A/N: I've been working on this fic for a while, mostly as a way as procrastinating writing more chapters for What Could Change. But I've finished it now, so...here you go!
(Chihuahuas are cute. I mean no offense to them.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Dear Harry,
I cannot express my apology enough through words. Words do pale to express my apology, that is. About Weasel, who is not a flailing fat cat blood traitor. This was an extremely bad insult, since it is obvious that this is not true. Cats are not blood traitors themselves, they only obey what their master-
The paper flew from the desk, hitting Blaise's curtains with a soft tap. Draco glanced back at it for less than a second, and turned back to the next piece of parchment.
Dear Harry,
I'm am very, very sorry for calling Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor. This was cruel and stupid of me, and I only wish to express my whole-hearted apology. Weasley does not always flail, only occasionally, nor is he fat, despite the extraordinary amount of food he shoves into his mouth during every spare second of breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He cannot speak during these times, as I cannot speak when you are ignoring me, which is very immature of y-
That paper didn't quite hit Blaise's curtains, it just landed on the carpet, plunking and bouncing a few times until it finally settled.
Dear Harry,
I apologize deeply from my heart. I should not have called Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor, as that is incorrect grammar, although I am not quite sure what the correct grammar would-
Draco was pretty sure that this parchment actually might have hit Blaise; it went over the curtains, but dropped before it could've possibly gone over the other side. Blaise didn't stop snoring, though, so at least it hadn't woken him up.
Dear Harry,
I admit that calling Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor is stupid and I should not have done so. As the saying goes, if you can't say anything nice, then don't say anything at all. I could not have possibly said anything nice, so it would have been far less detrimental to our relationship if I had said nothing at all. However, how can one keep silent when a person is not only deliberately provoking them, but flailing around stupidly as we-
A slight spark of guilt pinged in Draco that several of these were probably hitting Blaise, but he instead reached for another paper.
Dear Harry,
I apologize for calling Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor. It was very stupid of me, given that I now have to write an apology letter, which is stupid in itse-
That one more slid off the desk than was thrown, but Draco figured it was about the same thing. It wasn't like that many of them were hitting Blaise, even if they were flying in that general direction.
Dear Harry,
I'm sorry for calling your friend Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor. This was not right, since he does not only flail, but rather blubbers and flails, most often at the same time. While it is a mystery quite how he accomplishes this feat, it does look, and is, rather stupi-
That one was bad enough that Draco was pretty sure it flew all the way past Blaise's bed and hit Crabbe's bed.
Dear Harry,
I'm sorry for calling Weasley a flailing fat cat blood traitor. He is not. I wasn't thinking and I acted rashly, even though Malfoy's never act rashly, and they always think. Which means the former statement isn't exactly true...
Dear Harry,
My apologies cannot express my sorrow nearly enough. Your friend Ron Weasley is a wonderfully fit, organized, and loyal young man, and it dishonors me so to have spoken such harsh and untrue words to him. I can only beg you to realize that my own conscience and knowledge of my horrible mistake is enough punishment, and I beg you to allow me to grovel in your company once more.
Love,
Draco
It was short, and vaguely separated and odd (and a bit too grovelling for Draco's tastes), but it would do. At least he had managed not to insult Weasley in it. Draco could swear he heard the curtains sigh in relief when he signed the letter and addressed it.
Dear Draco,
Thank you for writing an apology letter like I asked you to after calling Ron a flailing fat cat blood traitor. However, when I said that you had to write an apology letter, I didn't mean to me. You didn't insult me, you insulted Ron. So, while I will speak to you again given your effort, I refuse to snog you(or do anything else of a romantic or sexual nature) until Ron tells me that you wrote him an apology letter.
Love,
Harry
Draco stared at the letter clutched in his fingers. Granger'd obviously helped Harry with the specificity, but... "Merlin," he muttered, and plopped back down in his desk chair.
Dear Weasley,
I apologize for calling you a flailing fat cat blood traitor. After all, you are obviously not a cat, and therefore not a fat cat. Your name can only make this more obvious, seeing as you are called Weasel. This is proof that-
Dear Weasley,
I hate your guts, and you are fat. You are very, very fat, and you shove your gut constantly with food during lunch. You've betrayed the entire magical race with your family, and it would be better to be a mudblood than a Weasley. As for the cat part, I'm sorry, I got you and your sister confused. You are never coordinated, and you blubber and flail and shove your mouth with food. I hate you.
Dear Weasley,
Do you know why a Weasley is like a flailing fat cat blood traitor? They're not! Actually, it depends on your opinion of what a flailing fat cat bloodtraitor is, when I think about-
Dear Weasley,
With all my heart and soul, I apologize deeply for my rash words. I should not have spoken so suddenly, but should have deliberated on what to say. Honestly, where did flailing fat cat blood traitor come from? It's so unsophisticated, much like yo-
Dear Weasley,
I should not have called you a flailing fat cat blood traitor the other day. You were provoking me again to try to break me and Harry up, and you still haven't managed to succeed since you're such a stupid f-
Dear Weasley,
You are probably not a flailing fat cat blood traitor, since Granger probably wouldn't date a cat. Then again, with Granger, I'm not quite sure if I can make that judgemen-
Dear Weasley,
I apologize for calling you a flailing fat cat blood traitor. You are more like a chihuahua than a cat. You are small and insignificant, but you bark and yip and jump and do little growling imitations so much that I cannot help but wish to curse your owner(Granger) and squash you underneath my foot.
Dear Weasley,
I'm sorry that I called you a flailing fat cat blood traitor. It was foolish of me to take your bait, since I know that you would love nothing more than for Harry to break up with me. The sad thing is, you can't even manage that much.
Dear Weasley,
My heart yearns for your forgiveness for my terrible deed. Wait, that wasn't supposed to sound like I'm interested in you, and I know it did, I just want you to forgive me so I can go back to snoggi-
Dear Weasley,
You are not a flailing fat cat blood traitor. I was wrong to accuse you of this. Will you forgive me? I would like it if you would. I'm horribly deprived of several of my basic needs right now, like sleep and...well, I'll just say sleep.
"Potter." Harry spun around, and stared blankly at Zabini. Zabini glanced off to the side, his hands stuck awkwardly in his pockets and his green tie standing out in the sea of red at the Gryffindor table like a criminal notice in the Daily Prophet.
"What is it, Zabini? Is something up with Draco? I talked to him yesterday, he seemed fine."
Zabini sighed, and his eyes drifted down to Harry again. "It's not about that. Well, it is. You know how you asked him to write an apology letter, and he wrote one to you, and then you told him to write it to Weasley?"
Harry nodded in encouragement. "Yeah, I do."
"Every bloody night a piece--or two-- of crumpled parchment hits me square in the face. And every bloody night about fifteen more hit the bed around me. I swear hundreds are scattered around our dorm floor; I practically have to wade through them. Every bloody night, Potter. Every one. I'm about to scream at him."
Harry blinked. "I figured he'd just blown me off at the idea of writing an apology to Ron, and had figured I'd forget the whole thing."
Zabini shook his head slowly. "I wish. Either accept his apology and forgive him, or make him realize that he can send a decent apology letter to Weasley, and that it doesn't have to be perfect."
"But..." Harry sighed. "He did call Ron a name, and I want him to learn from that. Just hold off screaming at him for a little bit longer, okay?" Zabini didn't respond, and Harry tried again. "Please, Zabini?"
Zabini seemed to think for a moment, and finally reached down and grabbed Harry's wrist. "Come on. You've got to see our dormitory, then you'll understand. Worse part is that the house elves think it's stuff to be saved and don't throw it away."
He yanked Harry forward suddenly, and starting for the doors, pulling Harry after him as he walked rapidly out. Zabini slowed down a few beats once they reached a different door to the dungeons than Harry'd usually used to get to class and to visit Draco, though the change in speed was probably because of the shiny stuff covering the steps. It looked vaguely like black ice, and from the careful way Zabini stepped around it, he'd been using these stairs for a while. Harry hadn't ever used these stairs, though, so he stepped wrong on the third step down. In less than a moment, Harry was laying at the bottom of the steps and staring up at Zabini's snickering face.
"You used this pathway on purpose," Harry mumbled at him, and Zabini nodded brightly.
"Of course. Payback for the parchment hitting me in the face." Zabini stuck a hand out to him, and Harry pulled himself up. He could've sworn he heard a joint pop, but hopefully that was just his imagination.
"What, having stone and ice hit me in the face?"
"Naturally." Zabini smirked, and his hand twitched like he was going to push Harry back down again just for the fun of it.
"That's nice of you. Is this even the way to the common room, or did you just want to watch me fall as revenge?"
"No, though that would be a good idea," Zabini grinned, and the sleep-deprived gloom that had been drifting around him finally finished vanishing. "This is the quickest way there. Once you get used to the stairs, that is."
They walked for a little while longer, and Zabini stopped in front of a dusty portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Zabini whispered something unintelligible to it, and the door opened. It was pretty much the same common room Harry remembered from second year, decorated in all-around green, silver, and black decor and dim-lit. The other students stared at them as they passed, and several had stormy expressions that gave Harry the impression that they would punch him if given the slightest incentive. And then probably throw him down iced stairs.
Zabini led Harry up a set of stairs, and stopped suddenly in front of the door that looked much like the Gryffindor boys' dormitory doors. He gave Harry a small, thin smile. "This is where I've been living for the past two weeks." The door creaked slowly open, and Harry stepped hesitantly inside as his foot crunched down on something.
Zabini, despite Harry's gut urge to dispute everything he said, had not been kidding. It looked almost as if it had snowed inside the dungeons. Large balls of off-white parchment littered two of every three inches, and many balls were scattered around on various surfaces. The bed just barely to the right was lightly sprinkled with paper, and so was the desk at the end of it. To the left was the area Harry knew to be Draco's from his past visits, with more parchment balls and a wastebin full of ink containers and broken quills. The bed and desk were totally coated with around two layers of parchment, leaving only a small square to write in on the desk. Harry gaped at the dormitory, and slowly turned to face Zabini as the door closed with a soft thunk. Harry jerked a thumb at Draco's bed.
"How does he even sleep on that?"
Zabini shrugged. "He doesn't. He spends most of the night trying to write apology letters--they really do stink, I've read a few--and then he usually falls asleep in his chair for the last few hours before we have to get up for breakfast. Really, Potter, I'm pretty sure he's been sufficiently punished for calling Weasley a..." Zabini's lips twitched in a smile. "...flailing fat cat blood traiter. He's definitely learned from his mistake."
Harry sighed. "I guess." There was a small creak behind him and Zabini, and he spun around.
Draco blinked at Harry, his eyes stuttering and struggling to keep their eyelids most of the way up. "What are you doing in my room?"
Harry shrugged and smiled at him. "Zabini wanted me to come up to see what a mess you've made of your dormitory." Harry's gaze drifted down to the parchment surrounding his feet. "It is quite a mess."
Draco groaned with a short nod and leaned his elbow against the doorway. His hand covered his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Blaise and Crabbe and Goyle have all been on my case about it for days. I'll finish the apology to Weasley soon, I promise, and then it'll get cleaned up."
Harry stared at him for a second, and shook his head. "No, I'll just apologize to Ron for you. He's mostly forgotten about anyway, you've called him all sorts of horrible things before. Just..." Harry glanced around at the parchment, and then at Zabini. "Try not to insult Ron again, and don't make your roommates drag me down here again. Those iced steps are evil."
Draco laughed. "Very true. It's the quickest way to the dormitory, so they iced the steps so that only Slytherins could get down without hitting their head. First years always fall down the stairs for the first month, until they memorize where the ice is and they dodge it." He raised an eyebrow over at Zabini. "Good to know you used those stairs on your way down."
Zabini smiled innocently at Draco. "I only wanted to get here faster, of course."
"Of course."
"By the way, Potter," Zabini turned towards Harry and tilted his head slightly, "Thanks for forgiving Draco without the stupid apology letter." He gave a sweeping bow. "You have saved me hours of sleep."
"Not hours," Draco muttered.
"You try to sleep while I throw parchment at you, alright? See if you can get to sleep."
"I would get to sleep. Or I'd study. I don't even want to know what you did while you couldn't sleep."
Zabini backed up and fell onto his bed. "It's your fault I couldn't sleep."
"I thought we'd already figured out that it was not my fault."
"Then whose was it?"
Harry was glad that he didn't have to live in the Slytherin dormitory. Not that his own wasn't insane, but the Slytherins... you only needed to look around to know they were crazy.