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Dear Santa,
My father said that you're not real and that you're just a stupid muggle tradition. But my mother said that its still okay to wish for presents.
(Blaise told me that my mother said that because she takes my letter and then buys me what I wish for. Pansy said that's stupid. That's why I like Pansy more.)
But I want to see if you can actually grant me a wish. I'll hide this letter once I write it and I won't even tell mother about it. So, here's what I want :
I want Harry Potter.
We were all playing Harry Potter v/s the Dark Wizard the other day, and like always, I was Harry Potter. But then, Theo told me that Harry Potter doesn't look like me at all. So, I want to know what Harry Potter looks like - father won't tell me, he just said that Harry Potter looks 'common' - and I want him to be my friend.
We're the same age, so we're going to be best friends in school anyway, but I want him right now.
In the hope that you're real;
Thanking you,
Draco Abraxas Malfoy.
On the morning of 25th December, for the first time ever - nine year old Harry Potter woke up in his dark, little cupboard - to something akin to a Christmas present.
He didn't understand a lot about it, like how it got here, and what most of it meant, but one thing was clear - somebody wanted Harry.
He wrote back immediately, and kept it on the same ledge where he had found the letter.
It disappeared by the evening.
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Draco Malfoy stared at the letter he had received - because apparently, while Santa may or may not exist, Harry Potter did - and he had sent him a letter back! The parchment felt odd, lighter and smoother - not really like parchment.
He idly wondered how early Harry Potter had been taught to write with a quill, because while his handwriting wasn't very good, there were absolutely no ink blots or spills, like Draco's. And the color was a shade lighter, like it had been scratched in. He thought of asking his mother at first - but no. This was Draco's secret.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
How did you send me a letter? I wondered if maybe it was my cousin pranking me at first, but Dudley doesn't have the brains for it. He usually just beats up people. And my Aunt and Uncle wouldn't really make all the efforts for this.
Atleast, that's what I think.
How do you know who I am? I'm sure I haven't ever met you before. And you couldn't possibly have heard about me through anyone else, because I don't have a family, except my aunt. And she hates talking about me. Also, dark wizard? muggle? Is that some new game? Because you talk about it like it's based on me.
That can't possibly be true.
You seem to have a lot of friends. I wouldn't mind being your friend either. Also, what do you mean 'when we go to school together?' Do you live in Surrey? Because, I'm not yet sure where my uncle would send me after primary school.
You also wanted to know what I looked like. Well, nobody's ever asked me that before - but I'm quite thin and I have dark hair which stick up all the time. My Aunt Petunia keeps trying to cut it off because its so messy. And I have green eyes, and a scar. On my forehead, that is. Everybody says that its really wierd, but I like the lightning bolt shape. I wear glasses too.
Will you write again? I hope you do. I really want to know how you know me. Merry Christmas, by the way!
Wondering if Santa really does exist,
(though I know he doesn't)
Harry Potter.
Did Harry Potter really not know what school they were going to? He had to know about Hogwarts, they were both going in two more years, right? He remembered his father saying something about Harry Potter being raised by muggles and decided that he might not know enough about magic yet.
But the coolest part? Harry Potter really did have the legendary lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, and Draco could boast about how he knew that for a fact now.
They were going to be the best of friends. He just knew it. So, what if he was a little slow when it came to magic? Draco could teach him all he needed to know.
Dear Harry,
(You don't mind if I call you that, do you?)
Happy Boxing Day!
I'm not actually sure how the letter reached you since I didn't send it, but my mother says that magic works in wonky ways sometimes. So, it must be that. Or, Blaise was wrong and Santa does exist.
What do you mean that you don't know what school we're going to??!! We're going to Hogwarts, of course, and you'll get your letter in two more years, when we're both eleven. We can even meet before that if you want to. I mean, if you really do want to meet me. No pressure.
In case you didn't know, a muggle is a person who has no magic. Do you really live with muggles? Because that would explain why you don't know the game we play. All the kids play it. Atleast all the pureblood kids I know of. You're a half blood, but I think that's alright. Everybody knows about you, anyway. You know that, right? That you're very famous?
You must be knowing it.
You really have the scar from where the Dark Lord tried to kill you? That's super cool. I used to love the story when I was younger. I still do, to be honest.
You described yourself, so I think its only fair that I describe myself too. I have blonde hair, and grey eyes and I think I'm thin but Blaise calls me chubby sometimes. My mother says Blaise is one of those people who will never have an awkward growing stage. He's already really tall too. He's one of my closest friends, by the way. So's Pansy and Greg and Vince and Theo. I'll make you meet all of them soon.
You don't seem to like your aunt or uncle so much? I can relate, I think. I have two aunts, one of whom is disowned from the family so her name is almost taboo and the other one is in prison for life. My mother won't tell me why exactly, though, but it must be something really bad because we visited her once and she seemed completely insane.
I didn't say it before, because I thought I would be writing to Santa, not to you. Anyway, my condolences for your parents. I'm really sorry for your loss.
Waiting for your reply,
Draco.
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Harry rushed after eating the leftover dinner, wiping his hands hurriedly and running inside his cupboard, praying for a letter on the ledge -
He picked the letter up with damp fingers and stared at it hopefully, reading as quick as he could.
If it didn't make sense earlier, it definitely didn't now.
Half-blood? Dark Lord? And that was if he ignored the disowned and insane-prisoner Aunts that he seemed to have. Aunt Petunia was not that bad. Neither was Aunt Marge. Probably.
Had the person reached the wrong Harry Potter by mistake? Harry wasn't famous. And what did he mean by magic?
And nobody had ever given Harry condolences for his parents before. Atleast, nobody apart from some of the nicer teachers.
What if it was meant for another Harry? Harry Potter didn't seem like an uncommon name. The thought was too painful, Draco had started sounding so good - somebody who didn't know anything about Harry or about the strange things that seemed to happen around him - somebody who wanted to give him a chance.
Draco had so many friends too, and he talked about his mother and father all the time. If he wasn't the right Harry, he would probably forget about him in a second. Harry thought guiltily for a moment if he just wanted to go along with it - just for a friend, then decided against it.
Draco seemed nice. He deserved the truth.
He took a deep breath and picked up the pen.
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Draco licked the breakfast pudding from his fingers, until his mother made him go inside the bathroom and wash-up properly before beginning the day, with a stern look.
He sighed as the house elves rushed about, snapping their fingers - his clothes zooming in from his wardrobe - the water steaming and filling up slowly with blue and violet bubbles. He waited till they were all out, he was too old to need help to bathe and removed his robes, carefully climbing into the tub.
Right under the soap stand - was clearly, a letter.
He almost whooped with joy before picking it up, eyes scanning the light, smooth parchment, his brows drawing up in confusion.
Dear Draco,
I'm actually really sorry about this, but I don't think I'm the Harry Potter you're looking for. I'm not famous at all. Neither do I have games made in my name - and I'm sure nobody knows me like you're saying. I've never heard of any other famous Harry Potter either.
Could you maybe explain what you mean by magic? I get the feeling you're not talking about the make-believe kind or the movie-book kind. Though you might be, but most nine year olds don't really believe in that. My uncle says it doesn't exist, anyhow. (I'm not so sure sometimes, because how else are these letters reaching me?)
I'm sorry for getting your hopes up. Maybe you should try sending the letters to some other Harry Potter.
I would still like to be friends,
(If you won't mind, that is.)
Harry.
He doesn't know what magic is, Draco thought wondrously. Maybe, muggles really were like animals. Most didn't look like it, but Draco should have trusted his father's words more. Nevertheless, Draco was sure that he hadn't gotten the wrong person.
Magic sent the letters, and magic didn't make mistakes like that.
He wondered what he should do now, toweling himself as he stepped out. His father might get angry.
His mother, then. But she might forbid him from writing or get upset that Draco kept such a big thing a secret.
Which only left one choice.
"Dobby!" he called, rushing to his room - with the letter safely in his sleeve as the telltale crack echoed through the corridor.
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It was exactly twelve at night on 27th December, when a loud crack woke up the residents of Number 4, Privet Drive.
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