I'm familiar with the story you've compared me to
Voldemort reads Muggle literature?
Strange that you picked such legendary lovers. Yes, I am well versed in Muggle literature and quite capable of interpreting innuendo. Will I be your downfall, then? I shan't call you Basil, though you may fancy yourself the type. Not only does it make the use of a moniker obvious to all, but it's cliche, a thing I refuse to be in any eyes.
I do plan to groom you as my second. The Second, if you will. Put your newfound French translator to work. We will be legendary, eternal. You only second to me- I only second to you. Both equals and rivals. Do send me the tales of your misdeeds at Hogwarts, including reports of the "Malfoy brat", as you so phrased.
That sounds, … well, fuck.
Attempt to ally yourself with someone trustworthy and not so hexable as the twits in Gryffindor. Write frequently, never take your ring off, and do try to conduct yourself better.
I stare at the page in frustration. Five minutes later, two more owls fly overhead. They drop a book into my lap, which I instinctively cover with my hands. I peel a note from the front.
Deux,
Your education in such matters is entirely lacking. Do try to brush up.
-Dorian
I smile to myself and bite my lip. From across the room Draco makes an obvious attempt to catch my attention.
I nod at him slightly, then whisper, "Oh, bloody hell."
He walks over to me, firmly ignoring the crowd of gawking Gryffindors.
"Is there something you need?" I ask.
"Not in particular, Potter," he says.
I narrow my eyes.
"Then why are you over here?" I ask.
"You're alone," he says.
I nod.
"Quite clearly," I say.
"Is that..by choice?" he asks.
"Not particularly, Draco," I sigh.
What can he possibly want? I somehow doubt Malfoy was permitted to tell Draco just why I am important. Why I have gone from enemy No. 1 to leader No. 2. I expect the order was somewhat similar to "Don't antagonize Potter. It would not be to your favor."
He sits beside me.
"This is the Gryffindor table," I say.
He says nothing.
"And you're sitting here," I say.
"Quite clearly," he mocks.
I look at him.
"Are we friends, then?" I ask.
"Are you eating or talking, Potter?" Draco asks.
I smile and take a bite of my muffin. He looks at something behind me.
"Potter, you and I need to talk," Snape hisses before hauling me to his office. I grip my book tightly and attempt to swallow the piece of muffin threatening to lodge itself in my throat.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He pulls a letter from his robes.
"What is this? Potter, what have you gotten into now?" he yells.
I roll my eyes.
"Pick a side, would you?" I say.
"Have you lost your mind, boy?" he asks.
I stare at him defiantly.
"What are you planning to do about this?" I ask.
"I should go to Dumble-" he says.
"You wouldn't if you value your life," I say.
He looks at me in shock, probably looking to see where James' son and Dumbledore's pawn went. I'm the bride of Voldemort now. I smile.
"Did you just threaten me, Potter?" Snape asks.
I smirk.
"Be that as it may, I will not. You may have lost me my place here as a spy, boy," he says.
I shrug my shoulders.
"Good choice," I say.
Voldemort doesn't need Snape here, he's got me. As their (the so called Light side) greatest warrior, which seems like something that shouldn't be true but apparently is, I can go much farther than a "reformed" Death Eater ever could. Not mentioning I've been afforded a higher position in Voldemort's ranks than he has. Than he will possibly ever be. Perhaps that's arrogant, but I don't see Voldemort sending him courting gifts.
I bite the inside of my cheeks and twist my ring around my finger.
"Was there a point you were working to or….?" I say.
He scowls.
"Everyone else has the good sense to act civil," I say.
"Go to class, Potter," he says.
I salute him as I slip out of the door.
Dorian,
I hate this Umbridge woman. She's a stupid pink ball of evil. She gave me a week of detentions, just for saying you exist, during which I wrote for hours with a blood quill. She hates me. Every time I breathe she sends me out of the room for being disruptive. I wish I could shout,
"Do you fucking know who you're talking to? I am Voldemort's bride."
I've started referring to myself in that way. I think it's amusing.
Draco is alright. We don't talk, but he provides an empty companionship. I've distanced myself from the Weasleys. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't go back. I suppose I'm lonely.
Could I see you?
-Deux
I pull my covers aside and start to climb in. My foot meets a folded stack of clothes just under the sheet. I detach the paper.
Wear this to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Be at the Shrieking Shack. -Dorian
I clutch the note to my chest as I fall asleep.
The strange places I've taken to spending time in to ignore Ron and Hermione have left me feeling isolated. I suppose I am isolated. But that leaves me excited and nervous to see Voldemort today. Voldemort, of all people. I put on the clothes he chose. They fit me well. I wonder why.
"Harry! Where do you want to go first?" Hermione asks.
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I promised Draco," I say.
Lying shamelessly.
Her face falls. I feel bad. She was-is?-a good friend before we were on opposite sides of a war. But now I'm off to meet my- Voldemort, I'm going to see Voldemort. And everything has changed.
