Dear Harry

Dear Harry,

I wish I had it as easy as you. You only have your own name to live up to. You're the Boy-Who-Lived. You don't know how remarkably easy that is. I know, you'd just scoff at me, glare, and say, "You think trying to stay alive is easy?" Well, that's just it. You don't really have to live. You could die and you would still die brave, a hero. And you would still have lived up to your name...

"What is it, Malfoy?"

"Just have a little note to deliver, Potter."

"Save it for after the battle."

"What if there is no after?"

"Then it won't mean anything anyway."

Draco narrowed his eyes and turned back, heading out the door. He said something quietly, and it almost sounded like... "But it means something now."

It's hard living up to a family name, you know. It's this huge legacy handed from one person to another that you have to live up to. And when the person teaching is gone, the student must become the teacher in his place. That's really difficult. We don't do this, we don't do that. Don't say this, don't say that. Especially crying... we never cry in public, you know? We don't really even laugh in public, or tell people... how we feel. I'd fight any day, knowing I'd die, if it weren't for that blasted name that must live through me. That legacy, and the tradition. You have it so easy.

It was only the first wave advancing, but Harry Potter was on the front lines anyway. These were the new Death Eaters, meant to wear them down. But they were ridiculously easy to fight. There was no training, and Harry had no doubt some of them weren't wizards at all. Then he came face to face with a challenge. He knew that if circumstances had been different he would have been a rival instead of an enemy. He didn't let anyone interfere. This was their duel.

I wish things could have been different. It would be amazing, you know? Not that I want to switch lives or anything, but just be there with you. I tried to be friends. It didn't work, did it? It wish it had. But we were mere children then, and children tend to act only on what they know. I only knew how to be my father. How sad was that? But then, I think about it now, and it was best this way. Because I know tomorrow morning I'll be looking at you through a Death Eater mask, shooting curses at you every chance I get. I'll look for you, you know. I wouldn't want to be brought down by anyone else.

A well-placed hit sent the other man down, his head hitting the ground with a sickening CRACK! Part of Harry wanted to rush over. To help him in any way he could. The other part knew this was probably the best end for him. After all, Azkaban still wasn't the best place in the world. Death seemed far easier. Instead he walked over, making sure he wasn't under attack by anyone else, and glanced down at the body. It was still breathing, and still clenching a piece of paper in its hand.

Well, Harry. The time has come, hasn't it? I wanted to give this to you as one last goodbye. I wish things had been different. Maybe they still could be. Or maybe you won't accept this at all, and we'll fight, and you'll never know how I felt. But year upon year of hatred, guilt, remorse, and torture builds up on itself, doesn't it. We don't know how to treat each other any other way, do we? So I guess this may be it. But if you do read this, whether you decide to try and stop me or not... Maybe I don't have to fight. If I could have you, there'll be no need. Because I'll be safe from him, and from the name. Maybe I'll even take my mother's maiden name: Black. I could be a different name and start over. After all, until you take the mark, nothing is set in stone.

Harry pulled the paper out of its hand and began to read. It was a note to him, and he began to suspect he knew who he was fighting. The style had seemed familiar, and no one else had really been a match for him anyway. Had Malfoy been training for this moment? He kept reading, feeling his legs get weak as he did so.

This may sound strange, but I think I love you, Harry. Now, don't take it that way. There are many different types of love. But I admired you when I was younger. Wanted to be like you. Maybe that turned into this love. No matter how I tortured you or teased you, it was nothing like I could do. Understand, I'm capable of far worse things, as you'll soon see. Somehow I always had this strange urge to protect you somehow, even if I had to warn your little mudblood friend to do it. And Harry... Sorry for threatening you. But father had meant a lot to me. It just... happened. Well, I suppose that's all I can say. I hope this isn't goodbye, but if it is... I hope I can see you again in another life. Maybe one that's easier, where we don't have to fight. Paradise... Take care, Harry. Please watch my mother for me.

Sincerely yours,

Draco Malfoy

Harry collapsed to the ground in silent defeat. Was all this true? Was this what Draco had been planning to give him before the battle? And for this reason? He wanted to be stopped? Too many questions ran their way through his mind and he decided to solve the one he could answer. He pulled up the sleeves of Draco's robes to find his arms bare of any mark. He'd been serious.

"I need help here! Someone! Anyone!" People came to his call but were astonished by what they saw. The pained look in his eyes told all, however, and people were racing to get the Death Eater back to the castle. Harry took the note to Dumbledore and told him about what he saw on Draco's body, or lack thereof. Everyone agreed to try and save him, but kept him under severe guard.

Harry continued to fight day by day, but came to visit Draco each night. One night the other man awoke, though in a daze. He began to sit up but found the room moving far too much for him to deal with and laid back down. Harry walked over to him, brushed the man's hair out of his face, and asked how he was feeling.

"What ran me over?" Draco asked.

Harry smirked. "A stag. Anything still hurt? Something we missed?"

He shook his head lightly. "No." He looked over at the other boy and eyed him cautiously. "Who are you?"

Harry was taken slightly aback. "Harry Potter. Don't you remember me?"

Draco shook his head again, looking worried. "Come to think of it, I don't think I remember me."

Harry considered a moment then sat next to Draco, forcing a small smile. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm sure it'll all come to you. You're Draco Black, and I'm Harry Potter. We're friends, in our seventh year of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. But there's a war going on, and we were on the front line. You got badly injured and had to be taken here. That's probably when you lost your memory."

"Oh." Draco pouted. "Will you help me find my memory then?"

Harry smiled, feeling a new beginning in the wind. "I think I can do that."