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Dear Enemy

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Sunday 28th August 2016

Mr Potter.

A fortnight has passed since your last update re. the day-to-day life at School for Squibs. While you have at times been informal and even irreverent in your correspondence you have, so far, shown yourself to be a conscientious correspondent. I am, therefore, at somewhat of a loss to understand why you have neglected the one, meager, task I asked you to perform in exchange for my donation.

I began responding to your letters after multiple requests for my opinion and, at times, physical presence. While I feel myself unable to attend the School events and protests you have invited me to I did enjoy hearing about them and was there in spirit, if not in fact.

I had hoped that my letters to you would provide an adequate substitute but, clearly, I have already managed to exhaust your good will. Please be assured that this is the last letter you will receive from me. I apologise for mistaking simple politeness for a deeper connection.

Mr X

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dreadful Draco,

What in the name of our Lords Slytherin and Spandex is wrong with you?

Greg didn't deserve to be spoken to that way and those cracks about his beard were especially cruel. If he shaves if off because of you I will be forced to reveal to the Prophet that, when left to run free, your own beard is ginger.

And incinerating Daisy's miniature Dragon farm? Really? I know it was an accident but honestly, Draco, did it have to be fire? She's convinced that you have somehow angered the real Dragons by using their own power against them and has bullied Greg into sky watching while she presides over 24 pint-sized funerals next week. I've tried explaining to her that they were enchanted wood, not actual Dragons but she pointed out that if it wasn't a "real" funeral then she didn't need to wear "real" funeral clothes. Or any clothes. Need I tell you how unwelcome this development was? I expect you to be chief mourner at the funeral next week.

While we're on the subject of Wrongs You Have Wrought: my rose bushes did not deserve to be Crucioed and, whatever the crimes I have committed in this or past lives, I certainly did not deserve that three hour monologue on the evils of the Boy Wonder's stupid hair and wonky glasses.

At one point this afternoon I was genuinely tempted to check the conservatory for Time Turners. "Have we" I asked myself, "regressed back to 2003?" - "No!" I answered myself, "Pansy dear girl, what kind of a deluded (yet still fabulous) fool are you to think that Draco's adolescent obsession with Potter might have been laid low by over a decades distance, two marriages, two divorces, fatherhood and a sodding war!?!"

I expect an immediate, grovelling, apology, a new farm for Daisy and for you to have a Healer remove whatever has sunk it's fangs into your arse before you next dare show your face around Parkinson Park.

Yours in a huff,

Pansy

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dearest, most beneficent and beguiling Pansy,

I am completely mortified by this afternoon's wretched display. You are the queen of my heart, my staunchest champion, the perfectly-proportioned apple of my eye and my most devious secret keeper. Please accept this grovelling apology. I will both replace Daisy's farm and sponsor a safari to the Romanian Dragon Reserves. Your rose bushes will be given a state funeral. I am apologising to Greg with my next owl and will take you both out for a decadent dining experience at whatever overpriced restaurant Theo is currently refusing to take you to.

As to my actions I can only plead hurt pride and the kind of simmering resentment I last experienced while attempting to eat porridge under the watchful eye of 15 bored Death Eaters. Two weeks, Pans. Two weeks without a letter. It's not a lot to ask. Do you think he's realised who I am? Or does he just resent the fact that I've started replying to his banal ramblings? "Enjoying" is too strong a word but I admit that I was becoming warmly ambivalent about our correspondence. Potter and I always had decades of hurt and history breathing down our necks and this was the first time that we met as equals, so to speak.

Surely I am allowed a slightly tender ego after the abrupt severing of all contact?

Remorsefully yours,

Draco

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dear Greg,

Apologies for this afternoon's temper tantrum. Can I make it up to you? Maybe dinner with Pans and Daisy next week?

Draco

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dear Draco,

Don't worry about it.

Daisy is holding her miniature Dragon funeral at Goyle Estate on Tuesday. The School for Squibs lot are due the same day. Why don't you come along, oversee the service and swap some hexes with Potter?

Greg

P.S. Please keep the hexing away from the chicken coops, they've been nervous ever since Martin dropped that Fanged Frisbee into their water trough. Mildred is still off her feed and Beryl has stopped laying completely. This wouldn't be a problem but she's making up the deficit by digging up the turnips and nesting on them instead. She's now got 22 "eggs" on the go and Mum hasn't been able to make any turnip chutney this year. It's the only category she regularly wins at the County Fair and she's worried that the WI will give her the boot.

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dear Greg,

I apologise on behalf of Martin, myself and every Malfoy past and present who ever has or will make your life more complicated.

You can expect me at the farm on Tuesday, accompanied by replacement turnips, hens, funeral wreaths, sackcloth and Firewhiskey.

Draco

 

Sunday 28th August 2016

Dear Draco,

I accept your grovelling apology but only because you and your wounded ego are too pathetic to do anything other than pity and feed mashed bananas to.

Now please, I beg of you, cease and desist with that "decades of hurt and history breathing down our necks" line. It was incredibly deep and profound when we were guzzling cannabis infused Ferrero Rocher at Millicent's NYE 2005 Party. It was vaguely poignant when we were recovering the next day while attempting to replace all our internal organs with grilled halloumi and Petrified Pumpkins.

Since then, however, it's emotional impact has decreased at a rate of knots and if I hear another word about the asthmatic wheezing and whistling of History I will feed you your own fist. You were a twit and Potter was an oaf. That's all she wrote.

Now I'm sure that Potter hasn't got tired of chatting with you. He's probably just very busy and will owl you next week. With that said...

1. Due to what I can only assumed was a complete personality overhaul, religious conversion or overwrought session between Astoria's bony thighs: Theo has agreed not to get Daisy's magical ability tested by Ollivander. For now.

2. Even if there was still a need to enroll Daisy in School for Squibs; the Muggle field trips this summer have convinced me that Potter does not hold a grudge for my actions during the war. I still think he and that bushy-haired busybody are dripping in anti-Slytherin bias but you have convinced me that they would not willfully mistreat or neglect my darling Daisy.

3. If you are so desperate to talk to Potter you should probably drop the shadowy Mr X persona (which isn't doing a lot to dispel the idea that all Slytherins are crafty deviants, addicted to subterfuge and overly complicated scheming). Talk to him like a normal human being, rather than as one speaks to a worm one has mashed into the treads of one's wellingtons.

I am fairly confident that you will dismiss points 1 and 2 out of hand but please do give some consideration to point 3.

Regretfully always yours,

Pansy