Draco's Magical Ascension: The Rewrite

To my dearest Aunt Andromeda,

There are days when I wonder if these words ever reach you, or if they are lost to flames or indifference. Still, I write. Not because I expect a reply—Merlin knows I don't—but because there's solace in knowing someone might hear me, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Six months ago, I killed a man. His name was Fenrir Greyback. A monster by any account. He sought to destroy everything I had built and everyone I had tied to Voldemort's service. His death was necessary—no, it was inevitable—but it shattered something within me. That was the first time I took a life with my own hands, and I cannot erase the weight of it.

For that act, I was punished. Not by my conscience but by Voldemort himself. Stripped of my autonomy, locked in metaphorical chains, I was made to reflect. These six months of isolation have been… revealing. In solitude, I've come to understand that survival requires sacrifices, and I have begun to make them.

I have become two people. The Draco Malfoy the world sees is no longer truly me. That Draco is a weapon, a tool, Voldemort's strategist, and his loyal shadow. That Draco is unflinching, calculating, and cold. The other version of me—the one who writes these letters—is something else entirely. But I fear that part of me is slipping away with every day that passes. I wonder if one day there will be nothing left of it at all.

Aunt Andromeda, you may wonder why I confide in you, why I risk these words. It's simple, really: you are the only person I can trust. Not because of love or blood, but because of circumstance. The Order of the Phoenix would never fully accept you, not with your name, your past, or your ties to the Blacks. Voldemort, on the other hand, sees you as nothing more than a traitor who married a Muggle-born. You exist outside their games, in a space where no one can touch you. That makes you the only person I can speak to without fear of reprisal.

That said, I must warn you. I believe the Order of the Phoenix is closing in on me. They seem to know my moves before I make them. Their ability to counter me is uncanny, and I suspect there may be someone close to me feeding them information. Your daughter, Nymphadora, may be their weak link. As a former Auror trained under Alastor Moody, she would be a prime target for their manipulations. They may be using her connections to reach you, or even worse, trying to turn her into their pawn to get to me.

I beg you to be cautious. Protect her. Keep her safe from their schemes. The Order of the Phoenix may wear the mask of righteousness, but they are no different from the Dark Lord when it comes to using people to achieve their goals. Do not let them exploit her.

These six months have also shown me truths I cannot ignore. Voldemort does not care about ideology. He does not care about bloodlines, traditions, or legacies. He cares only about power—his own power. And yet, I cannot leave. My survival depends on aligning myself with his vision, on becoming indispensable to him. That is the only way I can protect myself, my parents, and, in some twisted way, even the magical world.

Did you know I once planned to leave it all behind? On the eve of Voldemort's return, I had everything ready—Muggle papers, a plane ticket, a way out. But my mother stopped me. She looked at me with pride, with hope, and told me I was fulfilling the Malfoy legacy. It was her pride that kept me here, her pride that chained me to this path.

I have spent countless sleepless nights devising ways to break into Azkaban and free Voldemort's most loyal followers. I can see the paths clearly, ten different ways to succeed, but each carries a risk I cannot ignore. If even one of the Death Eaters dies during this mission, I will face the Dark Lord's wrath once more. My punishment last time was six months of isolation. I cannot imagine what it will be if I fail this time.

I know you'll never reply. You haven't since my first letter, and I've come to expect nothing else. But still, I write. Because even in your silence, you've given me something invaluable: the chance to be heard. In a world where no one listens, not even my parents, you have been my only sanctuary. For that, I am grateful.

I know I am no longer the Draco Malfoy I could have been. That boy died long ago. But if you ever need help—if there is ever a moment when you are in danger, no matter the circumstances—call on me. Just once, I will come to your aid, no matter the cost. I owe you that much for being the only person who has given me this small measure of peace.

Draco Malfoy