This is a chapter outside the sequence of numbered chapters, what I call an Interlude. They usually have letters or official documents in them. This one is Draco's letters to his father, some of his perspective on the events of the term so far.
Just a note: I've decided that in this AU Draco has named his eagle-owl Imperius, because that would be the kind of name he would think is just right.
Interlude: CorrespondenceSeptember 1st, 1991
Dear Father:
I am safely at Hogwarts, and have been Sorted into Slytherin. As if there were any doubt! You and Mother raised me beautifully, and I have every expectation of being able to fulfill the role the Malfoys have always held in Slytherin—that of its leaders—with exceptional elegance and grace.
But, Father, there is something unusual: a Potter in Slytherin! No, not the Boy-Who-Lived; I met him, and he's a stuck-up Gryffindor. He has a twin brother, though, did you know? Harry. I think he's older, but that's just because he looks older. He has green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar, and an odd aura of power. I knew he would be in Slytherin from the first time I saw him on the train, because his magic made my head ache. I shielded like you taught me, though, and soon all was well again. The expression on Harry's face when the Hat put him in Slytherin was funny, though. It was as if he didn't expect it!
Slytherin is everything that you said it would be. I feel comfortable here already, Father, about to assume my natural destiny of triumphing over the commoners who might think to lead in my place, or to doubt me.
Your loving son,
Draco Malfoy.
September 2nd, 1991
Dear Father:
I am using a school owl to send this to you, but only because you haven't sent Imperius back yet. I promise you that in no way do I think a common Hogwarts school owl is worthy of a Malfoy.
Classes were wonderful today. I know that I'm going to enjoy Transfiguration, and I'm going to enjoy it in spite of McGonagall, who is an old bat just like you said. At least she doesn't dare be unfair to me, because she knows who I am, and none of her precious Gryffindors are in the class for her to be unfair about. Blaise Zabini said something most amusing about her as we were leaving class, however, and got assigned extra homework as a result. I shall endeavor to guard my tongue around her.
Charms class is going to be easy, I know it. Professor Flitwick looks so funny. Is it true that he has goblin blood, dear Father?
Harry Potter sat next to me in every class. He is quiet and brooding and looks everywhere when we're in the halls for that twin of his. I think he might believe the Boy-Who-Lived can't hold off a simple speck of dust, the way he acts. At least I stopped his nonsense of wanting to go over and speak to his brother at lunch by pointing out that his brother had come in late and we needed to hurry to get to Charms.
That reminds me, Father: Harry seems to be unaware of his own power. Do you know of any rumors that the Potters have a son that powerful? And could Connor Potter, the Gryffindor prat, really be so powerful that I simply can't feel him? He doesn't make my head ache.
I have to hurry through the last of this letter, as we have Astronomy class in a few moments. I love you, Father, and hope both you and Mother are well.
Your obedient son,
Draco Malfoy.
September 6th, 1991
Dear Father:
Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I won't use such language about a Hogwarts professor again, even in a private letter. You're right that it wouldn't look very good if anyone took it into his head to read our mail, or even if Imperius was carrying it and got intercepted. Are those Aurors still watching the Manor?
The old cat McGonagall disapproves of me. I heard her talking about me in the corridors earlier. She was saying something about "that Malfoy boy," and stopped and frowned when she saw me. She was talking to Professor Sprout. I have no idea why. I haven't even hexed a Hufflepuff yet. I put my head up and walked past them like the paragon of good breeding that I am. You would have been proud of me, Father. I remember all the lessons you taught me about courtesy, and all Mother's lessons about proper posture.
Potions was—two classes, really. Professor Snape really is a brilliant teacher, just as you said. And he takes points away from Gryffindor when they show just why they're the House of Idiots, and he made a particular point of humiliating the Boy-Who-Lived.
And then Harry was tiresome. He's acted all week as if his skin was crawling because he couldn't see his twin, and then he actually interfered with our boil cure potion just to keep his brother from getting in trouble. Snape assigned him detention, of course, since he wouldn't take points from Slytherin. And I kept asking him why he did it, and he refused to answer me.
Can you believe that, Father? A Potter refusing to answer a Malfoy?
I like Harry, but he makes my head ache and my teeth ache from grinding them. Not that I let him catch me grinding them, of course. Such an action would not be as you have trained me to do. I only wish he were not so tiresome.
Your elegant son,
Draco Malfoy.
September 12th, 1991
Dearest Father:
Harry Potter is the most tiresome wizard in Hogwarts!
Harry has been consistently refusing to admit that he belongs in Slytherin, instead of in pompous, self-absorbed, lying Gryffindor. With my usual cleverness, which of course is entirely a product of your training, I had thought of a plan to make him admit he was Slytherin, and better than his brother in some way.
We had flying lessons today, and Neville Longbottom—how the mighty pureblood lines have fallen!—humiliated himself, causing Madam Hooch to briefly leave us alone. I took up Longbottom's Remembrall, a gift from his grandmother, that evil woman with a vulture on her head, and then challenged Harry to catch it from several dozen feet in the air. He succeeded brilliantly, as I knew he would. He's a Slytherin! That should be all the proof of his House that anyone needs.
Then I took him to Snape's office, and told him what had happened, and he agreed that Harry should be Slytherin Seeker.
And Harry refused.
No one refuses Professor Snape, except maybe Dumbledore, and I suppose the Dark Lord. But he refused!
And no one refuses a Malfoy, but he did that, too!
I spoke with Professor Snape, and we both agreed that Harry needs to be made to acknowledge that he's a Slytherin. We will come up with a cunning plan, and he won't have any choice but to listen to us. But it is so tiresome, having to do this in the first place. Were it not for the fact that Professor Snape and a Malfoy together could not be wrong, I would be inclined to think that Harry is right, that he does in fact belong in Gryffindor with his prat of a brother.
Your graceful son,
Draco Malfoy.
October 1st, 1991
Dearest Father:
How hard is wandless magic? Could I learn to do it? Only Harry knows how to do it, I'm certain of it, and loads of other powerful spells. I've tried to get him to show me, but he does so with great reluctance. And he sneaks out of the House at night to go practice spells somewhere.
Harry Potter is very tiresome.
Your grateful son,
Draco Malfoy.
October 7th, 1991
Dear Father:
Ah, of course. I suspected that wandless magic would be difficult, but not impossible for a Malfoy. I am glad and pleased that you wish to instruct me, and will wait until the Christmas holidays at home to practice, with your supervision.
Classes proceed apace. I'm top of my class in Charms, and also very good at Transfiguration. In History of Magic, the main difficulty is keeping awake, but I have done several very good essays on the goblin rebellions. It is difficult to learn from Professor Quirrell, since he is so weak that my every instinct screams at me to despise him, but of course I grit my teeth (silently) and do so, keeping in mind your dictum: No knowledge is ever a waste
Our Astronomy classes leave me tired the next morning, but of course I make sure not to yawn where anyone can see. I'm a natural at flying, but then, your instruction and Mother's have seen to that; thank you.
Herbology seems the most useless class to me, but then, that may be only because it's such a Hufflepuff subject, and Neville Longbottom has the nerve to be good at it. Still, perhaps I will learn enough to tend the gardens in the Manor over the holidays.
Potions is my most frustrating class, though I am making top marks. Harry Potter is the reason for that frustration. There was never a wizard more determined to let others take the credit for his actions, or to appear ordinary while he was causing headaches for wizards who were minding their own business, thank you. He never answers a question with anything more than the absolute basic, required information. He always makes it seem as if I have done all our combined Potions work. I've read his essays, and they are not dreadful, or brilliant; they are absolutely average. He sometimes gets detention, and luckily he hasn't actually tried to spare his twin that much of Snape's attention since the first day of class, but that's normal, too.
He has the nerve to walk about pretending to be normal
Tell me, Father, have you known any powerful wizards who have done so?
At least he can't spend that much time with his brother or those other Gryffindor prats now. I've seen to that.
Your refined son,
Draco Malfoy.
October 12th, 1991
Dear Father:
It has been a month since I first suggested the Quidditch team to Harry. I tried it again tonight.
He gave me a flat stare. I persisted, because of course no Malfoy would give up after the first try.
Then he intoned a Silencio at me and left me that way for the rest of the evening. Gregory and Vince both tried the counterspell and could not lift it. Have you ever heard of such an outrage?
He released me at nightfall, and we had a shouting match. At least, I tried to have a shouting match. Harry had a shower and went to bed.
He is most tiresome.
Your calm son,
Draco Malfoy.
November 1st, 1991
Dear Father:
Harry is being exasperating. And stupid. And risking his life where he doesn't need to, and then refusing to even take credit for it, which would be the only reason for such a thing. And he gave me a headache.
A troll broke into the school, and the Professors quite sensibly decided to take everyone back to the common rooms. However, Harry, because he is stupid, noticed his brother running off to find a Mudblood girl he'd insulted earlier in the day—because the Boy-Who-Lived is stupid like that, too—and followed him. And, well, I had to follow him, because what in Merlin's name did he think he was doing?
We found the troll in a girls' loo. It had cornered the Mudblood girl, and Harry's brother and the horrible Weasley who is the same age as he is were trying to fell the troll by using Wingardium Leviosa on its club. It failed, of course, because they are Gryffindors, and therefore idiots. Then the troll injured them.
Father, Harry used wandless magic to fell the troll. Three spells, all right in a row: Incendio, Wingardium Leviosa, and Finite Incantatem. He did it as if it were no great effort at all, though he was sick with spell exhaustion afterwards.
I do not want to get in Harry's way when he's angry. He frightens me. I think he would die to protect his brother.
And then Harry lied when that old cat McGonagall came on the scene, and claimed that he had followed the troll looking for glory, and Connor Potter, the Brat-Who-Lived, the bloody Prince of Gryffindor, was the one who'd done the magic. Unconscious, no less!
I had a fierce headache by that time, and followed Professor Snape to the dungeons for a headache potion. He has said, and I agree, that it's no use trying to force Harry to act with direct intervention. We must try to coax him subtly.
But I have never been so angry with him. Doesn't he know that he could have been killed?
Your angry, but rightfully so, son,
Draco Malfoy.
November 2nd, 1991
Dear Father:
Ha-ha! Harry is on the Slytherin Quidditch team now! We saw his brother flying, and, of course, McGonagall didn't give him detention, but put him on the Gryffindor team. That bloody Potter gets everything he wants just handed to him.
And then Potter grabbed Harry's arm and took him to Professor Snape, and told him that Harry should get to fly because he did. Sometimes a Gryffindor sense of fair play comes in handy.
Harry will fly on Saturday, and I am sure that he will win. Can you come to the game? I would like it if you could watch him play.
Your excited son,
Draco Malfoy.
November 10th, 1991
Father:
I am so angry that I am shaking. There was a Death Eater attack at the Quidditch game. Rumors in Slytherin say it was the Lestranges. And Harry defeated them with his wandless spells and a Bludger. I think I know now why he's been creeping back into our rooms so late at night, though really, he hasn't disturbed me that much; I sleep so remarkably deeply that I never hear him go.
And then he let his brother take the credit for it! Again! He even put the Snitch in his brother's hand, which I think is unfair. At the very least, he could have insured that Slytherin won. No one would have cared if he had carried the Quaffle home a few times, and then carried off the Snitch. Instead, Harry is in the hospital wing with spell exhaustion, and Connor Potter's name is feted all over the school.
I am beginning to think that Harry needs a good talking-to, from someone who isn't me (whom he disregards) or Professor Snape (whom he distrusts because Professor Snape hates his father). I have thought of a remarkable solution, which I present to you with cautious hope. Will you permit me to bring Harry home with me to the Manor over the Christmas holidays, so that he may see what true Slytherins should behave like?
Your expectant son,
Draco Malfoy.
November 11th, 1991
Dear my son:
Yes, indeed, if you can convince this boy whom you are so fascinated with to come to the Manor with you over Christmas, do so. I should like to see what he is capable of.
Yours in Merlin's name,
Lucius Malfoy.