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.
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.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
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
Reply
Leave a comment