Chapter 2
The letter arrived the day before the gala and it went like this:
Dear Harry,
I apologize for the grievous injury I’ve caused in the past and the hurt you and your loved ones suffered at my hand. I know there’s nothing I can do to make up for my past actions but please accept my sincere regret and promise to do better.
I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I hope one day to earn it.
It’s all I can do to thank you for the countless times you’ve saved my life.
Respectfully,
D. Malfoy
His friends had received nearly identical letters all just days after Malfoy’s release.
And not just Ron and Hermione either. All the Weasleys, Luna, Dean, Neville, Katie Bell, McGonagall. Even Madame Rosmerta had gotten one, he’d heard. Though apparently that one was hand delivered.
All the Auror spells he knew couldn’t find a trace of a curse or dark magic in the letter. No ill intent either or it wouldn’t have been allowed past his wards. And it was definitely Draco Malfoy’s magical signature woven into the ink.
And that alone, though unexpected, could have been overlooked. But Malfoy was at the gala that night, dressed in heavy gold robes, looking for all the world like a man with a new lease on life — and something about his behaviour just didn’t sit right with Harry.
It just didn’t make any sense.
This was a man who had spent the last 10 years rotting in Azkaban.
No one left there this unscathed. Unresentful. Apologetic. Hopeful even.
Harry crumpled the letter after re-reading it for the nth time. It burned in his hand as his magic flared up, reacting to his strong emotions.
No matter, he had it memorized by now anyway.
The auror alarm pierced Harry’s thoughts, pushing him into action, and all thought of Malfoy on hold.
The next few weeks went by in a blur. Several raids and sleepless nights poring over case files left Harry exhausted, leaving little time for his mind to wander back to Malfoy.
Even if the prat was everywhere he looked.
In the papers: Malfoy heir to fund orphanage for muggleborns; Malfoy heir donates new wing to Hogwarts; Malfoy heir buys Quidditch team, starts camp for young wix; and Witch Weekly’s profile of the git — Inside the Malfoy Manor with reformed death eater Draco Malfoy (see page six for exclusive photos!)
He was at every high society party, Ministry fundraiser, and on the boards of several charities.
Draco Malfoy bought his way back into the wizarding world with a winning smile and some BS about being remorseful.
And everyone ate it up.
But Harry knew better. These weren’t the actions of a remorseful man. They were a pathway to power.
Ron and Hermione kept brushing off that theory, Hermione firmly convinced that the intention of his actions didn’t really matter if they were making a positive difference.
And Ron, well. The team Malfoy bought was the Cannons, and he “really turned it around for them, mate, you gotta admit.”
Harry watched from a distance, at the parties, the social events, the way Malfoy ingratiated himself to the most powerful person in the room, sidling up to them armed with knowledge of their likes and dislikes, charming them with clever little jokes and slowly but surely winning their trust.
But something was off in the way he did it. Malfoy was many things, but he wasn’t smooth. At least not as smooth as he thought he was back in school anyway.
The Malfoy Harry knew always wore his heart on his sleeve, his face either contorted in disgust or anger or grief. But never expressionless, not like he was now.
His charming smiles never seemed to reach his eyes, but no one else ever seemed to notice.