Disclaimer: I do not own the character, storyline, or even the plot. Any mistakes are mine to make due to a complete lack of Beta...implied H/D.
You don't know me, but I've been keeping track of you for quite some time...a friend told me I was stalking you, but...I don't believe you'd mind too much, if you knew.
So why don't I tell you?
Because I'm afraid. Afraid of the visceral response that occurs when I bring you to mind. Afraid of rejection. Afraid...of most things, if I'll just admit it.
The first time I saw you, you were afraid...or at least nervous, which, at that age, amounts to the same thing. I, being myself, managed to completely ruin my first offering of friendship...if only you weren't quite so sympathetic to the underdog, as it were. Knowing what you've been though, I can understand it, but then? No, then I simply thought you were being rude...that you wanted to hurt me. You didn't, though...you were just informing me of where you stood, in the grand scheme of things.
I hated you for a while. For years. And then...the hate turned to an obsession. I began to get in your way, to taunt you just so that you would see me. Even if it was the wrong me.
We grew older, wiser, harder to hurt. I learned that sometimes...just sometimes...you get second chances. I learned that I can be wrong, and sometimes you can trust people, even if they haven't yet given proof that you can do so.
I wanted to trust you. Wanted you to know that I did. I still do, or I would never have considered telling you all this.
I...want you to know that I am sorry for every hurtful thing I have ever said to you. But I'd do it again, if it meant you took notice of me.
That's what this is about. I want you to notice me. To notice me noticing you. To let you know that I'm not the same snot-nosed rich brat you first met, all those years ago.
Some things haven't changed though. I'm still afraid that you will always hate me...
The envelope was a shock. It was quite clearly displaying his name on the creamy, sumptuous parchment, but the writing...was different. No-one wrote to him, and those letters that mentioned him were, in the majority, addressed to another.
Setting aside the breakfast plates, the half-eaten toast with marmalade dripping from one edge, the steaming mug of tea, and carefully cleaning his fingers of the last vestiges of breadcrumbs, Harry picked up the envelope and slowly turned it over to unseal it.
Running tanned fingers over the edge of the envelope, his brain noticed that it was sealed with a deep blue wax, imprinted with a serpentine design. Curiosity was overwhelming...slipping a finger beneath the edge, he slowly and carefully lifted the tab, waxen seal stretching - not long sealed - he thought to himself as the paper unfurled.
"Harry?" Hermione watched him unseal the envelope with more than a little curiosity, and concern. "Who's the letter from?"
"Mmm?" Harry looked up briefly, eyes flicking towards Hermione before being drawn back. "Not sure...it's not signed. It's...personal though." He nodded once. "I'll just...go and read it..."
Hermione looked on in confusion as he left the table, snatching up his schoolbag, slinging it on his shoulder, then pushing the remainder of the toast in his mouth and transfiguring the mug into a flask to take with him. The letter remained in the other hand, half-open, unread as he made his way out of the Great Hall.
Heading straight out, Harry wandered towards the bridge, intent on climbing around it so he could read in peace. A peace which would not remain undisturbed for long. Long enough to read the letter, several times over. To wonder why it had been written, knowing who it came from, wondering what it meant.
About to get up from his hiding place, Harry noticed a set of pale hands resting on the bridge above, pointed chin upturned as its owner seemingly watched the clouds racing across the blue sky. Moments of watching, slowly the chin lowered, large grey eyes sparkled in the sunlight, intense in their regard. With one last look at the parchment, Harry raised his gaze to meet Draco's, and nodded, a small smile threatening. Eyes closing, head hanging, the first real smile in six years was seen on the face of Draco Malfoy.