Of course I already knew that. You are completely right, I am a brilliant man although as to the fancying myself as a brilliant man thing you are sorely mistaken. I do not fancy myself as anything -- but I am all to aware of my gifts and excellent traits and see no need to be modest about these.
Potter, I must admit that I have never heard more disappointing news. I had held onto the hope that you were finally going to fulfill the dreams of this man and not respond to this owl, due to extenuating circumstances i.e. your death. You have now ensured that I will spend my week wrapped in bed, hugging my teddy bear and crying my little broken heart out. I hope your happy.
I must say that I was astounded that you sunk so low as to use common language in your owl to me. Can you not use formal language in formal communication? Honestly, I now know why they kicked you out of the Auror program. Unable to adequately complete paperwork, Potter. I'm disappointed in you.
Yours sincerely, D. Malfoy
P.S. I care little if you are hurt by my indifference. Surely you should be used to it by now?
P.P.S. Out of curiosity: do you know who put the pardon into motion?
Draco decided that the letter was far too long and sighed. He had better things to do with his time than think of remarkably witty things to write to Potter ... like work out why Mr. Grober's arms kept magically transfiguring every few minutes. Not a good thing for the head of Muggle Communications. On second thought, no he actually didn't. He sighed once more and sent the owl. Times were bad when the funniest thing he'd said all day was in an owl to Potter.
In case it has failed to escape your notice I have been astoundingly modest in my communication with you, and all meetings we have had in the past. You will notice -- if your tiny brain can remember back further than what you did last night -- that I have not mentioned how stunningly attractive I am for ... oh, the past month or so. If that is not modest, Potter, I fail to see what is.
Alas, I do not wish for you to kick the bucket. I do not wish for you to be able to kick any bucket for you will be dead. Honestly, I sometimes get the feeling I am talking to someone who has yet to grasp the basics of the English language. A question, Potter, if I may (and I will anyway despite your wishes): why are you quite so fond of living? I have yet to think of one example who is quite fond of your living. Hmm. I'll have to get back to you on that one.
Of course I have a high opinion of myself. I am brilliant. I am like a walking god. Anyone could tell you that. I shall have to inform Pansy that you wish to receive a quick owl from her -- she's always happy to attest to the fact that my high opinion of myself is not undeserved. Dirty little secret? My, my, Potter. What a absolutely. thrillingly, disgustingly boring secret. I can only imagine how much fun you must have: get up, lie in bed, stare at ceiling, get fired, go to bed. Tut, tut Potter. I almost fell asleep just writing that. How can you stand to live it?
I don't care. I'm indifferent. We've been through this. See postscripts on previous letters.
Yours sincerely, D. Malfoy
P.S. I haven't the faintest clue Of course I know, don't insult my intelligence.
P.P.S I'm awaiting those chocolate, Potter.
Draco smirked as he added the last postscript and stood, walking quickly over to the window were his owl was resting. He stroked her neck soothingly, tied the letter to her leg and sent her off once more. He watched her for a while until she had become not even a speck on the horizen before he turned back to his flat. Back to his flat and endless piles of work he'd rather not be doing. He sighed and sauntered into the kitchen. Maybe coffee would help.
I applaud my restraint also. It hasn't ceased to amaze me as of yet and I've been aware of the fact for, oh say three weeks. Those chocolates were just the reward I needed and I thank you. As to your worries about them ruining my godlike figure I can assure you that my figure is perfectly able to cope with a few chocolates. I do wish you'd stop projecting your insecurities about your figure onto me. Oh, and this reminds me of something I meant to ask. Have you been letting yourself go lately, Potter? You looked simply atrocious when I last saw you. Gave me nightmares, you did.
I do not care what you thought of the bloody stupid coot man. Dumbledore was quite clearly psychotic and it doesn't surprise me to learn that he looked forward to death. It does surprise me, however, that you don't. I always thought the two of you were as alike as -- what's the expression? -- two peas in a pod.
I have reached my conclusion, Potter, which you will be ecstatic to hear. I'm pretty sure that undertakes are quite glad you're alive -- less work for them, you see. As to anyone else, well, I am ashamed to admit I am still stumped. It seems that even my alarming intelligence can sometimes be bested by you.
Concerning the dirty little secret: you had better, Potter. I'm not joking. There's bound to be one tiny thing you would be mortified if other people heard about. Not that I would tell anyone, you understand. I am nothing if not a very trustworthy individual. I'm astounded you can't recall this -- after all, I managed to keep your secret about that damn invisibility cloak! You lucky bastard.
Don't worry, you can trust me.
Oh, and Potter, what makes you think that I would deign to share the wealth of information I have access to with you? You are right ... it would be too much to ask.
Yours sincerely, D. Malfoy
Draco hastily scrawled his signature, quickly re-read the letter and nodded slightly. It was fine; he doubted it would convince Potter to share any life-threatening secrets with him but then again he doubted the end of the world would convince Potter to share anything with him so it wasn't a major let down. Quickly he sent the letter off, placed the chocolates in his desk drawer -- after taking a few from the box of course -- and bolted out the front door to work.
You are lucky that today I am in a very forgiving mood. I am willing to accept your apology for ruining my delicate retinas with your unwholesome appearance. Also, you mentioned my ability to boost others egos. I must confess that it is something I take great pride in: both boosting others egos and tearing them down. Tell me, which do you think I am engaging in at the moment?
Yes, Potter, I have figured out that you are not a carbon copy of Dumbledore -- I can't imagine why anyone would think so. After all, Dumbledore was intelligent for all his faults.
Ah, but if you expect miracles then you're always aiming as high as can be -- and that's not necessarily a bad thing. I think I'm getting far too philosophical now, and suspect that I should stop. I will apologise for anything in this letter that makes little sense; I have just returned from dinner with Pansy, and will confess to having drunk far too much wine. This, however, does not stop the fact that I can think clearly enough to say this: your undertakers will mourn your loss but be thrilled to learn of their financial gain. Maybe they'll be able to afford a bath now, and save my precious nose.
Exceedingly trustworthy, Potter. Exceedingly. Well, as long as I want to be.
Did you thank me, Potter? And mean it ... I'm shocked. I think I just suffered a heart attack. It's a good thing I know the charm to counteract strains on the heart, isn't it?
Yes, it was worth a try, I guess. I'll let you in on a secret though: I have no idea who was the driving force behind the pardon. Why would Scrimgeour do it? He was an Auror, after all. Shouldn't he want to slam them all up in Azkaban for the rest of eternity? Or until they finally go insane and run at the walls often enough to crack their skulls. Whichever comes first.
And, oh Merlin, I just realised how drunk I was. I should really stop writing now.
Yours Draco
Draco eyed the letter, not really taking in the words. He giggled slightly at nothing in particular and pushed himself up, out of his chair, before stumbling across to the open window and the owl who was glaring at him.
"Shh, pet," he whispered, when the damn bird started hooting. "Shh. Just bring this to Potter, eh? That's a love." He tied the letter haphazardly to her leg, opened the window further so the owl could fit out, before dancing -- rather awkwardly -- over to the sofa and collapsing onto it.
Your redeeming qualities in the public's eye are simple: you are 'the hero who conquered the Dark Lord'. Therefore everyone should fall at your feet and kiss your shoes. Well, everyone that does not possess an ounce of dignity or sense. For those of us that possess both dignity and sense it seems that your redeeming qualities are hard to find. I'm sure there are those out there who appreciate your wit. And strangely enough I see it as a redeeming quality that you did not taunt me for my drunkeness in your last letter. Bravo, you! Then again, it could have been subtle. I hope you know that very thought makes me snigger.
Yes, I do have the ability to write coherently when drunk. Especially when I spend nearly an hour trying to get the letter that way. I am not ashamed to admit this for I have no doubt that any drunken letters you would write would be atrocious. The letter you received was the twelfth draft, Potter. All the rest were Incendio'd almost immediately.
Dinner with Pansy is always enlightening, Potter. Also, it is usually in a different country and we just happened to visit Paris. The French do make a lovely wine, and I can never resist.
I applaud your attention to my delicate nose. Now, when you are dead and buried (what a glorious day that shall be), the world can be sure of two less distrubingly smelly tramps ... I mean undertakers.
Potter, if you continue being as non-threatening and, strangely, unlike an arsehole that you have been lately it's actually pretty likely you'll stay on my good side. Of course, this may be the residual wine in my system talking so I wouldn't pay it too much attention, you understand.
A thought: do you think Scrimgeour could possibly be under Imperius? At the minute it's all I can think of to that would explain he's actions. Although what the heck Potter?'The truth behind the matter is far more troubling'?! Oh, I know. You're just dying to be the hero again, aren't you?
Aw, how ... unendearing.
I'm not sure. About two and a half bottles of wine, I'd wager.
Yours sincerely, D. Malfoy
P.S. You understand the sign off last time was because I was extremely drunk right? Now, I'm just hungover.
Draco tied the letter to Potter's owls leg. The bloody thing had woken him only twenty minutes before, pecking at his face until he had awoke. Because of this utter atrocity he had ensured the owl wouldn't be able to leave until Draco was ready to send a reply back with her -- after all, he had next to no idea were his owl had disappeared off to.
He walked over to the window and flung it open, letting the snowy white owl out. He didn't watch it fly off. as he normally did, instead simply turned away from the window and staggered into the kitchen to hunt down the hangover potion he kept hidden in there. Just in case his mother came 'round unexpectedly. Finding it, he drunk it down quickly and stood still for several moments as the potion worked its magic. It took him that long to remember all he'd written to Potter; today and last night. He groaned loudly and cursed himself.
I urge you not to worry and assure you that no bowing or kissing of the shoes shall ever occur ... well, not from myself in any case. I do believe that somewhere along the way I have managed to acquire a bit of class, thank you very much and kissing someones shoes -- even yours, Potter -- makes me feel physically ill. And, yes, you're right. There's no way that you of all people would be able to direct a subtle dig at anyone. You're far more likely to throw a chair at me, all things considered.
There most certainly are people dying to blackmail with drunken letters. And I fear they would suceed. Let us just say that, had you received one of those dreadful letters, I would never have been able to look you in the eye again. Ever. And I always have been extremely persistent. Just look at the many incidents in my past. Like being able to hide my magical abilities in front of those damn Muggles that insisted calling at my door yesterday morning at four a.m. Then again I did ask them to deliver...
For some strange reason it seems that not many people have visited Paris -- at least not the ones I have found myself talking to as of late. Did you know that my own cousin hasn't? I invited her around for coffee and she ... well, she went wide-eyed when I mentioned Paris.
Oh, and don't think this is because I need your help because I don't I'm merely curious, how on Earth do you get a prickly Metamorphmagus Auror to stop being so ... prickly?
Nor can I, Potter. They are tramps and they should be proud of the fact. Merlins knows, I would be.
I feel that it was a wise decision on your part to change 'bicker' to 'argue'. The word bicker implies that we are women, Potter, and Merlin forbid that happened although I can see clearly why you are so convinced of your own femininity that you choose to use such a feminine word. Don't get your hopes up. Hope is dreadful thing to loose. Just ... be grateful I haven't yet included a Dungbomb with any of my correspondence.
Tired, Potter? Are you well? Not that I care, of course.
Now that you have gladly given up the role of the hero I feel it is my duty to become one. I can just see the headlines now, can't you? "Draco Malfoy: That Unbearable Twat Who Took Over From Harry Potter." Lovely. Instead of people kissing my feet, I'll have people trying to hex them off. Couldn't imagine a better occupation.
It was an impressive feat, wasn't it? Especially seeing as I managed -- somehow -- not to insult a single waiter while inebriated. I am proud of myself.
Speculation is all we have, you are right. I'm not sure whether or not it would be prudent to contact someone to carry out an inquiry with regards to the Minister's sanity but I feel that one should be undertaken. And he should be thoroughly checked for curses, hexes and jinxes of any kind. As well as Potions, of course. Not that I mind overly on some aspects of the pardon -- I am now free to see my family -- but I would much rather not have Greyback running around the country.
Of course I already knew that. You are completely right, I am a brilliant man although as to the fancying myself as a brilliant man thing you are sorely mistaken. I do not fancy myself as anything -- but I am all to aware of my gifts and excellent traits and see no need to be modest about these.
Potter, I must admit that I have never heard more disappointing news. I had held onto the hope that you were finally going to fulfill the dreams of this man and not respond to this owl, due to extenuating circumstances i.e. your death. You have now ensured that I will spend my week wrapped in bed, hugging my teddy bear and crying my little broken heart out. I hope your happy.
I must say that I was astounded that you sunk so low as to use common language in your owl to me. Can you not use formal language in formal communication? Honestly, I now know why they kicked you out of the Auror program. Unable to adequately complete paperwork, Potter. I'm disappointed in you.
Yours sincerely,
D. Malfoy
P.S. I care little if you are hurt by my indifference. Surely you should be used to it by now?
P.P.S. Out of curiosity: do you know who put the pardon into motion?
Draco decided that the letter was far too long and sighed. He had better things to do with his time than think of remarkably witty things to write to Potter ... like work out why Mr. Grober's arms kept magically transfiguring every few minutes. Not a good thing for the head of Muggle Communications. On second thought, no he actually didn't. He sighed once more and sent the owl. Times were bad when the funniest thing he'd said all day was in an owl to Potter.
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In case it has failed to escape your notice I have been astoundingly modest in my communication with you, and all meetings we have had in the past. You will notice -- if your tiny brain can remember back further than what you did last night -- that I have not mentioned how stunningly attractive I am for ... oh, the past month or so. If that is not modest, Potter, I fail to see what is.
Alas, I do not wish for you to kick the bucket. I do not wish for you to be able to kick any bucket for you will be dead. Honestly, I sometimes get the feeling I am talking to someone who has yet to grasp the basics of the English language. A question, Potter, if I may (and I will anyway despite your wishes): why are you quite so fond of living? I have yet to think of one example who is quite fond of your living. Hmm. I'll have to get back to you on that one.
Of course I have a high opinion of myself. I am brilliant. I am like a walking god. Anyone could tell you that. I shall have to inform Pansy that you wish to receive a quick owl from her -- she's always happy to attest to the fact that my high opinion of myself is not undeserved. Dirty little secret? My, my, Potter. What a absolutely. thrillingly, disgustingly boring secret. I can only imagine how much fun you must have: get up, lie in bed, stare at ceiling, get fired, go to bed. Tut, tut Potter. I almost fell asleep just writing that. How can you stand to live it?
I don't care. I'm indifferent. We've been through this. See postscripts on previous letters.
Yours sincerely,
D. Malfoy
P.S. I haven't the faintest clue Of course I know, don't insult my intelligence.
P.P.S I'm awaiting those chocolate, Potter.
Draco smirked as he added the last postscript and stood, walking quickly over to the window were his owl was resting. He stroked her neck soothingly, tied the letter to her leg and sent her off once more. He watched her for a while until she had become not even a speck on the horizen before he turned back to his flat. Back to his flat and endless piles of work he'd rather not be doing. He sighed and sauntered into the kitchen. Maybe coffee would help.
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I applaud my restraint also. It hasn't ceased to amaze me as of yet and I've been aware of the fact for, oh say three weeks. Those chocolates were just the reward I needed and I thank you. As to your worries about them ruining my godlike figure I can assure you that my figure is perfectly able to cope with a few chocolates. I do wish you'd stop projecting your insecurities about your figure onto me. Oh, and this reminds me of something I meant to ask. Have you been letting yourself go lately, Potter? You looked simply atrocious when I last saw you. Gave me nightmares, you did.
I do not care what you thought of the bloody stupid coot man. Dumbledore was quite clearly psychotic and it doesn't surprise me to learn that he looked forward to death. It does surprise me, however, that you don't. I always thought the two of you were as alike as -- what's the expression? -- two peas in a pod.
I have reached my conclusion, Potter, which you will be ecstatic to hear. I'm pretty sure that undertakes are quite glad you're alive -- less work for them, you see. As to anyone else, well, I am ashamed to admit I am still stumped. It seems that even my alarming intelligence can sometimes be bested by you.
Concerning the dirty little secret: you had better, Potter. I'm not joking. There's bound to be one tiny thing you would be mortified if other people heard about. Not that I would tell anyone, you understand. I am nothing if not a very trustworthy individual. I'm astounded you can't recall this -- after all, I managed to keep your secret about that damn invisibility cloak! You lucky bastard.
Don't worry, you can trust me.
Oh, and Potter, what makes you think that I would deign to share the wealth of information I have access to with you? You are right ... it would be too much to ask.
Yours sincerely,
D. Malfoy
Draco hastily scrawled his signature, quickly re-read the letter and nodded slightly. It was fine; he doubted it would convince Potter to share any life-threatening secrets with him but then again he doubted the end of the world would convince Potter to share anything with him so it wasn't a major let down. Quickly he sent the letter off, placed the chocolates in his desk drawer -- after taking a few from the box of course -- and bolted out the front door to work.
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You are lucky that today I am in a very forgiving mood. I am willing to accept your apology for ruining my delicate retinas with your unwholesome appearance. Also, you mentioned my ability to boost others egos. I must confess that it is something I take great pride in: both boosting others egos and tearing them down. Tell me, which do you think I am engaging in at the moment?
Yes, Potter, I have figured out that you are not a carbon copy of Dumbledore -- I can't imagine why anyone would think so. After all, Dumbledore was intelligent for all his faults.
Ah, but if you expect miracles then you're always aiming as high as can be -- and that's not necessarily a bad thing. I think I'm getting far too philosophical now, and suspect that I should stop. I will apologise for anything in this letter that makes little sense; I have just returned from dinner with Pansy, and will confess to having drunk far too much wine. This, however, does not stop the fact that I can think clearly enough to say this: your undertakers will mourn your loss but be thrilled to learn of their financial gain. Maybe they'll be able to afford a bath now, and save my precious nose.
Exceedingly trustworthy, Potter. Exceedingly. Well, as long as I want to be.
Did you thank me, Potter? And mean it ... I'm shocked. I think I just suffered a heart attack. It's a good thing I know the charm to counteract strains on the heart, isn't it?
Yes, it was worth a try, I guess. I'll let you in on a secret though: I have no idea who was the driving force behind the pardon. Why would Scrimgeour do it? He was an Auror, after all. Shouldn't he want to slam them all up in Azkaban for the rest of eternity? Or until they finally go insane and run at the walls often enough to crack their skulls. Whichever comes first.
And, oh Merlin, I just realised how drunk I was. I should really stop writing now.
Yours
Draco
Draco eyed the letter, not really taking in the words. He giggled slightly at nothing in particular and pushed himself up, out of his chair, before stumbling across to the open window and the owl who was glaring at him.
"Shh, pet," he whispered, when the damn bird started hooting. "Shh. Just bring this to Potter, eh? That's a love." He tied the letter haphazardly to her leg, opened the window further so the owl could fit out, before dancing -- rather awkwardly -- over to the sofa and collapsing onto it.
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Your redeeming qualities in the public's eye are simple: you are 'the hero who conquered the Dark Lord'. Therefore everyone should fall at your feet and kiss your shoes. Well, everyone that does not possess an ounce of dignity or sense. For those of us that possess both dignity and sense it seems that your redeeming qualities are hard to find. I'm sure there are those out there who appreciate your wit. And strangely enough I see it as a redeeming quality that you did not taunt me for my drunkeness in your last letter. Bravo, you! Then again, it could have been subtle. I hope you know that very thought makes me snigger.
Yes, I do have the ability to write coherently when drunk. Especially when I spend nearly an hour trying to get the letter that way. I am not ashamed to admit this for I have no doubt that any drunken letters you would write would be atrocious. The letter you received was the twelfth draft, Potter. All the rest were Incendio'd almost immediately.
Dinner with Pansy is always enlightening, Potter. Also, it is usually in a different country and we just happened to visit Paris. The French do make a lovely wine, and I can never resist.
I applaud your attention to my delicate nose. Now, when you are dead and buried (what a glorious day that shall be), the world can be sure of two less distrubingly smelly tramps ... I mean undertakers.
Potter, if you continue being as non-threatening and, strangely, unlike an arsehole that you have been lately it's actually pretty likely you'll stay on my good side. Of course, this may be the residual wine in my system talking so I wouldn't pay it too much attention, you understand.
A thought: do you think Scrimgeour could possibly be under Imperius? At the minute it's all I can think of to that would explain he's actions. Although what the heck Potter?'The truth behind the matter is far more troubling'?! Oh, I know. You're just dying to be the hero again, aren't you?
Aw, how ... unendearing.
I'm not sure. About two and a half bottles of wine, I'd wager.
Yours sincerely,
D. Malfoy
P.S. You understand the sign off last time was because I was extremely drunk right? Now, I'm just hungover.
Draco tied the letter to Potter's owls leg. The bloody thing had woken him only twenty minutes before, pecking at his face until he had awoke. Because of this utter atrocity he had ensured the owl wouldn't be able to leave until Draco was ready to send a reply back with her -- after all, he had next to no idea were his owl had disappeared off to.
He walked over to the window and flung it open, letting the snowy white owl out. He didn't watch it fly off. as he normally did, instead simply turned away from the window and staggered into the kitchen to hunt down the hangover potion he kept hidden in there. Just in case his mother came 'round unexpectedly. Finding it, he drunk it down quickly and stood still for several moments as the potion worked its magic. It took him that long to remember all he'd written to Potter; today and last night. He groaned loudly and cursed himself.
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I urge you not to worry and assure you that no bowing or kissing of the shoes shall ever occur ... well, not from myself in any case. I do believe that somewhere along the way I have managed to acquire a bit of class, thank you very much and kissing someones shoes -- even yours, Potter -- makes me feel physically ill. And, yes, you're right. There's no way that you of all people would be able to direct a subtle dig at anyone. You're far more likely to throw a chair at me, all things considered.
There most certainly are people dying to blackmail with drunken letters. And I fear they would suceed. Let us just say that, had you received one of those dreadful letters, I would never have been able to look you in the eye again. Ever. And I always have been extremely persistent. Just look at the many incidents in my past. Like being able to hide my magical abilities in front of those damn Muggles that insisted calling at my door yesterday morning at four a.m. Then again I did ask them to deliver...
For some strange reason it seems that not many people have visited Paris -- at least not the ones I have found myself talking to as of late. Did you know that my own cousin hasn't? I invited her around for coffee and she ... well, she went wide-eyed when I mentioned Paris.
Oh, and don't think this is because I need your help because I don't I'm merely curious, how on Earth do you get a prickly Metamorphmagus Auror to stop being so ... prickly?
Nor can I, Potter. They are tramps and they should be proud of the fact. Merlins knows, I would be.
I feel that it was a wise decision on your part to change 'bicker' to 'argue'. The word bicker implies that we are women, Potter, and Merlin forbid that happened although I can see clearly why you are so convinced of your own femininity that you choose to use such a feminine word. Don't get your hopes up. Hope is dreadful thing to loose. Just ... be grateful I haven't yet included a Dungbomb with any of my correspondence.
Tired, Potter? Are you well? Not that I care, of course.
Now that you have gladly given up the role of the hero I feel it is my duty to become one. I can just see the headlines now, can't you? "Draco Malfoy: That Unbearable Twat Who Took Over From Harry Potter." Lovely. Instead of people kissing my feet, I'll have people trying to hex them off. Couldn't imagine a better occupation.
It was an impressive feat, wasn't it? Especially seeing as I managed -- somehow -- not to insult a single waiter while inebriated. I am proud of myself.
Speculation is all we have, you are right. I'm not sure whether or not it would be prudent to contact someone to carry out an inquiry with regards to the Minister's sanity but I feel that one should be undertaken. And he should be thoroughly checked for curses, hexes and jinxes of any kind. As well as Potions, of course. Not that I mind overly on some aspects of the pardon -- I am now free to see my family -- but I would much rather not have Greyback running around the country.
Yours sincerly,
D. Malfoy
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