A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the anonymous reviewer who expressed their hopes that I would not die, because of the risk that nobody would adopt this story and do it justice. I laughed out loud when I read it, our priorities are one in the same, I can promise you that.
I can also promise u if all of my fics just suddenly appear abandoned one day, I probably did dead ass die, because that's the only thing that would stop my bullshit at this point. If I get any sort of publishing success, I'll be writing fantasy novels by day and thirsting over fictional sad men by night well into old age, it's just my fate. That being said, I did fall behind on responding to things when I was sick, so I'm sorry about that!
Also, the letters in these chapters aren't going to be every single letter exchanged by them throughout the school year, because that would be about as exciting as me making up a whole new Beauxbatons storyline, so we're just going to go with the highlight reel.
12th September 1995
B,
If this is the year where you really need to start taking dancing seriously, I'm happy I'm not around to witness it. You can't seriously tell me that an entire school year of twirling until your toes bled was you taking it easy, that's just utterly absurd.
Good news! Potter isn't Prefect. It looks like his champion Dumbledore doesn't even trust him - hardly bodes well for the hysteria he was spouting, does it? That being said, the old dolt chose Weasley instead, so I'm not sure that's a much better choice. Granger, too, but it was always going to go to that insufferable know it all.
We have a new DADA teacher - Umbridge - who really seems to know what she's about, though, so it looks like we might finally have a bit of sense at Hogwarts. More than that, she's been given the role of High Inquisitor, which means she might actually whip this place up into shape. Maybe I'll end this year pleased that I didn't get to go to Durmstrang after all.
David
3rd Oct '95
Draco,
Remember when I told you that this year would be big as far as my dancing is concerned? Next week we have a whole host of what basically amount to the most prolific talent scouts in the ballet world coming in to see us dance. Madame Garnier didn't mention it until now, she wanted to give us the month to get back into the swing of things and to really prepare, and now this. I haven't bloody slept since she mentioned it - if I get it, it means sponsorships, roles, a real career. Sitting OWLs would just be a formality, I could be dancing for a living by this time next year. Can you believe it?
She wants me to do the broom routine - I'd have to use one supplied by them, something about fairness and anti-tampering, but if I can pull it off even half as well as I managed to back at Hogwarts, I'll be a shoe-in (or is it shoo-in? maybe I should be concerned with OWLs and NEWTs, after all) — I'll be employed by an actual company! A proper ballerina! I'll be living the actual, real, honest to Merlin dream. Can you believe it? I hardly bloody can - I hoped writing it down here would make it feel real, but it doesn't. I promise to remember you when I'm rich and famous.
Meryl Monroe
7th October 1995
B,
Given that this whole thing is all that you've obsessively worked towards in all the time that I've known you, I have to say that I can believe it. Where did you think that this path led to? A promising future in accounting? Perhaps you should focus on education after all, if it took you this long to puzzle it out. Congratulations, Baxter. Truly. You've the skill to back it up, nobody can argue otherwise. And good luck - although I doubt you'll need it.
Just out of curiosity, am I right in thinking that the Weasleys told you that the reason they had to rescind their invitation was thanks to a family emergency? Because somehow their dirty laundry always ends up strewn across Hogwarts, and I haven't heard a thing about any such emergency from a single member of their brood. Their older brother works in the Ministry, too, and there's been no rumblings from the gossip there. Or if there had been, my father hasn't mentioned it - and it's the exact sort of thing he would be celebrating, if so. Could it be that the Good and Noble House of Weasley told a lie?
Umbridge is really whipping this place up into shape, anyway. It's a shame you're missing it. She's banned any clubs that form without her express permission - I spoke to her this morning myself and obtained her blessing for the Slytherin Quidditch team to continue. Who can say whether she'll be so magnanimous with the Gryffindors? Fingers crossed for not.
David.
13 Oct '95
Draco,
I haven't had a chance to write before now, sorry, I've been occupied - mired in dreams of my very promising future in accountancy, as you said. The big wigs were here a few days ago and I danced for them all. I didn't bloody sleep at all the night before because I was so stupidly nervous (which no doubt you'll laugh at me for, but whatever), and I swear I thought I was going to faint in the minutes leading up to my turn. They did it all alphabetically, so I was second to go up. Second. I can't decide whether that's good, or just psychological warfare - I got a chance to see how the process would go, at least, and I think being last would've been much more nerve wracking.
I don't even usually get nervous for these things, but this was different. This was what everything beforehand had been leading up to, and I just couldn't shake the fear that I'd make one stupid mistake and ruin years and years of hard work in one moment.
They'd been pretty much silent throughout the performance of the girl who went before me, just watching all still and quiet, but then I went out and there was a bit of whispering when they noticed the broom in my hand. They must've known one of us would attempt it, but maybe not which one. I told them my name, gave them my prettiest smile just to dazzle them a bit, and then the music started. I think I was about a quarter of the way through when they started whispering. It made me nervous as shit, honestly, because it had me second guessing what was going on or if I'd made a mistake. I knew I hadn't, not really, but there's something about that whole situation that has you second guessing yourself, especially considering it was so early on in the term and I never get much good dancing under my belt over summer. What if I was rusty?
Anyway, I managed to tune it out and I kept going. By the end they'd gone from a bit of whispering to all out arguing - they didn't even dismiss me, Madame Garnier had to wave me off while I stood there wondering what was going on. She told me afterwards – they're in a bidding war for me. A bidding war, Draco – this sort of thing hasn't happened since Clarabella Vane! I have a big list of the companies that are interested, the pros and cons of each one, and I need to give them my answer by the end of the year. There's really only one answer, though - WIB, the Wizarding International Ballet. The rest just exist for people who can't get into that, and they're much smaller and only based in one country, instead of the Wizarding one which covers all of Europe.
I need to leave it long enough to not look desperate, but not so long that it insults them, so I'll write to them in November with my decision. Can you believe it? Madame Garnier almost cried when she told me they want to take me on - which is as good as a hysterical breakdown from just about anybody else.
Looks like accountancy will need to find another hero!
Meryl Monroe x
P.S. It doesn't matter about the Weasleys, put it out of your mind - I already have. Especially now that I have this to focus on instead. Whatever their reasoning, it's fine, shit happens, I don't want to make a big thing of it.
When the horn sounded announcing the end of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match - and Gryffindor's victory, no less, thanks to Harry's god-tier snitch-catching abilities - George heaved a sigh of relief, directing his broom around the pitch in lazy circles that gradually descended downwards. It had been a right nasty affair. The victory barely dulled the edge of the anger the Slytherin antics had slowly stoked in him throughout the whole thing with their constant gleeful chanting of 'Weasley is our king!' over and over until every time he glanced at his little brother, he found his face as scarlet as his uniform.
The fact that he knew the jabs were designed to annoy by the Malfoy git himself did nothing to stop them from achieving their goal. Even now that they'd won, a few half-hearted verses were still being called out by the biggest mouth-breathers that Slytherin had to offer, like it would detract from the fact that they'd just bloody well lost the match, underhanded tactics or no. In a few hours he knew he'd probably take comfort in the fact that even being such shits couldn't help them win, but for now he was just pissed off.
Malfoy and Harry were both already on the ground, and as George's broom drifted within a few feet of the ground, he finally caught wind of the vitriol Malfoy spewed at Harry, his pale face screwed up and his hair in disarray from his scuffle for the Snitch.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you? I've never seen a worse Keeper - but then he was born in a bin, wasn't he, Potter? Did you like my lyrics?"
George sprang from his broom, leaving it discarded on the pitch, barely aware of Fred going through an almost identical range of motions somewhere off to his left. Ron, too, he noticed dismounting his broom off at the other end of the pitch, but rather than join the team, he hung his head and began to walk in the direction of the changing rooms alone. Harry ignored Malfoy, turning to Angelina who was dividing her time between checking on their Seeker and shooting daggers in Malfoy's direction, who continued to spout his hatred despite their efforts to ignore him.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses! But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, you see."
George's hands clenched into fists and any hope he had of keeping control of his temper vanished when the little prat continued.
"We couldn't fit in useless loser, either - for his father, I mean."
Somewhere behind him, George heard Angelina doing her best to talk Fred down - forcibly taking hold of his clothing to try to make him listen, if the rustling was anything to go by.
"But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter? Spend holidays there and everything, isn't that right? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay-"
George took a swift step in Malfoy's direction, and was all but pounced on by Harry in an attempt to keep him back, struggling against his hold on him before he'd even properly latched on.
Mirth gleamed in Malfoy's pale eyes, seeing the reaction he was successfully drawing out of them, continuing on with a horrible little grin.
"Or perhaps you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and the Weasleys' pigsty reminds you of it!"
Harry's grip disappeared, and George was barrelling forward without stopping to see if Harry had let go because he decided to join him in shutting Malfoy up. The couple of faltering steps that Malfoy took backwards did nothing to aid his escape and George had a fist bundled in his green and silver Quidditch jersey easily, landing a blow to his jaw.
Malfoy struggled in his grip and flailed out a punch of his own - one that caught George in the lip, no less - but he barely felt it. He also barely heard what Malfoy was saying next until he was already a few words into his sentence.
"You know your fickleness meant she was basically homeless this summer, right?
George frowned "What are you-"
"I mean, if my choices were between taking my chances on the streets, dealing with a psycho Muggle, or staying with your lot, I know what I'd choose, but then again I've always known what all of you are really like. She didn't - not at first. Not 'til you taught her the hard way. Courage and chivalry, indeed- oof-"
Just as George's grip had loosened, Harry caught up and drove his fist into Malfoy's stomach. And then McGonagall was upon them.
4th Nov '95
D,
Why did I just get a very strange letter from George Weasley asking if I still talk to you?
M.
6th November 1995
B,
Did you get the congratulatory chocolates I sent you? Have you accepted the company's offer yet? What step comes after that? I'll admit, I don't know much about the intricacies of these things, so I don't know how it'll all happen.
David
8th Nov '95
Draco,
I have a letter from George here waiting to be answered, and I swear to god I'm not above sending a howler to you next if you don't tell me what the bloody hell you said.
M.
P.S. The chocolates were very nice. Thank you.
10th November 1995
B,
Okay, okay, there's no need to make a big thing of it. It's a long and tedious story, but to summarise – we had a Quidditch match against Gryffindor just over a week ago, and they were sore winners (despite only having won by a margin, mind you). Slytherin House had some sort of chant or another mocking Weasley (the one that trails after Potter like a zombie), and they took it all much too seriously because they have an absolute inability to get over themselves.
There was an exchange of views on the ground immediately after, during which I made a few jokes, they took them terribly because of that aforementioned inability to get over themselves, and I took the chance to let slip a few home truths to that clone you used to find so amusing. I didn't say anything mad, I didn't mention you by name, I just suggested that they fancy themselves terribly chivalrous and kind but when it comes to putting all of that into practice, he certainly fell short this summer.
And, I would add, it speaks volumes as to his guilt that he seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. Surely if he wasn't aware he'd been a colossal letdown (true to Weasley tradition), he wouldn't have had the slightest notion of what I was talking about. Don't worry, he hasn't said a word, and even if he did it would be his word against mine, and he's no evidence. Our secret is safe.
Finally, don't tell me you actually intend to dignify his letter with a response? Don't be absurd. He can't cut ties, hold you at arm's length, and generally not bother with you at all, just to swan back and demand answers as to who it is you've been speaking to in the time that he was stupid enough to forget all about you. He cannot - and if you respond, he'll only think he did nothing wrong. If you're going to respond at all, it should be him that you send a howler to rather than me. It's daft, and it encourages an unreal level of audacity that he's no right to. Did he care who you were speaking with over summer? No? Then he's no right to care now.
Leave them all to sulk over their Quidditch team being banned. That's just karma, if you ask me. Just you watch - in a year's time he'll be writing again trying to finagle free tickets out of you.
- D.
A/N: Some context for those who haven't read the books in a while (because it's been a while for me, too, and I'm working from outlines of each book that I found online, supplemented by the movies, along with going back and reading specific scenes as they become relevant), but basically the Quidditch scene comes from a chapter in book 5 where Draco, true to his usual shitheel ways, wrote and taught all of Slytherin the "Weasley is Our King" song (we stan a creative writing king) to taunt Ron while they played. Despite his glowing sportsmanlike conduct, he manages to just lose out catching the snitch to Harry and, to the shock of absolutely nobody, doesn't take it well.
He starts spewing hatred about the Weasleys, saying the nastiest shit he can think of, a lot of his dialogue here being pulled directly from the book, and earns himself a beatdown from the combined forces of George and Harry. When I read this part, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity for him to start throwing Marilyn in George's face, and also a great little chance for us to see what an unreliable narrator Draco would doubtlessly be in his letters. But Marilyn knows him well enough to know that, I think.