The Many Musings of Albus Potter

xxi. THE SECOND LETTER

xxi. THE SECOND LETTER

31st August 2008

Harry, I feel like the world is waking up again. Only, it's being shaken out of a peaceful lull that I'd grown rather accustomed to. I know what you're thinking. Merlin here he goes again, philosophising like the pretentious prat that he is. I do have to admit I'm an even bigger prat in my head and just water down my thoughts for your sake. I know you Auror types like things laid out to you in nice, short, bullet-pointed lists.

Easier to take in, I suppose. Doesn't help that most Aurors are usually Gryffindors - I always meant to ask if that's an official requirement to apply for an Aurorship. I've met plenty of Aurors during my stint at Azkaban, as you can imagine. Not a single one of them is Slytherin. I did assume a lot of the Slytherin Aurors were not-so-gently nudged into admin work after the war was over but surely one or two could be trusted with some simple field work? You'll have to fill me in on the politics of it all.

I've forgotten what my main point was. I'm too distracted now by this whole Auror business. There's a copy of 'The Annals: British Aurors from 1760 to 1985' right next to me and I'm skimming through it as I write to you. I picked it up from my library - dusty old thing, looks like it hasn't been touched in years. I'm more amused by the fact that we even have a copy of it at Malfoy Manor. My father was never an intellectual but my grandfather was a massive collector. Did you know it was actually the Malfoys who pioneered antiquarianism? (Ask Granger what that means). We had to give credit to the Muggles, of course, so we could keep our names out of their history books. It's a real shame that we're now only known for being Death Eaters but we have myself and dear father to thank for that.

Oh, there we go. I'll write it down for you. According to this book the Head Auror in 1857 was a Slytherin. Name: Nostradamus Whitlock. Never heard of the bugger, so I assume the family died out. Most Slytherins in the 19th century were almost certainly from aristocratic, pureblood families. Then the Great Purge of 1897 happened and the families dwindled down to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Poor Whitlock.

I'll tell you all about the Great Purge when you're finally back home. It feels too forlorn, too big, to be here all by myself. I have Scorpius but he's only two years old and though I am sure one day I will have bountiful conversations with my son, a toddler is not - surprise, surprise - the most stimulating company. He misses you as well. He's asked for you twice today in his stumbling, toddler-talk. You know how fickle children are. If you don't hurry back to England, he'll have completely forgotten you by next week.

You must be wondering why I'm all by myself at the manor. Astoria's patched things up with Dorian and they're on a seaside holiday in Devon at the moment. I remarked rather snidely, "How quaint and working class of you". I know you'll disapprove of the classism but there's only so much about an ex-Death Eater that can change.

This business with Astoria still makes mother wildly uncomfortable but at least the papers haven't caught on. The disguises work well and, don't tell Astoria I said this, but she's terribly forgettable. I don't think the Greengrasses have been on The Daily Prophet's radar for decades. They're squeaky clean. I suppose that's why my parents wanted me to marry her. To dilute the Malfoy name, give Scorpius one half of a family that isn't so fucked up.

I don't even mind about Astoria and Dorian, which is the strangest thing. To be cuckolded with full permission is a concept my mother simply does not understand and I don't think I do either. But it's pleasant to feel the burden of this phantom relationship dissipate. Marriage upsets my diet. But we both adore our boy and I think a formal separation would do him more harm than good. She and I operate rather well as a pair. A very stiff, stoic pair, mind you. I think we might even dare to call each other friends one day.

You know, I did think once that being alone was a wonderful thing. But when I think of the war and the fire and death, and I feel myself sinking, I realise how awful it really is. I've had friends but I didn't know about companionship until I met you. And now, I fear, I'm greedy for it.

I can't believe I'm writing this all down now but like I said at the start of this letter, it feels like the beginning of the end. I can feel it in me. Maybe it's the Dark Mark - perhaps it instils in its carrier a constant sense of foreboding, like he might come back again. So I might as well say it now. It's not the fear of him that terrifies me. It's the thought of you being dragged back into it all. I've been having the dreams again - and not just about the fiendfyre. Horrible dreams where I see you die. I wake up hardly being able to breathe because it feels like I've really lost you.

Harry, I think you must know. I'm too much of a coward to say it, to look you square in the eyes and be a man about it. You've saved me twice. From the fire, from myself. You took care of my family when nobody else would dare even look our way. Better yet, you let me into your life. Those endless conversations, Sunday lunches...I'm a liar when I say I like being alone. I don't. I like being with you.

I don't delude myself into thinking that you're anything other than the man you show yourself to be. That's what makes you so noble, a Chosen One. You have a family, a beautiful wife who you clearly love. And the most terrible part of it all is that I wish, for once, and Salazar strike me down for the very thought - I wish that I made up every part of your life instead. I wish that I was the one who made you whole, the one that filled up the reserves of your heart. I wish it was all me, just me.

I've said too much but I've said my piece. I've felt this way for a long while now - I cannot tell you how long because it's more humiliating - and it's only been exacerbated by your absence. Please know that any feelings on your part - or lack thereof - does not change our friendship or your welcome into Malfoy manor. For all intents and purposes, this is as much your home as it is mine and Scorpius'. And if you cannot love me, I will bear it and not speak a word about it again.

With love,

Draco