This is set after their 7th year in Hogwarts, after they have graduated. Disclaimers apply, as always. It is in Malfoy's point of view, unless stated that it's Harry's.
I sat there, in the dark, cold floor, torn and shattered. I just stared down at the floor, teeth held tightly clashing. Your letter lay forgotten in front of me, crumpled and mutilated.
Your sign of redemption.
I thought you said you loved me, Potter.
"Malfoy, would you just wait!?"
A sneering voice. "Finally pleading, Potter?"
Hollow footsteps coming towards me.
"How can you be such an obnoxious prick?!"
A grunt of amusement. "Potter, Potter, Potter… Stopping me just to throw low insults?" A shift of steps, "Don't waste my time."
More footsteps, fading this time.
"Wait!" A halt, a silence.
"Malfoy… I… I love you."
Just what are you playing at, Potter? I bite my lip, down hard, so hard that blood trickles down. The moonlight streaks across my face, expression far distant.
All along I had hated you. For what reason? I hated you for making me love you. Do you know how confusing that is? This love is foreign to me, Potter. And you had lit it.
'Malfoys never love, they only marry to create the new generations. The heirs. Malfoys marry to get a position, an estate, money and power. They love not their spouse, but of what their spouse can do.'
My father taught me that, but I bent it. I was perverse, I am perverse. I loved not only a middle-class half-blood, but the very boy who set our master's downfall. But then, as I sunk that in, you supported me. You drew me in some more.
"For…me?" A hoarse whisper.
"Read what the tag says. Oh, I forgot, you don't know how to." That voice I love so much.
A sarcastic drone, "Oh please read it to me, Great Potter."
"It says it's for you."
No answer. A soft sound of unwrapping paper.
No words, no utter words. A soft sound, a gentle kiss.
You reeled me in, Potter. You made me drown in your deep, green eyes, made me love you too much. I ached for you each second I wasn't near you, it just felt right to always be next to you, even if it was hardly possible.
You made me care, you made me want you so much. I was happy… I was happy. You wouldn't believe me to be happy, Potter?
You broke it months ago.
A classroom door creaking. Muffled footsteps.
A sultry voice, "Yes…?"
"…I need." Footsteps closer. "To tell you something."
"You just did, as a matter of fact."
A soft silence. A muffled sob, a soft sound of tears falling, "I can't be with you."
The air was tense, I was tense, the world was tense, you were tense.
I hate you.
I tried to choke off another sob, back it off, trying to.
First you told me that. Then you avoided me. At first I looked for you, only to find out that you ran. At any circumstances ever, you ran away from me.
Do you know how much that stings, Potter? Every time I chase you in the Hogwarts corridors, you'd avoid me? You didn't even answer me why you left, Potter.
I stare down at the letter, the cause of opening healed wounds.
Were they ever healed? Not really. I closed my eyes, gripped my fists tighter. I had thought of forgetting you, forgetting everything that conspired between you and me, but alas, it brought me deeper into loving you.
Then you told me why.
A slam against the locker rooms.
"Tell me, Potter, why?!?" Venom.
I could hear the tears.
A growl. "Why Potter?! Found someone better than me?!" Pure venom.
A small silence.
"We're not on first name terms anymore, Potter, I thought you of all people would know that!"
"…Malfoy… Hermione and Ron—"
"Oh! So now you blame it on mudblood and your fellow beggar?! They brainwashed you, or seduced you?"
"MALFOY! … 'He's just playing with you.' They told me that. I didn't believe it in the least. But as the days progressed, I noticed…I realized that you really are playing tricks on me. You don't even look like you give a damn about me! Unless you say you love me right now, Malfoy… We're left in being enemies."
Ah yes, I had never said I love you, have I? Never spoke intimately, never shown much affection?
As I told you before, this is my first taste of love, Potter. This is my first taste of love.
It hurt me as much as it did you when I just left you there, in the dressing room, without saying anything more. Why didn't I tell you I loved you right then and there? We could have been happy by now, that's right.
But I still couldn't admit it. Even at the end of the term. When we left for our respective homes, we just glared.
No insults, no words. No love.
Ouch, Potter. That hurt, but I know it was partly my fault. I am such a masochistic sadist, aren't I?
My room is bleak, I look around, and my eyes land on the letter.
The letter your snowy owl had dropped. I was excited, to tell you the truth, Potter. I was overjoyed in seeing something you owned. Even If I was trying to forget you and your touch.
But then it said something which hurt me, like what you do all the time.
I crawled helplessly over to the letter, reading the smudgy thing for the 20th time; hardly readable.
Are you surprised to read a message from me? I can just see the disgust in your face right now. I have come to tell you, of what I have realized, Draco. What exactly?
That even if you're just playing with me, even if you're just using me—…
I love you, nothing can change that. I love the way you manipulate me, isn't it ironic? I was finally able to sort all these out, took me half the year to. I love you.
But it's too late. Why? I'm engaged to Ginny now.
Yes, that younger red-haired girl who always tags along. I'm not in love with her, but I'm not using her as well. I am just doing this to repay the Weasley's, to make their youngest and only daughter happy. It's the one thing I could do to make her and her family happy. Maybe if she's happy I can pretend I am too. But I don't love her.
I love you.
This is not a letter to tell you that I'm running back to you, it's a letter telling you of how I truly feel.
You have probably thrown this in the fireplace, So why do I even bother?
But—If you're still reading this, please don't reply. It won't change fate. I'll be married by tomorrow. What am I saying? You won't care anyway.
How can you say you love me, Potter? Or better yet, how could you say I don't love you? Don't you know I've been chasing you around like a love-sick puppy all year round? Is it just because I never told you I loved you, is that why you left me?
Left me with these new emotions, like a newly-born child in a world alien of this knowledge?
How can you marry someone you don't love, Potter? It is purely against what you have told me countless times before. I don't understand you and your stupid noble ways.
And I hate you for it.
I grip the letter tighter, my eyes squinted in pain. And I murmur, at last, in a breath.
For the first time.
"I love you, Harry Potter."
Even if the words do not reach him.