Work Text:
Malfoy,
I doubt either of us ever expected me to write you a letter, and I most definitely won't be sending this, but for some reason you are the one person that I know I can't offend with my frustrations. Harry and Ron are my best friends, I love them and can't imagine doing this with anyone else, but by everything that is holy if I don't have an outlet for this I might hex them into next week…or say the taboo simply for a break.
Okay that's dramatic, but you of all people understand that dramatics are sometimes necessary…I have references, Buckbeak for instance.
It's much easier to write to you than to speak to you in person. You can't interrupt or walk away. I can even tease you. I know you don't care, and that's the point, if I wrote this to anyone else I might be tempted to send it. I've tried to keep a journal several times, but it feels too strange writing to myself. So I am writing to you, simply as an image to project my words towards. Vitriol is your bread and butter after all.
I did not sign up for this to be a babysitter or a mother. I will cook, clean, and sit watch my share, but no more than that. I need to put my foot down about it but I'm writing this to cool off first so the aforementioned hexing doesn't occur. It's partially my fault for not speaking up sooner, but every single day it's:
“Mione, can you make me tea? You're the best at it”
“Mione, I forgot to clean the pot. Can you do it quick while I swap out on watch?”
“Mione, I tried to fix this rip but I'm just not as good at mending, do you mind?”
I wouldn't mind teaching them, or even the occasional favor of tea when I'm already getting up, especially if it was returned, but no matter what I am doing there is always something more important, something that is their responsibility that I have to assist, take over, or walk them through. Ron uses weaponized incompetence the most, I know there's no malice behind it, his mother takes care of these things for him, but it stings the same. I'm not his mother. How do I bring that up without sounding just like his mother and scolding. Harry knows how, he did all these and more chores with the Dursleys…so now he has the freedom from them, he pushes those thoughts as far as he can, whether on purpose or subconsciously. He forgets to clean up dishes, he begs off cooking for any other task. They get breaks and “first choices” on their preferred duties and I get whatever's left plus the extra.
Okay I feel better now. My head should be clear enough for a civil conversation. Cross your fingers for me to at least get a compromise, or that they won't gang up on me.
Granger
_________________
Ferret,
I know that's a mean name, Crouch was cruel to do that…but I need to be mean right now and you're an easy target. I have to let the pressure off. I have the self restraint to not direct it at the boys in our close quarters, but it has to go somewhere. You are a cockroach, I wish I could punch you again. Come on. Fight back. Now that I want to be mean there's nothing there.
Perhaps I understand your lashing out at school more than I thought.
That went terribly. They barely let me get a sentence out before they went on the defensive. Harry had the gall to accuse me of not doing enough. “How have you not found even a clue to destroy them yet” he yelled at me. I won't even repeat what Ron said but the gist was that I am ungrateful. Ungrateful. I would have laughed at the irony if I wasn't so shocked. I'll spare you the rest of the details. We all will cool off. I'll apologize, then they will too.
I'm outside the wards. I was practicing defensive offensive spells on the trees. We've been alternating wearing the locket and since I took it off after the argument (and may or may not have thrown it at them) I immediately felt better. Wearing a horcrux that close to our bodies was probably a terrible idea. We'll have to find a better place to keep it safe.
Safe.
So we can destroy it. How are we going to destroy it? Let alone the rest of them.
Granger
_________________
Malfoy,
I honestly thought that after the last letter I wouldn't write you again. The boys must've heard me at least a little last week because it's been better. Not ideal, but none of this is ideal.
No, I'm writing to you this time because of me, what I did.
Today is my parent's anniversary, but not really, it's Monica and Frank Wilkins’ anniversary. I hope they're having a wonderful day, maybe they went to the beach…or had a nice dinner out in Sydney. Mum always wanted to go to the opera.
I know what they didn't do. They didn't think about their daughter, because Monica and Frank don't have a daughter. Richard and Helen did, but they don't exist anymore. Modifying their memories is equally the most selfish and selfless thing I've ever done. So selfish and arrogant of me to make such a decision, but if I had consulted anyone else they'd have stopped me. Selfless in the sacrifice of my whole family unit for the good of Harry and the hope of an end to the war.
This is the only place I've admitted what I actually did, the extent of it. Harry and Ron think I just removed the war details and added a great desire to go on an extended vacation, then gave them my blessing. The Order thinks I just convinced them it would be safer for them to be out of the country.
What I truly did was eliminate, destroy, kill, murder Richard and Helen Granger. They will never be those people again. I knew it when I finished the spell, I knew it when I walked out the back door. I knew it when I watched them pack the car from the park across the street. I took too much too fast, I added in the same manner. Can it be called murder when the body still lives? Biologically they are still in perfect health, Dad ran a marathon last year. I can't imagine he's let himself go that quickly. In any muggle proceeding it wouldn't be murder, not even attempted. It feels like murder though, when I let myself open that gate, or it's forced open like today, when a memory floods through, shattering my mediocre occlumency.
The more I write to you the more similarities I find between us. Is this how you felt last year? Planning a murder you didn't want to commit. I know you didn't want to. Even without Harry seeing you lower your wand I would know. You may not believe me but I never thought you were evil. Mean, a bully, even cruel sometimes, but never evil.
Am I evil? In the plainest of terms, no. I didn't do it without remorse, but I still did it. I did it knowing the regret I would feel for the rest of my life. Does that make it worse?
Granger
_________________
Malfoy,
One of these days I will just get up, walk out, leave the country, and live as a muggle in Hawaii. Well mostly as a muggle, I can do enough wandless magic that I would probably be known as the eccentric woman who just showed up one day and never left. That would leave the possibility of my wand as a way to prove my disappearance, maybe even death. Perhaps a death eater witness of me “falling” off a cliff?
Who am I kidding. I'm not a spontaneous person. I started to plan my hypothetical situation for Merlin's sake. Sometimes this just feels so hopeless, like we're paddling against the current that keeps pushing back, stronger every minute as we slowly weaken.
I'm going to take a nap.
Granger
_________________
Malfoy,
Wards don't cover scent. At least not the ones I've been using. Learn something new every day huh.
What I wouldn't give for even 15 minutes in the Hogwarts’ library.
I'm so tired. Physically I have been for a while, but mentally the fatigue is catching up.
Granger
_________________
Diary,
Malfoy,
The whole reason I write to you is because I thought I would never be tempted to send them. Unfortunately now it's gotten to a point where I can't stop writing at all, the habit has formed, it's been helpful to put down my thoughts on paper, and I can't bring myself to stop addressing them to you either. The more I write though, the more desire there is to send them…at least one. Would it even make it to you? Would you open it if it did? Or even finish reading once you realized who sent it?
Would you write back?
That possibility is terrifying enough to stall my thoughts of finding an owl.
Granger
_________________
Draco,
I have decided that since I've surrendered that these are letters to you, not just an illusion of a diary, but that I will NEVER send them, I may as well call you by your name. I had a thought that these could technically be addressed to your father and that was horrifying.
I'm writing to you almost everyday now and Malfoy just seemed too impersonal. What a concept, feeling close enough to you to address these to Draco, but never having an even civil conversation with you before.
We all cope however we can. Ron has been glued to the radio, Harry lays on his bunk throwing and catching the snitch from Dumbledore, they both drink when we can risk a grocery trip — despite my aversion to using funds for alcohol. And I write letters to you.
Hermione
_________________
Draco,
He left. Ron left.
He's always been the most impulsive and hot headed of us, but he just left.
Hermione
_________________
Draco,
He found my letters. It wasn't the only reason he left, but it was the main one. When he is angry, or has made a decision — jumped to a conclusion, he just doesn't listen. The object of his anger is simply a target for his verbal attack. He didn't believe me that it's like a diary, that I've never sent them, that we’ve never liked each other. He's decided that you and I were having a secret affair last year at Hogwarts and that's why I defended you to Harry, why I was so angry when you were cursed. You almost died last year, so did he. I don't want anyone else to die.
Harry isn't too happy either, but at least he heard me out. He asked if I would stop. I don't know if I want to. I don't think I can.
Hermione
_________________
Draco,
What if I sent one? Which one would I send?
What if I sent one then disappeared? Would the weight of the woods crush Harry all alone? It's trying to crush me.
Hermione
_________________
Hermione,
You insane witch.
You are writing to yourself this time because this is getting out of hand. Hermione is writing to Hermione, or the void, or Sirius. Why didn't you address them to Sirius?! No risk of sending them to him, and Ron would have been confused but not angry about that.
Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.
You cannot send letters to Draco Malfoy in the middle of a WAR where he is on the other side. At the very best he is living at the headquarters of the enemy, at the worst he is actively plotting your death and those of everyone like you.
Pull. Yourself. Together.
Hermione
____________________________
Hermione,
Diary,
Ugggghhhhh. This is ridiculous.
_________________
Draco,
Well that was an embarrassingly short amount of time I held out. This will be the last letter though.
How do I know that? Well because I have a feeling we're nearing the end. Harry and I are going to Godric’s Hollow tomorrow to see his parents house. I don't think it's a good idea. Voldemort has surely put alarms in place there, probably more. He is sentimental in a twisted way, and it means something to him too. But Harry insists, so I will follow. He's the key to everything. I'll protect him as best I can. Until the end. Always. I suspect he might be a horcrux too, but will destroying it destroy him?
I've stopped fighting the urge. I am sending all the letters tonight. I'm currently writing this one just outside of a tiny wizarding village that thankfully has a post office. Harry thinks I'm just getting food and supplies. Maybe it's the worst idea I've ever had, you may report them to Voldemort as soon as they arrive tonight. They may not arrive at all, that might be for the best.
I won't waste words begging for your help, I have no idea what help you could even offer. Don't take too much offense to that, I have little faith in practically everyone by this point. Dumbledore himself could rise from the grave and I wouldn't know what he'd be able to help with either. I won't even ask you not to use this information to your advantage. I know who I am sending this too. You're a Slytherin, and very intelligent. All I'm asking is if you do use it, make sure it saves you, your parents too if possible. It might fully break me if we end up having no parents in common too.
Dumbledore was always telling us to trust ourselves, our instincts, and mine are screaming at me to find an owl, the fastest one there is.
If I've doomed us all, at least it's almost over.
Hermione
_________________
The wind whipped and swirled the snow around the pair of teenagers as they materialized in the middle of a quiet street in Godric's Hollow. The boy clung to the girl's arm and they both swayed a bit, bracing against the gale. Slowly, they started to make their way down the pavement quietly whispering and subtly pointing ahead every so often. After a while they slowed even more, coming to a stop in front of a dilapidated house. They had found their destination. A plaque affixed to the garden gate stole their attention, so much so that they didn't notice at first the dark figure stalk smoothly towards them around the side of the cottage. There must've been a sound, a scuffling of feet, or a rock being kicked, and their heads snapped up. Wands were held at the ready, hands steady despite the cold and fear in the air. The figure stopped, hands going out to the sides deliberately, to show they were empty. Then he spoke, cool and calm.
“Granger. I got your owl.”