it. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. I wanted to believe that you were happy.
Now I know I said this was our story at first, but maybe it really is more my story than anything else. My side of our story, the side you never really got a chance to hear. But maybe since I am reframing it this way, I should start over.
After the war ended, we both decided it was best to settle down. I took Father’s old job and you got your position as an Auror. I left the Manor and we moved into our flat together and we were happy and I was whole. Your job took its toll on you, though you tried to hide it, and I wanted to help. You looked so sad, and cold, and hungry. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I gave you a piece of me. A small piece, sure, but it was me all the same. I watched as you tentatively picked it apart, as if afraid to damage it with your hands which were calloused from the countless hours at work. I encouraged you to continue and you worked your way through me, taking me apart fully, savouring me. And I felt loved, I felt seen, and I felt you drifting back towards me again. It was an unspoken agreement between us that I was yours and you were mine, and there was no doubt in my mind that this was how things were meant to be.
It wasn’t enough.
Of course it wasn’t enough. How could that fraction of me ever be enough? You were still hard at work and you grew hungry again, so I quickly gave you more. Another piece, larger this time, and one that I hoped was big enough to satiate you. We danced that night and you held me so close that I could feel our heartbeats sync up to one rhythm. You told me that I tasted sweet, that you were eternally grateful for what I had shared with you, but I told you that we shared everything and that was the way it had always been. And it didn’t hurt when you sank your teeth into me. I relished that feeling of being wanted, being needed, by you. And your fingers felt so good on my flesh that I didn’t notice what you were taking from me, or how much.
The years passed and the world found a new normal. Your friends’ kids were starting at Hogwarts soon and we went to King’s Cross to say goodbye to your godson along with everyone else, and we had been granted a little bit of peace at last. I realised, however, that as we watched the train leave the station, I was still frozen in time. Even though my body had aged and moved through life as normal, my mind had never left that last moment when I gave myself over to you. I felt stuck, I felt wrong, and it was agonising when I wrenched myself out of my thoughts so I could feel present again.
But it was already too late. While mind was separated from body, body had given up so much of itself, because body could not think without mind. And my body was so changed now that it barely felt like mine anymore. In all of the little pockets that should’ve held more parts of me, there was you: fingers, hands, tongue, mouth, all of yours and none of mine. My skin was stained red, bruised with your longing, your craving for me. And you were untouched. You were standing in front of me as complete and whole as I once was, and it dawned on me how I wished I could take it all back. How badly I wanted to shove my hands down your throat and make you spit out what you stole from me.
I never did though.
I couldn’t because you had already digested me, taken me to the furthest parts of you, and it would’ve destroyed you to take back what was mine.
We went back home and resumed all our normal activities, and I pretended that I hadn’t just had the biggest revelation of emotions of my entire adulthood. And life went on, as life tends to do. Both of us returned to work after the holiday and we became so busy that I was starting to forget what I had been so dramatic about in the first place. I even found one last piece of myself. One that was equally as small as the piece I had initially given to you, that had hidden itself away where even I struggled to see it. I was afraid that it would be taken from me as quickly as the others, so I squashed it down before it was noticed. Then as time passed, I felt safe enough to leave it out in the open. I nourished that miniscule part of me as best as I could and it grew. You recognized that something in me had changed and you were drawn to it. We seemed to fall in love with each other all over again, perhaps even deeper in love than we were from the start.
Then you got the news that you might be laid off from work. We weren’t hard pressed for money (the Malfoy inheritance ensured that), but you hadn’t quite succeeded in bettering the Ministry’s policies around trials, your main goal since taking the job, and it disheartened you to think that you might not be able to. I tried to cheer you up. “A lower need for Aurors means there’s a lower rate of crimes,” I had said.
It wasn’t enough.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do.
This time it felt different. You asked me if I was sure, and I suddenly remembered that you had asked this before every time in the past; you had done everything in your power to stop me, to reassure me that I didn’t have to do this, to tell me that you loved me anyway. But I had never listened, instead I gave myself away to you willingly, and I didn’t listen this time either. And as your touch slowly enveloped me, your warmth digging into every part of my being, it hurt. Despite your gentle actions, I felt every movement like sandpaper was being rubbed against me. When you were done you stepped back and only then could I see how you were stained red too, my juices at the corners of your mouth and running down your forearms. Inside all of the little pockets that should’ve held parts of me, there was only you. I was tired, completely spent because though my pieces were together again, they were in the wrong vessel. I saw them in you, reflected back to me through your wild eyes, shining in your teeth, glistening on your hands. You told me that that was the sweetest I had ever tasted.
I don’t regret doing what I did.
I knew loving you was going to be messy. I knew we both came from childhoods filled with tragedy and I knew it had broken us in ways that no one else could understand. I gave my body to you because I wanted us both to eat well, to share everything like we’d always done. I wanted you to know me inside and out, wanted you to have me like no one else could. You were so patient with me and you worked so hard, and I hope that my sweetness was worth all your effort. I hope that I was worth the mess.
I want you to know that when I kissed you that night, right in your red–stained mouth, that it was for the last time. I’m gone now, for good, and I’ve left all my things to you. Don’t try to look for me, we both know I wouldn’t want to be found as a corpse anyway. But I also want you to know that I loved you till the end. I may have nothing left to give you, but I am happy.
I am yours, dear, and you are mine, and there is no doubt in my mind that this is how things are meant to be.
Love,
Draco