Title: Summertime Lettering
Author: Julia )Ê
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.
Ê
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
It�s pissing down bloody bollocks here! Father�s away on �business�, and mother is abso-bloody-fucking-lutely far gone on something I suspect of being laudanum.
I didn�t write to tell you about the family, but they seemed like an amusing way to introduce the letter. They aren�t 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 I�ll 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 it�s been raining for three weeks now. That�s odd, isn�t it? It�s been three weeks since school finished up and there�s been a smattering of overcast days. The rest have all been bloody floodgates.
Do you think it�s 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 isn�t fucking pouring rain, still, I�m 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 summer�s dusk.
Yours,
Draco
P.S. Turned on much, yet?
P.P.S. I want it to stop raining. It�s bloody summer and I can�t practice quidditch because it�s pissing down.
P.P.P.S I miss you. �And all the rest.
*
Dear Draco
What a stupid question to ask: turned on much, yet?
Fuck, I miss you too.
You�re in your big dark foreboding manor and I�m stuck in the prison that is the Dursleys.
Summer time is not meant to be the pits, Draco.
I�m sorry to hear about the weather. I�m not sure about an omen, though maybe (and it�s only an insult if you�re religious) heaven�s pissing on the manor cause they know it�s a twentieth century hell. No, don�t be mad at me, Malfoy. You wanted to know what I think, well that�s what I think.
Do you think there�s any danger ... you current situation, that is?
It�s been sunny here. I�m 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, you�d probably go raw pink - your skin�s so pale . . . still it would be lovely. Just you, me, the sun, the sand...
I�ve been too tired to do homework in the evenings. Still I did get that potions assignment done. It�s absolute utter crap, but at least it�s done, so Snape can�t completely skin me alive, no matter how much he�d like to.
The Dursleys are their usual sharing-caring selves, so little change there.
I�ve 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 it�s because I can�t see you. Worst: I can�t hold you, talk to you, kiss you, fuck you.
Oh gees, Uncle Vernon�s hollering at me and I�m a puddle of goo thinking about missing you.
Who would have thought that my enemy would become my whole entire world? I can�t even survive a whole summer without you.
Imagine that this is a kiss.
Harry
P.S: Ask your mother if she�d like something stronger? --LSD, opium, speed, ecstasy, marijuana... Dudley�s 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.
It�s stopped raining by the way. As of yesterday it�s been hailing. Isn�t that peculiar? Hail during the summer time? It also disproves your heaven pissing on hell theory. Besides, I don�t want to get into that sort of argument with you, because then I�ll say something ruddy stupid. You and I both know what I�m capable of, although under the circumstances I would never admit that I was stupid . . . however because I�m 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, that�s understandable.
Really, the most exciting happening was when the house elves questioned my mother�s fondness of dear old laudanum. �The 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 aren�t paid Harry, but the elves didn�t argue (which is surprising), and mother calmed down and took a large dose of laudanum after that incident.
It�s been rather nice. Writing you, that is.
In the past I�ve written to other Slytherins on occasion, of course only out of sheer boredom. It�s 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, don�t 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 they�re like ... you can then imagine how eloquent and comprehensive their letters are. For instance: �Hello Draco, Vincent and I went to a lake today. Can�t remember the name of it. Was fun. Hope you are well. - Greg.�
Fascinating, right?
Pansy�s letters are occasionally entertaining. A few years ago when she was completely smitten with me (and yes because I know you, and I know you�re wondering, she still is smitten with me) her letters were dotted with �dears�, �sweethearts�, �darling�, �honeycakes�, �baby�, �I adore yous�, �I�ll do anything for you�, etc etc etc.
Mine of course weren�t 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, I�m 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 �darling�. Ha ha! I know you are squirming; yes squirming as you read this.
Summer drags on. Three weeks to go now, �honey bumpkins� 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. I�d be lying if I didn�t admit to being jealous. Privately (-and this is between you and me-), I�m 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 can�t 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.
I�m pleased you enjoy my letters. I�d be a git for not admitting yours make me pretty bloody happy. I�m talking the overwhelming happiness that pisses Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and my pig-cousin off. When they see me in this state it doesn�t matter what they do or say to me. They can�t make me angry because frankly, when it comes down to it, you�re the only one who knows how to make it entirely and quite genuinely personal. Oh, and there�s 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 you�d just pack up and leave and come her and be with me. But that�s 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 aren�t with me.
When did summer time become all about you? I�m not quite sure when, maybe it�s 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, Hermione�s 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, it�s 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
I�ve had enough. Blast the three weeks left. Part of me knows we can get through this, but really, I�ve got to see you. And soon. If I don�t I swear I�m going to do something rash, and yes, more rash then meeting with you.
Have you any ideas?
Draco
*
Malfoy
You�re an idiot. It�s only three more weeks. We can get through this. I�m not having your father kill you, and I�m certainly not having him kill me.
Wait it out.
I love you.
Harry
*
Dear Harry
You�re right which pains me to write. We can make it through the next fifteen! Days. I�ve been so angry at you for the past couple of days, but I suppose this is what relationships are all about. That�s 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, I�m going to buy you your own dragon . . . that is if I haven�t 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 you�d know. It�s 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! That�s bullshit.
When I see you next I have some big news for you. Good news, to tell you. You�ll like it, but I�ve just realised that the dragon will be out of the question, and I hopehopehope that I�m not making the most tremendous blunder of my life. Only, mistakes don�t 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 so�for once it didn�t take me that long to realise you were right. I�ll 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 haven�t guessed it by now, ... � 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. It�s stopped hailing, Harry. In fact, I�m pretty sure that�s the sun peaking through the manor�s pines. Maybe summer�s finally here?
*
Draco
You�re 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.
I�ll see you in two weeks.
Don�t worry about the dragon or anything else. You�re a plentiful enough substitute.
I�ll talk to Dumbledore for the meanwhile. He�ll understand.
Does this mean we�re 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 don�t worry Malfoy, �The Boy Who Lived� title has its uses on occasion.
Dudley�s 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 can�t have summer time without their loves. And you, Draco Malfoy, are mine.
Harry
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