I know that you will never read this letter, and that’s probably for the best, but I need to put my emotions somewhere so that I don’t drown in them.
I’m not entirely sure where to begin. I feel nervous to talk about my feelings, even though this letter will be burnt as soon as it’s written. I suppose I’m just so used to closing myself up and putting on a front that I’ve forgotten how to express myself.
I’ll start at the beginning.
When I first saw you in Madam Malkin’s in Diagon Alley five years ago, I didn’t know that you were the famous Boy-Who-Lived. To me, you were just some scrawny kid who looked as scared and nervous as I was. The difference between us was that I couldn’t show my fear. Even back then, when I was eleven years old, my family had already ingrained into my brain that I was better than everyone else because I’m a Pureblood. The reason I spoke to you was because I wanted a friend. Moving into such a new, terrifying situation alone didn’t seem all that appealing to me. You were the first person I saw, and I wanted to be your friend. As we both know, I royally fucked that one up.
I was a dick. I know that now, but you have to understand that back then I didn’t know any better. I don’t truly believe that Muggleborns are dirty and undeserving of magic. I don’t believe that Hufflepuffs are weak and stupid. And I most definitely don’t think I’m better than everyone for having the family I do. On the contrary, my family isn’t all that it’s hyped up to be. No surprise there.
When I came to speak to you on the Hogwarts Express and offer my friendship, I was acting like a spoiled prick, and that’s because I was a spoiled prick. I like to think I’ve changed now. I’m only sixteen, but I think my morals have improved. Well, I hope.
In many ways, I wish I’d been put into Gryffindor. That way perhaps you would at least have considered being my friend. I would have been disowned by my family, sure, but at least I would have friends. Maybe. Or maybe I’d been cast aside as the ‘Gryffindor Malfoy’ that no one really knew what to do with. Maybe Slytherin was best for me. I wouldn’t fit in in Gryffindor, anyway. I’m too much of a coward.
I’m rambling too much and I still haven’t reached the entire point of this letter. I’m scared to even write it, though I know no one will ever read this. I suppose it’ll also be sort of admitting it to myself, too.
I, Draco Malfoy, am in love with you, Harry Potter.
I never realised before. I didn’t even realise I was gay until recently. I usually block out my emotions and tell myself I’ll deal with them later, but I remember the exact moment I realised I was in love with you. It slapped me in the face like a Bludger, and every little insult and every little sneer or smirk… everything in my entire life just fell into place. It all made sense.
It was earlier this year in our first Potions class. Slughorn had a cauldron of Amortentia on one of the desks. I couldn’t quite smell it properly, but there was something about the smell that confused me. I brushed it off.
Later that same lesson, we were brewing Draught of Living Death and mine wasn’t going too well because I was already stressed about everything else happening in my life. I was about halfway through the potion when I glanced up out of habit at you, to see how terribly you were failing at creating such a complex thing. But you were smiling. You dropped something into your cauldron and smiled. And that’s when I felt my heart drop to my shoes and I realised I was completely and utterly in love with you. Everything came crashing back to me. My determination to become Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team in second year, just so I could compete against you. My jealously over you at the Yule Ball (which I had thought was me crushing on the Patil twin you were with). In Fifth Year when I got angry at that Umbridge bitch for being nasty to you (at first it was funny, but when I found out about the quills she was using… I had never been more furious. But I had to keep up a front, so I pretended to support her.) That very Potions lesson, when I realised the smell coming from the cauldron of Amortentia was your fucking cologne.
As you can probably tell, my life has been a series of mistakes, ranging from mild to ridiculously huge. This year I’m going to make a mistake that breaks the scale, and there’s nothing I can do to stop myself. Part of me wishes you would catch me and stop me. Perhaps even kill me. Dying at your hands would be far more honourable than dying at the Dark Lord’s. But I’m too much of a coward to allow myself to be caught by you.
Ever since I realised my love for you, nothing’s quite been the same. The empty feeling inside of me which I had been suppressing before has suddenly started consuming me. I smuggle Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam Pomfrey’s stocks so I don’t have to lay awake at night either shaking with fear at the thought of actually doing what the Dark Lord wants, or trying to stop myself thinking about you.
I wish we had been able to be friends. I really do. I wish I hadn’t been such a dick to you or your friends from the off. I wish I hadn’t continued being such a dick. I wish in the future I would be able to stop being such a dick, but I know I can’t because my entire family is depending on me not fucking everything up. Making nice with the Chosen One isn’t exactly the way to get in the Dark Lord’s favour.
I’ve started this letter and I feel as though I’ve been writing for an age, but I haven’t come close to explaining everything I need to explain or justifying everything I need to justify.
I can’t explain my love for you in words, but I’m going to try.
My love is so intense and passionate that I once mistook it for hatred. It’s burning inside me, always there, never dimming or flickering out, even for a second. If I had a Galleon for every time I thought of you, I’d have one Galleon because I’m continuously thinking of you. Even when you’re not around, you’re constantly invading my thoughts and it makes me feel such a powerful emotion that it nearly knocks me off my feet. Whenever I see you, the feeling only intensifies and quite often I find myself having to catch my breath when you glance over at me or we walk past each other in the corridors.
The reason I torment and insult you is because I’m constantly longing to hear your voice. When you respond and snap at me, it makes me feel more alive than anything else. Seeing the fire burn behind your green eyes gives me hope that perhaps you feel the same way.
Of course, I know you don’t, but one can only dream.
Speaking of dreams, you’re always in mine whenever I run out of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Always. Even when they’re nightmares, you’re always there trying to save me. Or perhaps you’re the one being tortured. Those are the worst ones.
Many of my dreams regarding you are innocent and reflect reality, up to a point. Perhaps we duel and then you push me against a wall and kiss me. Other dreams are not so innocent. In those ones we duel, you push me up against a wall and do many other things to me that are not kissing.
It pains me that I’ll never be with you. I’ll never feel your lips against mine. I can only imagine how they must taste. I’ll never feel your strong arms encircling me in a hug when I need you. I’ll never feel your warm, bare body pressed against my own, our limbs entangled so that we can’t tell where they start and end. We’ll never just sit alone in the same room, reading or doing homework. You’ll never lean over the desk to kiss me. I’ll never tangle my fingers in your stupid fucking hair. You’ll never slip your hand into mine and squeeze it. I’ll never get to take your glasses off and look into your eyes without any kind of barrier between us.
It’s 4am now and I still can’t sleep. Classes begin in just over four hours.
I dread every day before it’s even arrived. The only thing that makes it worth it is seeing your face.
I love you Harry Potter. And there’s no way you’ll ever know.
I hope you can forgive me.