Title: Hexes and Despondency
Beta: CleopatraIsMyName
Challenge/Prompt: Written for season 2, round 8 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (Chaser 2; task: mention the Imperius Curse; #8, letter-format; #9, broken window; #14, use the word demon), as well as for the LJ community, hd_fluff (#5, Back to School), the OTP Boot Camp (#13, Hatred), the Favorite Era Boot Camp (#6, Hate), and the Slash/Femmeslash Boot Camp (#33, Evening).
Rating: T
Word Count: About 3100
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Not canon compliant, slash, eighth-year AU, epistolary, fluffy, banter, clichéness, Harry is uncouth, and both of them are idiots.
Dear Malfoy,
I hate you.
From,
Harry
Potter,
I almost mistook your letter for someone else's. Dare I say, has your handwriting managed to improve over the duration of our recent summer hols?
You're practically luminescent in your giddiness, I nearly felt the need to cast a shading charm upon my eyes just so you wouldn't accidentally on purpose blind me. Oh, whom am I joshing? It would obviously be on purpose.
And if you hadn't gotten that, Potter, it was sarcasm.
Sincerely,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: There is absolutely no way you would ever be capable of matching me in the depths of my everlasting hatred for you.
PPS: This is all your fault, anyway.
Dear Malfoy,
How do you mean, "This is all my fault"? You're the one with the gall to go and insult my deceased parents, on the anniversary of their God forsaken deaths. Your logic, at times, astounds me.
And I understand what sarcasm is, you bloody git. You don't need to make it blatantly clear. I can read in between the lines.
What's it to you, whether or not I improved my handwriting anyway, Malfoy?
From,
Harry
PS: My hatred is incapable of being matched at its peak of intensity and concentration.
Potter,
Drop dead.
And despite your greatest efforts to scratch out the second to last sentence (read: after you apparently forgot to whom you were writing), I could still read it. You lack abilities in many fields, but that's neither a surprise nor a discovery.
By the way, Potter, since you've come down with a most convenient case of amnesia, I should remind you: it wasn't I who had started the argument, it was you. Whoever told you I was over my Father's sentence to Azkaban was obviously off their trolley. I don't take too kindly to insults to the name of my family.
I was extending something reminiscent of a compliment towards you, Pot for Brains. Not that you would've recognised my great efforts, anyway, as infuriatingly right and true as you are. How your head manages to fit within the space of a room is beyond me.
Most Hatefully Yours,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: Impossible. I hate you to the edges of the universe and back.
Dear Malfoy,
Did you honestly call me "Pot for Brains"? Isn't that a Muggle drug reference? What on earth have you been up to, the past couple of months, since the war ended? And you even managed to call me vain, on top of that. I have no idea as to the reason you're obviously projecting yourself onto me, but it needs to come to an end.
I have no idea what you mean, Malfoy. I didn't erase anything from my initial draft.
You should know, better than anyone else by now, that I don't take particularly well to insults to my parents' names, as well.
You've obviously no practise in extending compliments, if that was the best you could cough up, Malfoy. You seem to have the ability to make every single word written on parchment into a degrading insult. I can practically hear your irritating, drawling tones every time I read through one of them.
From,
Harry
PS: Get over yourself.
PPS: Do we honestly have to continue to write to each other once a week?
Potter,
Your letter is all over the place. Try to exercise some sort of organisation, instead of what you see fit to recall, whenever. My letter is obviously near you, just pick it up and use it for reference.
Not that I don't appreciate the candour, Potter, but don't you think your insults are getting a bit... dry? Creativity is a blessed thing.
You know damn well what I mean, Pot Head.
Yes, yes, I do recognise the significance of the reference I made. Not that it matters much, if at all, to you, Potter, but the Ministry has practically robbed my family of our rightful possessions, and I can no longer walk around in public without being accosted by some poor sod who wants retribution from my family's involvement in that whole debacle with the Dark Lord.
So, yes, I've been in Muggle London, and I've managed to sequester myself within the satisfying anonymity of clubs, and the like.
Why the sudden interest in my private life, Potter? If I didn't know better, I would think you were interested in something.
But I am humouring some mindless moron, Potter. You!
But in all seriousness, it would be best if you tried to put at least some effort into recognising when I'm not, particularly, trying to insult you, Potter.
Irritably Yours,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: Says the one whom positively leaks arrogance from his very pores.
PPS: As I've said, maybe if you hadn't acted so extremely...
Dear Malfoy,
It seems we will never be able to come to at least a semblance of agreement on who started the argument. In either case, you were the one who broke the window, anyway, you pointy-chinned demon.
And my letters happen to be as organised as they will ever be, Malfoy. Not that you really care. All you're doing is nitpicking and doing your level best to put me down. News flash: it's not working.
If my insults are getting dry, then you've managed to suck all creativity out of your own a long time ago. I was genuinely shocked when you called me Pot for Brains, though more so because you're of the opinion Muggles are lower than the dirt you tread your near-perfect dragonhide boots upon, than the new nickname in itself.
And I thought it was just a fine, Malfoy. What do you mean, the Ministry drained your family of its assets? You better not be having me on. I was there at your trials. I saw the sentence they handed you, your mum, and your father. It was just a fine.
I'm not interested in anything, you git. I was just asking a question. It's how conversation is made. Oh, wait. That's polite conversation. I can't expect even you to understand what that word means.
I'm going to ignore the insult on my intelligence, in light of your stunning idiocy. If I'm as bright as the sun in my happiness, then you are as dull as a blunt object in your display of stupidity. Really? That wasn't a compliment, Malfoy. I suggest you ask someone how complimenting is done, get some sort of instruction, before you try again. You implied my handwriting was awful.
Fuck off,
Harry
PS: Says the one who used to brag about his Quidditch Pitch every day of first-year.
PPS: Okay, let's just... not write about it, again.
Potter,
Pointy-chinned demon? Really, Potter? Is that really all you've got? Nothing about animals? Defecation? My father? My mummy? Nothing, whatsoever?
I have no idea whether to be disappointed, or not.
You were the one who shot that hex at me. It's not my fault my shielding charm deflected the bloody thing in the direction of the window. Why was that thing not charmed to be unbreakable, anyway?
I'm not trying to do anything, Potter. You're misconstruing every single bloody thing I write, hoping to find something to nit-pick, yourself (hyphen needed, by the way).
I'm wounded. Near-perfect? You know, as much as I do, that my dragonhide boots are of the best condition possible. Not a speck of dirt or dust on them. And I still don't like Muggles, Potter. I just don't mind them as much, anymore. Blind-hatred and prejudice aren't as attractive when you've lived through a War, as you know, Potter.
No, Potter. What you heard was the fine given to all three of us, as a whole. The Wizengamot set up a private fine, behind closed doors, to each of us individually. Your proper little head wouldn't be able to suffer the sliminess of politics, so I don't recommend even trying.
Are you quite sure about that, Potter? It wouldn't be much of a bother to settle any and all speculations and questions you may have about me, because, why not?
I'm not particularly experienced in extending compliments to people whom of I've previously detested the very existence, Potter. It takes time. Admittedly, I could have done better. But it would be easier, if you weren't such a prat about it.
No Thank You,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: You're completely childish. And how, exactly, do you even know about that, Potter? Am I really that interesting?
PPS: Denial is not only a river in Egypt.
Dear Malfoy,
I'm tired of all these traded barbs, Malfoy. Seriously. I can't put as much effort into them as I used to. Can we just, stop? Cease and desist? It'd be relieving, to say the least.
I have no idea.
It's more that you don't seem to understand how basic communication works. As I said, you need more practice.
Which is why I'm so tired, Malfoy. You see how I feel? How bloody stupid it is to continue on with how we used to act? Why don't we just... I don't really know, start over? A fresh, new beginning. A clean slate.
I'm sorry, Malfoy. Are you telling me that the Wizengamot practically stole most of your family's money, along with burning your Manor to the ground.
Do I need to check you for Imperius? Are you completely foxed? What you're saying seems to be more than a little out of character. Are you alright?
I concede, Malfoy. I'll try to be more polite when responding to your letters, as well as in person.
Sincerely,
Harry
PS: I could hear it when I walked past you and the other Slytherins.
PPS: What do you mean?
Dear Potter,
But, Potter, trading barbs is all we really are to each other. Take that out, and we wouldn't have any use to the other. We're rivals for a reason, Potter. We can't stand each other. Every single word we've ever exchanged has been hurtful or meant to be cutting, in one way or another. It's like an equivalent exchange type scenario: you insult my father, I insult your father, I call your mother a Mudblood, you call my mummy... various names.
However, there would be sort of... benefit to such an arrangement. Once that Professor Cambridge realises we're no longer a danger to one another in our final year at Hogwarts, he'll probably lift the punishment,
What were his words, again? "A necessary development in your post-war relationship, to allow for the forming of better bonds, and the eventual growth of your individual characters, for the benefits of yourselves and the others around you?"
Or some rubbish such as that?
I do understand how to communicate with others, Potter. I'm not some idiot without the ability to speak. It just so happens that I don't understand how to communicate with people like you. People I've been told to hate all my life. You'd think you'd have some sympathy, being the bloody Chosen Prat, and all.
Why are you apologising to me, Potter? I already told you to stop worrying your rumpled little head about matters that don't particularly concern you in any shape or form.
No, you do not need to check me for the effects of the Imperius Curse, Potter, and I'm not drunk, either. In either case, it's highly unlikely anyone would ever cast it on me for the simple purpose of speaking to you in a manner you've never been exposed to, before. Which is shocking, to say the least. You'd think every wizard and witch in their right minds would have already gone for the Boy Who Wouldn't Die.
Likewise, Potter.
Yours truly,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: You were listening hard enough to hear every word I've ever spoken before and after classes? Tell me, Potter, what else have you managed to pick up via your obsession?
PPS: No comment.
PPPS: Tell Granger to stop being nice to me. It's weird.
Dear Malfoy,
But it's not something we need to always do, Malfoy. Don't you find it exhausting to repeat the same things, every single day? You've already complained about our utter lack of creativity and variation in insults. I suppose, however, we could always try to take the bite out of the words, if you catch my drift.
I can't imagine a world in which I wouldn't ever call you a Ferrety Git, again, anyway.
I hate to say this, Malfoy, but I think I'm beginning to grow fond of the way you think. It can be helpful, when it's working towards your benefit.
It's practically scary how you can just repeat every single word the professor has ever spoken, verbatim. Are you able to do that for every single class? Every conversation?
I suppose I can extend the same courtesy upon you that I've done for countless others, being a bleeding heart heroic type, as I am.
Seriously, Malfoy, just work on it.
You mean you're flirting of your own free-will, Malfoy? I never even knew your interests extended beyond... well, girls. And I wouldn't have gone for those sorts of people, anyway, Malfoy. They are only after my money and supposed fame. It's bad enough I have to always monitor my own sodding mail, or cast a glamour when I decide to take a stroll within the streets of Diagon Alley.
Sincerely,
Harry
PS: No, I was not! You just happened to be within hearing range!
PPS: Hermione says she wants to extend her own friendship to you. Just take her up on it.
Dear Potter,
Yes, I do understand what you mean. Just so we're in agreement, here are the terms: we don't act particularly nice to each other every waking moment of the day, we just practise restraint when we feel like screaming at the other?
Sounds better than good. Marvellous, really. I've wasted enough of my creativity on plans that never worked out. It's time for a fresh start, as you've stated, previously.
I shudder to even try to do so, Potter.
It's called being a Slytherin. It's more an art than a skill. You might want to take notes.
I can, in fact, remember most conversations I've heard, as well as most lectures. It's a very useful tool, especially when you've no patience to try to take notes during a class like History of Magic. However, it's also a curse in its own right, for obvious reasons connected to events in the past.
As you wish, my dear Prat Charming.
I, for one, understand that enough, Potter. Who knows, maybe we could avoid being identified in Diagon Alley, together, one day?
Yours truly,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: Sure.
PPS: She's making plans for us all to study together. Tell her I have a thing with Pansy. I'm not going near her and her silly colour-coded charts.
Dear Malfoy,
So, we're in agreement, then? We'll try to play nice?
It's not like it hasn't been working for the past few months, anyway. I haven't heard one... particularly terribly insulting word out of your mouth since we started talking of our mutual need for censure.
I refuse to take notes from you, you prat. I can Slytherin, as well. I was seconds away from being Sorted in your House, anyway.
But you're pretty much guaranteed perfect scores on tests. Even if it seems the cons outweigh the pros, it's still bloody neat.
Maybe it will be soon enough, Malfoy?
From,
Harry
PS: I can only tell her you've got plans with Pansy for so long. She's going to hunt you down, someday. Make sure you have a textbook handy, and make it look like you're studying by yourself. It almost always works on her.
PPS: I know you wrote something in French a little while ago. I'm just curious... how well can you speak it?
Dear Potter,
I reckon it's so. You seem to be correct in your observation. Don't get used to it, though. Just because I said I would work on my compliments, doesn't mean you'll get them often.
I can't tell if I should be flattered that I may have driven you to make such an important decision, or to break your nose, again. I'll practise my restraint, though, and go with the former.
Among other things.
Maybe, Potter.
Sincerely,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: Get your ex-girlfriend off my back.
PPS: Je peux écrire et parler en français. J'ai commencé quand j'avais sept ans.
Dear Malfoy,
I'll try not to get used to it, you git. Just let me bask in it for more than a few seconds, at the very least.
Doesn't it seem... redundant, now? To rely solely on letters for correspondence, when we speak outside of them, now?
Might wanna be flattered. I'm not asking for another broken nose.
Well, in either case, I have a proposal:
Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to Le Noir at half-past seven, tonight?
Sincerely,
Harry
PS: I'm sorry about Ginny. She's been on my back for a while, as well. She's great, but Christ.
Dear Potter,
But that defeats the purpose of rare compliments, does it not? You're quite hilarious when you pout, Potter.
But we should allow the Professor to think it still is, don't you think? He would grow despondent at the thought that he couldn't impart such a valuable life lesson upon two War veterans, would he not?
Consider it done. After all, you owe me, anyway.
Yours truly,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: I told you so.
Dear Draco,
I was going through the letters we sent each other during our eighth year at Hogwarts, and I realised how utterly stupid we both were back then.
In honor of our anniversary, and our graduation from profound idiocy, would you do me the great pleasure of accompanying me, once again, to Le Noir at half-past seven, on Friday evening?
Love,
Harry
Dear Git Wonder,
Were you seriously going through my things, again? I thought we were in agreement not to do so.
In recompense for being an idiot, you're paying for dinner.
Love,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
PS: Moron.
Author's Note:
Well, this was six rewrites too many. Remind me to never write an epistolary where I have to mention the Imperius Curse, again D:
There is another version available on AO3 and LJ, because FFNet doesn't like slash marks in actual fics. *frownie face*
Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a review!