Letters From America

Thanks for reading, if anyone actually is.

Special thanks to Jilliane who red-moused this chapter.


Letters from America

Chapter 1

Dear Gin,

I hope things are going well with you and the kids. I miss you already and it's only been a few days since we started our search. We landed in the States and I received your letter an hour after. I don't know why Liz thought that flying would be safer than us taking a Portkey. If you ask me, the woman is daft. I won't be doing that again, if I can get around it. Let Malfoy take the damned thing back. It's Portkey or nothing for me. We spent six hours in that cramped little box with cold, stale air blowing in our faces. Malfoy and I both got motion sick about ten minutes into the flight and we spent the entire time tossing everything we had eaten. One of the waitresses (I know they have a different name, but for the life of me, I can't remember it right now) finally took pity on us, and apparently the rest of the passengers, and gave us some tablets that knocked us right out. We only woke when we reached New York.

Customs was a nightmare. I had to conjure some documents for Draco. I told him he needed to get his paperwork in order, but did he listen? No. He kept telling me he had been to the States many times before, and he had never needed such things. You know how he is. Sometimes there is just no arguing with him. So, while these loud blokes with guns were checking over my documents, I had to conjure not only a British passport for the git but also make a convincing picture of him in it. I'm afraid I had to Confund one of the loud blokes. I never was any good at art. When Malfoy showed me the picture I had made of him, he was outraged. I apparently given him a bit of a chest, much like yours. I laughed and told him not to get shirty, and he almost hexed me. So much for him being an all right git. I swear, since he's got his money back, he's turned into a ponce.

So, we went to Queens, New York, as Aberforth said, to start our search for Snape. Really, you would think that a brother of Albus Dumbledore would be willing to do a little more research on the place he sent Snape. He told us he liked sending a 'Prince' to a 'Queen'. Such a strange bloke, that one.

Queens is... Do you remember that film I took you to see that was so dreadfully violent and bleak? The one about New York City in the nineteenth century, that had that fellow you thought was so dashing? Well, Queens was like that but with cars. Not to say that there weren't some really pretty parts to it, but well, the part Aberforth directed the Portkey to access was a little rough. Draco seemed a little more at ease than I was, but that's not saying much. These Yanks are...let's just say they are different, to put a nice spin on it...

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter found themselves in downtown Manhattan after investigating their lead in Queens. They had spent several days meeting Harry's contacts in the MFBI, pouring through mounds of documents to glean the almost nonexistent information about Snape's first years in the States. The agent that worked with them was helpful, but Harry could tell she would rather be doing anything but babysitting them.

Draco looked up from the documents he was reading. "I don't think we're going to find anything on him, Potter. If Snape wanted to hide, I know he would do a thorough job of it."

"Yeah." Harry stretched in his seat as he shoved his pile of parchment towards the center of the table. His tendons cracked pleasingly as he did. "What say we leave off and go back to the hotel for the night? That way, we can look on all this with new eyes tomorrow."

Harry informed the bored female agent about their decision. Her expression was hopeful as she asked, "You're giving up already?"

Draco stared determinedly at her as her dark suit jacket rode up as she rose, revealing the harness that carried a standard issue firearm, then blanched as she flicked her jacket back over it. It amused Harry that the former Death Eater was so concerned about a Muggle weapon, even as the same weapon made Harry very wary of the violence they might encounter in this country. He may not have been able to watch much television when he was at the Dursleys, but he had seen enough American police shows.

...I think it was perfectly reasonable to punish James for what he did and I'm glad you were able to Fire-call me about it. Where did he get the idea that a Muggle vacuum would do for flying? And why would he try to push his brother off the top of Grimmauld Place to begin with? I hope you punished him for it. It would not do for us to expose our world to the Muggles in the area, no matter if most of the buildings are slated for demolition soon. More importantly, is Albus healed?

I am sorry I left this all on your shoulders, but we are making some strides in finding Snape. I do think though, that he knew how to obscure himself if he needed to. It would help if he hadn't put a Fidelius Charm on his name. I didn't even know you could do that. Still, I wonder why he didn't come home after he was exonerated. We found several news articles in some of the files about the trial, so he had to know.

Maybe... well maybe England was no longer his home. I mean my Mum rejected him, and she was probably the only person who cared about him, besides Dumbledore. And I've been thinking, what Dumbledore asked him to do... Well, I just don't think what Dumbledore did to him was right. A friend just doesn't ask someone to sacrifice so much, no matter what the cause. I'm beginning to think...

Draco watched Potter swallow the fizzy drink with some disgust. He had never acquired a taste for Muggle soft drinks and did not understand the appeal of them. They were much too sweet, left an unpleasant film on his teeth, and had a bitter aftertaste from the chemicals used to make them.

Potter placed the glass down on the table, letting the ice clink against it irritatingly. He looked about the small bistro they had chosen for dinner, his gaze flicking over the passersby as they went about their very busy lives. It was no longer difficult for Draco to be surrounded by Muggles, yet this city had always set his teeth on edge. There was too much bustle and energy. He would be glad when they could leave.

Potter lifted the nearly empty glass to his mouth once again, and Draco could not help but make a disgusted moue. "Why do you drink that?"

Potter finished the soft drink and looked about again. "I suppose because I couldn't have it when I was younger."

"I heard Muggles were strange about things like that," Draco said, more to fill the gaping hole in their conversation than to make an observation about Muggles. He expected Potter to bristle at the comment. Potter sometimes forgot that Draco was no longer the prat he was in school.

Instead, Potter raised his hand to catch the waiter's eye and asked, "Can I ask you something without you getting all... ferrety... on me?"

Draco paused and counted to ten before he answered, "It depends on what it is. I won't tell you about Azkaban."

Potter waved his hand in the air over his drink, a gesture that showed his dismissal of that topic. "No, I heard plenty of those stories from... No, I don't want to know about that."

Draco waited patiently for the question before he prompted, "Well?"

"When we were in school," Potter began and Draco tensed. Questions that started out in that manner never boded well for Malfoy. He curled his fingers under his palm as Potter continued, "When we were in school, did Snape ever tell you that... my... that my family didn't want me?"

"What? No!" Draco said, his voice raising in pitch and bringing attention to them. He modulated his tone and asked, "Why would you even say that? You were Perfect Potter, the Golden Boy to him."

"Oh." Potter picked up his drink and clinked the ice against the glass again. "I was just wondering why you said what you did when I had to stay over Yule break that one time. You know the thing about my family not wanting me."

"Oh, just that." Draco looked away, mortification washing over him at the memory. He had always been one to open his mouth and say the first thing he could to wound his enemy. His father had taught him how to exploit weaknesses from an early age. "No, Severus never said anything. Honestly, I think he hated you so much he couldn't see what everyone else did."

"It wasn't so bad," Potter said, his eyes fluttering up and then away, his attention becoming absorbed once again in the multitudes outside. "I mean... I read something in Snape's chambers when I visited there. He helped other people, students. I just wondered if he really hated me so much that he wouldn't..." Potter straightened from his slumped position at the table. "My family was fine, really."

"Gobshite" Draco hissed. "I may have been a prat, and I may have said anything that I thought would get a rise out of you, but everyone could see how you were always depressed when school let out for summer holidays, and how you were always sickly when we came back, and that you wore rags until third year. My father taught me to observe my ene...surroundings...very well, Harry."

Harry moved in his seat as if he were uncomfortable with the topic. The waiter came back with another disgusting cola. Harry played with the glass, running his fingers down the condensation on it, and observed, "Well, I suppose we should head to the hotel. I wouldn't want to keep the agent waiting tomorrow."

Draco shook his head as Potter stood. "You know, I think if you had opened your mouth and talked to anyone about it, instead of thinking you had to protect those bastards, Snape would have stepped in for you. He was like that."

Potter pulled out his wallet and placed a ten dollar bill on the table. "Not for me."

Draco followed him out after leaving his own tip, unsure if bringing Potter along to find Snape was such a good idea after all.

It was Malfoy that found our first lead. He remembered something about Snape liking anagrams. (Kind of like Voldemort, except less creepy in a world domination kind of way.) He found a reference to a Sean Tiberius Epans, who worked in a Potions plant on an island off the coast of North Carolina, called Kill Devil Hills. We're going there tomorrow after breakfast.

They arrived at a pile of wood and mortar that might once have been a building. The area had been hit by a rather strong hurricane at some point, and much of what had been on this portion of the barrier island had been wiped away. There were traces of buildings here and there, the odd foundation with rusty bits of rebar sticking up like fingers that had somehow broken free of their concrete bodies. Piles of trash that held discarded mementos of the refugees of the storm, a teddy bear mouldering in a set of crushed baskets. Looking around the site, Harry shivered, remembering another time; a bleak house and a snake in the form of a woman. The area felt the same as Bathilda Bagshot's abode, just more desolate.

"Damn," Draco said, "I suppose we'll have to head back to New York."

"No. Washington D.C. is close by. We can go to the MFBI there. I have a friend in those offices," Harry said as he kicked at a piece of seaweed that had washed up in a recent storm. A crab scuttled out from under it, it's blue-green legs raised in a defensive pose of startlement, its mouthparts emitting sharp clicks as it moved them. He thought it was pretty in a prehistoric kind of way. Harry picked it up carefully and placed it near enough to the water that it could escape. Malfoy tutted derisively but said nothing. Harry looked about a bit more before observing, "I think Snape might have liked this place. I wonder what made him leave."

Malfoy shrugged as a breeze from the ocean stirred his hair. He had kept it short after his last stint in Azkaban. Harry thought it made him look less like his father, less like the Death Eater he had become, but he knew better than to say so. Draco may not be as close to Lucius as he once was, but he still loved him. Harry supposed he would have felt the same way if Sirius had lived, or his dad for that matter. Both of them had been more than a bit of a bully. They had teased and provoked Snape, ganged up on him and probably other less-fortunate students. When Harry had viewed that Pensieved memory, it had been a shock to see both of them as something less than perfect. Harry thought perhaps Draco felt the same way about Lucius Malfoy. He knew the boy that Malfoy was had worshipped his father. Of course, the older Malfoy's behaviour had gone much further than schoolyard bullying and mean-spirited pranks, but he had changed his ways, even if he had tried to kill his wife of over thirty years only a few months ago.

Harry opened his mouth to suggest they leave when Draco said, "I'm sorry."

Harry's mouth shut so quickly his teeth clicked. He waited for Malfoy to add to his apology before prompting, "About what?"

"About all the things I said when we were younger." Malfoy's face was held immobile, his gaze on the gently rolling horizon. "I didn't... My family valued cunning... No, that's not the reason... When you rejected my overtures of friendship... well, no one had ever done that before, besides a Weasley. I was a little hurt that you could prefer a poor, ill-mannered sod over me."

A soft snort escaped Harry before he could stop it. "Well, it's all in the past, Malfoy. I think we've apologised enough to each other. Besides, I needed someone to hate outside the Dursleys. You were a great and worthy enemy. Kind of like Lex Luthor was to Superman."

Malfoy's gaze whipped to Harry before he sighed. "Trust you, Potter, to turn my heartfelt apology into a lesson in comic book style Gryffindor stupidity."

Harry laughed, "What are you on about? If I exhibit Gryffindor stupidity, it allows you to exhibit that evil streak that Slytherins cultivate. We're perfectly matched, as far as I'm concerned."

"Shut it, Potty," Malfoy answered with little heat. "Slytherins aren't evil, they are just misunderstood."

"Yeah, like man-eating tigers are just hungry kitties," Harry shot back. "Let's go try to find the Git Who Hides So Well. I'm sure we can continue our debate about our House's relative merits in Washington."

I hate to say it, Gin, but Malfoy is growing on me. I know we've been almost friends for years, since we accepted godparenting Scorpius, but being with him now... I can see how he's changed, and how he's remained the same. It's nice to know that he has a heart, no matter how tiny it is (he just read that over my shoulder and socked me for it. I may sue for abuse!) But really, he's a good sort. It makes me wish that the whole Voldemort thing hadn't happened, and we could have been friends earlier. Yeah, I know, if it hadn't occurred then he would still be the smarmy git he was as a child, and I would be like...

What?

What would I have been like if there had been no Dursleys, no yearly crisis, no Boy Who Lived? Would I have been as big a prat as my dad? (I know I could never be as big a prat as Malfoy. He had more money than me, he could afford to be a total prick.) Would we have gotten together, you and me? Would I have looked down on Hermione and Ron because they weren't as wealthy, privileged, or popular as I was? Don't try to answer these questions. They are unanswerable. I'm just going on this way because this search for Snape has made me a little mental.

I'm going to sign off for now. I love you, Gin, and the kids. Kiss them for me tonight. I really do miss all of you.

You rule my heart,

Harry




Okay, now is generally when I say thanks for reading, and ask for a review, but does it really matter? Do pleas for reviews, feedback, drawings done on the backs of napkins really help? I received ONE review for the last chapter, and that was from Jilliane. What kind of response is that? Seriously. If there is no interest in the story, then I will take it down and just keep posting elsewhere. If you're reading this story, at least let me know by giving one of those rating thingies.

Thanks. And really, review!