Title: Summertime Lettering
Author: Julia )
Rating: M.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: Fic response to Armchair fic challenge. Harry, Draco, summertime, exchanging letters, big decisions to be made. Not all that angsty, but seasonal to an extent. First time posting fic.
Dear Harry
ItÔŅĹs pissing down bloody bollocks here! FatherÔŅĹs away on ÔŅĹbusinessÔŅĹ, and mother is abso-bloody-fucking-lutely far gone on something I suspect of being laudanum.
I didnÔŅĹt write to tell you about the family, but they seemed like an amusing way to introduce the letter. They arenÔŅĹt really that interesting though.
I, on the other hand . . .
And you can stop smirking Potter. I know you are right now.
--And there you go again.
I miss you, by the way.
Maybe IÔŅĹll tell you about the rain, because really it has been pissing down like the cats and dogs have got a bladder infection. Mother told me that by her calculations (her drugged up ones) that itÔŅĹs been raining for three weeks now. ThatÔŅĹs odd, isnÔŅĹt it? ItÔŅĹs been three weeks since school finished up and thereÔŅĹs been a smattering of overcast days. The rest have all been bloody floodgates.
Do you think itÔŅĹs an omen? A suggestion . . .? How I do hate this particular type of bullshit.
What do you say, Harry? Will you write me back? Or is it too...?
I miss you anyway.
And when I see you next, even if it isnÔŅĹt fucking pouring rain, still, IÔŅĹm going to kiss you so much that my lips will be your air to breathes, music to dance to, words to speak, manifesto to live by, hugs to cherish, coolness in what should be the summerÔŅĹs dusk.
Yours,
Draco
P.S. Turned on much, yet?
P.P.S. I want it to stop raining. ItÔŅĹs bloody summer and I canÔŅĹt practice quidditch because itÔŅĹs pissing down.
P.P.P.S I miss you. ÔŅĹAnd all the rest.
*
Dear Draco
What a stupid question to ask: turned on much, yet?
Fuck, I miss you too.
YouÔŅĹre in your big dark foreboding manor and IÔŅĹm stuck in the prison that is the Dursleys.
Summer time is not meant to be the pits, Draco.
IÔŅĹm sorry to hear about the weather. IÔŅĹm not sure about an omen, though maybe (and itÔŅĹs only an insult if youÔŅĹre religious) heavenÔŅĹs pissing on the manor cause they know itÔŅĹs a twentieth century hell. No, donÔŅĹt be mad at me, Malfoy. You wanted to know what I think, well thatÔŅĹs what I think.
Do you think thereÔŅĹs any danger ... you current situation, that is?
ItÔŅĹs been sunny here. IÔŅĹm a little brown. This is mainly due to the forced labour of the Dursleys. This is their attempt to keep me out of the house as long as humanely possible.
Sometimes I wish I was lying on the sand at a beach, any beach, with you by my side. You know, youÔŅĹd probably go raw pink - your skinÔŅĹs so pale . . . still it would be lovely. Just you, me, the sun, the sand...
IÔŅĹve been too tired to do homework in the evenings. Still I did get that potions assignment done. ItÔŅĹs absolute utter crap, but at least itÔŅĹs done, so Snape canÔŅĹt completely skin me alive, no matter how much heÔŅĹd like to.
The Dursleys are their usual sharing-caring selves, so little change there.
IÔŅĹve always hated summer, Draco, but this year it seems to be worst than all the others. Worst then the one after the Triwizard tournament and . . . . . . I think itÔŅĹs because I canÔŅĹt see you. Worst: I canÔŅĹt hold you, talk to you, kiss you, fuck you.
Oh gees, Uncle VernonÔŅĹs hollering at me and IÔŅĹm a puddle of goo thinking about missing you.
Who would have thought that my enemy would become my whole entire world? I canÔŅĹt even survive a whole summer without you.
Imagine that this is a kiss.
Harry
P.S: Ask your mother if sheÔŅĹd like something stronger? --LSD, opium, speed, ecstasy, marijuana... DudleyÔŅĹs friends are potheads.
*
Harry Potter
How dare you suggest that I drug my own mother! She is quite capable of doing that sort of thing to herself, thank you very much.
ItÔŅĹs stopped raining by the way. As of yesterday itÔŅĹs been hailing. IsnÔŅĹt that peculiar? Hail during the summer time? It also disproves your heaven pissing on hell theory. Besides, I donÔŅĹt want to get into that sort of argument with you, because then IÔŅĹll say something ruddy stupid. You and I both know what IÔŅĹm capable of, although under the circumstances I would never admit that I was stupid . . . however because IÔŅĹm deprived of you, have been for exactly one month now, I am feeling generous and I miss you missyoumissyou. So much.
Summer has never been so uneventful.
Your letters have been the most exciting thing, and even then, thatÔŅĹs understandable.
Really, the most exciting happening was when the house elves questioned my motherÔŅĹs fondness of dear old laudanum. ÔŅĹThe manor was in a fucking uproar for days.
Your mudblood friend would have been proud of the elves. It was amusing for me. Especially the bit where mother in her hazy stupor told them their pay was to be docked for a month. Of course house elves arenÔŅĹt paid Harry, but the elves didnÔŅĹt argue (which is surprising), and mother calmed down and took a large dose of laudanum after that incident.
ItÔŅĹs been rather nice. Writing you, that is.
In the past IÔŅĹve written to other Slytherins on occasion, of course only out of sheer boredom. ItÔŅĹs odd how I feel compelled to write to you. But of course, with you . . . well your letters are my only link to you for the moment.
And, Potter, donÔŅĹt laugh, or tell anyone I ever said something like this . . . but I find that you write rather well, for you that is. And yes, this is one of those heart felt compliments told in the form of an insult. Accept it please.
Vincent and Gregory sometimes write me, but you know what theyÔŅĹre like ... you can then imagine how eloquent and comprehensive their letters are. For instance: ÔŅĹHello Draco, Vincent and I went to a lake today. CanÔŅĹt remember the name of it. Was fun. Hope you are well. - Greg.ÔŅĹ
Fascinating, right?
PansyÔŅĹs letters are occasionally entertaining. A few years ago when she was completely smitten with me (and yes because I know you, and I know youÔŅĹre wondering, she still is smitten with me) her letters were dotted with ÔŅĹdearsÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹsweetheartsÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹdarlingÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹhoneycakesÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹbabyÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹI adore yousÔŅĹ, ÔŅĹIÔŅĹll do anything for youÔŅĹ, etc etc etc.
Mine of course werenÔŅĹt the same returning endearments, so count yourself bloody lucky Potter.
And the days go slowly by, and we still have another month to go. And I still miss you.
Hell, IÔŅĹm going to fuck your brains out when I see you next.
Much affectionately yours,
Draco
*
Malfoy
I do count myself lucky.
And please, not in public, my voyeuristic exhibitionist ÔŅĹdarlingÔŅĹ. Ha ha! I know you are squirming; yes squirming as you read this.
Summer drags on. Three weeks to go now, ÔŅĹhoney bumpkinsÔŅĹ and then you can kiss me and fuck me all you like. Depending on how desperate I am at the end of the holidays I may even be up for a go at it somewhere in public... but of course, you were only joking. And now, so am I.
Ron and Hermione (that is her name) are holidaying in their prospective places: Hermione in Switzerland and Ron is in Romania with Charlie gaining experience working with dragons. Lucky sod. IÔŅĹd be lying if I didnÔŅĹt admit to being jealous. Privately (-and this is between you and me-), IÔŅĹm fed up with Dumbledore for sending me back to the Dursleys every summer holidays. Every year I end up doing what is expected of me as Harry Potter and then they send me back to the Dursleys where my self esteem gets ripped to shreds. Build it back up for me, Draco?
Have completed all summer holiday homework out of sheer boredom, cleaned my Firebolt fourteen times so far, (this is despite the fact that I canÔŅĹt fly it anywhere), and written you and sometimes Hermione, Ron, Sirius and Hagrid, letters. You, most of all though.
When did you become my whole world, Draco Malfoy?
Summer is meant to be the time for lovers, Draco, did you know that? Is it like that in the wizarding world? I never thought to ask. Till you I never actually had a reason to ask.
IÔŅĹm pleased you enjoy my letters. IÔŅĹd be a git for not admitting yours make me pretty bloody happy. IÔŅĹm talking the overwhelming happiness that pisses Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and my pig-cousin off. When they see me in this state it doesnÔŅĹt matter what they do or say to me. They canÔŅĹt make me angry because frankly, when it comes down to it, youÔŅĹre the only one who knows how to make it entirely and quite genuinely personal. Oh, and thereÔŅĹs Voldemorte and your father, and Snape as well... but you matter to me, and that makes it different. Something of a double-edged sword though, and all that other crap.
So, it finally stopped raining, huh? Hailing now, too? Like I said before, Malfoy, the heavens are trying tell you something. I wish youÔŅĹd just pack up and leave and come her and be with me. But thatÔŅĹs something I refuse to ask of you, making you choose your family or me, that is. But Draco, you do realise that one day you will have to choose? Summer has been fucking awful - - for both of us. Could you live like this if you chose your family? I want you to be honest with yourself, even if you arenÔŅĹt with me.
When did summer time become all about you? IÔŅĹm not quite sure when, maybe itÔŅĹs when we went our separate, but forced ways at the start of the holidays. All I know is that summer used to be about escaping to the Weasleys, HermioneÔŅĹs ramblings and letters, the Dursleys familial and obliged tortured, homework, Hedwig, waiting and waiting and waiting for something to happen, to come along that would make them interesting, and summer is still all these things to a certain extent. Only now, itÔŅĹs about making it through to its end, through the three remaining weeks, and grappling through your letters and writing my clumsy own ones to you, while awing over your own beautiful lettering, all the while dreaming about what it would be like to lie in the sun with you.
God. How I miss you.
Harry
*
Dear Harry
IÔŅĹve had enough. Blast the three weeks left. Part of me knows we can get through this, but really, IÔŅĹve got to see you. And soon. If I donÔŅĹt I swear IÔŅĹm going to do something rash, and yes, more rash then meeting with you.
Have you any ideas?
Draco
*
Malfoy
YouÔŅĹre an idiot. ItÔŅĹs only three more weeks. We can get through this. IÔŅĹm not having your father kill you, and IÔŅĹm certainly not having him kill me.
Wait it out.
I love you.
Harry
*
Dear Harry
YouÔŅĹre right which pains me to write. We can make it through the next fifteen! Days. IÔŅĹve been so angry at you for the past couple of days, but I suppose this is what relationships are all about. ThatÔŅĹs a truly horrible word you know:-relationships, that is. Funny then, how much I cling to this thing you and I have.
It is pitiful that Weasley gets to work with dragons, you know. I think that you would be the type of person more suited to that sort of experience. One day, Potter, IÔŅĹm going to buy you your own dragon . . . that is if I havenÔŅĹt been disinherited and can actually afford to do so. I have been to Switzerland; awfully dull and dreary place that it is. The hills were pleasant though. Not that youÔŅĹd know. ItÔŅĹs not your fault that everybody (including Dumbledore) and those fuckers who are your relatives, neglect you. If we make it though to the next summer I insist we work it so we can sneak away some place together. I never thought about it before, Harry, maybe because before summer happened I never pondered what being away from you for more than a fortnight would be like. You know, I thought I would manage well... a bit of separation breeding loyalty and making a couple stronger and all that superficial crap. Well, fuck no! ThatÔŅĹs bullshit.
When I see you next I have some big news for you. Good news, to tell you. YouÔŅĹll like it, but IÔŅĹve just realised that the dragon will be out of the question, and I hopehopehope that IÔŅĹm not making the most tremendous blunder of my life. Only, mistakes donÔŅĹt usually feel so very right. And, I am a Slytherin, I know about instincts and the like.
I will see you in two weeks, Potter, and yes, I am officially not mad with you anymore. It was only for an hour or soÔŅĹfor once it didnÔŅĹt take me that long to realise you were right. IÔŅĹll talk to Dumbledore then, and maybe something can be worked. For now, I have preparations to make.
My summers will be with you from now on Potter, and by the way, if you havenÔŅĹt guessed it by now, ... ÔŅĹ I think I love you. Actually I know I love you, but Slytherins are crack pots for denial.
See you in two weeks.
With love.
Draco
P.S. ItÔŅĹs stopped hailing, Harry. In fact, IÔŅĹm pretty sure thatÔŅĹs the sun peaking through the manorÔŅĹs pines. Maybe summerÔŅĹs finally here?
*
Draco
YouÔŅĹre an idiot.
And I love you, as well.
Thank you for telling me.
And thank you for choosing me. I understand what this means for you. And me.
IÔŅĹll see you in two weeks.
DonÔŅĹt worry about the dragon or anything else. YouÔŅĹre a plentiful enough substitute.
IÔŅĹll talk to Dumbledore for the meanwhile. HeÔŅĹll understand.
Does this mean weÔŅĹre out in the open? Because if it does, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and everybody else who we know is going to have a death warrant on you. But donÔŅĹt worry Malfoy, ÔŅĹThe Boy Who LivedÔŅĹ title has its uses on occasion.
DudleyÔŅĹs trying to bang down the door. -Dumbkoff.
Good to hear about the weather as well. Maybe there was something symbolic and coincidental about it... who knows.
When I see you in one week, it will finally be a true summer for the both of us, after all one canÔŅĹt have summer time without their loves. And you, Draco Malfoy, are mine.
Harry
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