A/N: This website refuses to let me cross out words, so wherever you come across either an unfinished word or something else wierd, it's not my grammar. It is where the character changes his/her mind about what they were going to write in the letter. Also, I love reviews and constructive criticism! Let me know what you think! Thank you to my lovely editors, you know who you are.
I'm sorry. for wh Also, thank you. You've You know why. I don't have to elaborate.
July 17, 1998
Harry gazed down at the scrap of parchment, bewildered. It couldn't be…The sound of the kitchen door opening startled Harry out of his reverie, and he shoved the parchment into his pocket as Ron walked towards him.
"Mum says we need to help with the laundry."
Ron stared at Harry for a moment, then shrugged and went back the way he came.
Thank you. I can't say… I don't know why Merlin, now I understand all of your scratched-out attempts! You're welcome, and… no pro apology accepted.
July 17, 1998
Harry stared at his work for a second, then added a line:
P.S. – Why now?
He knew Malfoy would know what he was asking without further explanation. With that, Harry called Pigwidgeon to him and, after a short stuggle in which the owl squealed in excitement and flapped its wings uncontrollably, tied the letter to his leg.
Draco was greeted that evening by the sound of something sharp rapping his window. He saw the owl and let it in, a feeling of curiosity welling in him. Could Potter have written back already? The tiny owl pecked his hands enthusiastically, but he shook it off. The creature was not disheartened, but didn't peck him again. After reading the reply, he sent the bird back home; Draco would need time to write back; or at least more time than he wanted to allow now. He was tired.
I knew you could be dim, but you can't think I haven't wanted to thank you before. I just… didn't kn couldn't didn't. Call me a coward, but this is easier. And after the last All that we've The past few years An apology was in order.
July 18, 1998
Dammit, Potter, thought Draco, why do you always have to make things difficult?
Of course an apology is in order, but why? And also, that goes for both of us. I've done as many foul things to you as you have to me. I'm sorry.
July 18, 1998
"Who're you writing to?"
Ron had woken up earlier than Harry had expected.
"Uhh… no one." Ron gave him a questioning look.
"Luna. I'm writing to Luna." Ron's face relaxed slightly. Harry broke eye contact and went to prod Pigwidgeon awake.
Draco's owl returned, closely followed by the tiny, twittering one again. He couldn't explain why, but he was relieved and excited to see it. He also couldn't explain why he had had trouble sleeping and had woken up so obscenely early. He was used to the nightmares, but it wasn't the nightmares that had kept him awake on this particular night. After reading Harry's response, Draco sighed and picked up his quill.
I suppose I have to accept your apology too. Drop it, though. Isn't it enough that I've said sorry?
July 18, 1998
Draco sighed again and put down the quill. After a second of staring at his response, he picked it back up. After another moment, he put it down again. Why did he feel the need to apologize now? Potter was right, their enmity had been mutual, but why did he, Draco, decide to act on the reconciliation? A voice at the back of his head knew the answer, but he mentally glared at it until it faded.
Typical, thought Harry. Just when he's starting to act like a decent human being, he catches himself and stops. Shaking off his dissatisfaction at Draco's response, Harry went back to his conversation.
"Who's it from?"
"Ron, I told you it was Luna." Ron continued to look at Harry.
"You don't believe me?"
"It's just… You're acting kind of funny about these letters… Something in the way you look at them… You kind of tense up."
"It's nothing. Just Luna being Luna." Ron had a look of not wanting to drop the subject, but Harry glanced back down at his hands and fell silent. He wondered fleetingly why he was lying to Ron but shook the worry off as quickly as it had come.
In a blur of tears, Draco Malfoy stumbled out of the Manor. How did Lucius still not grasp that the memories remained? Why did they still argue about the war, about the repercussions, even about their emotions? Scars so deep don't fade fast. We all felt the fear, the pain… how did he forget so quickly? Draco wondered if he was crazy or damaged; he still woke up in a cold sweat almost nightly. Was his continued fear unreasonable? Was he just soft? Or is my father just too hard? Once past the front gate, Draco apparated, not sure of where he was going.
"Lucius, he's just a boy!"
"It's about time he became a man. He's plenty old." Narcissa stared at her husband incredulously.
"He's been through more than either of us could have dreamt of at his age!"
"Narcissa, I've had enough. It's been months. We've coddled him long enough."
"It's not coddling, Lucius, it's helping him heal! Screaming at him doesn't help anything!" Tears were welling in her eyes.
"I'm done with this argument." Lucius slammed his empty goblet down and turned on his heel. His heavy and unsteady steps could be heard retreating up the stairs. Narcissa stood by the window, looking unseeingly at the steady rain. Will he ever heal?