![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookishwenchHermione gets only a small mention in this as Draco insisted on being a complete drama queen.
Author: Meltha
Rating: PG at this point, but likely to rise
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Again, this will rise.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco writes the letter home that his mother requested. Being Draco, this is, of course, a major production.
Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author Note: Some information double-checked through the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Previous parts can be found here
Part 8: Promise Kept
Draco awoke the next morning with a sharp pain in his left kneecap. As soon as he could pry his eyelids open, he was able to see that the jabbing sensation was caused by Persephone’s highly insistent beak.
“Lay off, will you?” he mumbled semi-coherently as he rolled over, only to have the graceful bird alight on his head indignantly and hoot at a volume he didn’t know an owl could reach.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he said, stretching stiffly. He’d slept reasonably well the night before, but it wasn’t his bed, not that it was uncomfortable, really. He supposed he simply missed the manor. In time, he was sure, Slytherin would feel like home… granted, a drippy, damp, underground lair of home, the sort that might cause rheumatism and an infestation of doxies, but if it had been good enough for generations of his ancestors, complaining about it wouldn’t help. He flinched, though, when he thought what the accommodations for the other, lesser houses must be like. For Hermione’s sake he hoped Gryffindor at least had a roof.
Persephone had fluttered to a small desk next to Draco’s bed and was insistently tapping the blank paper with her beak.
“Okay, okay, I get it, Mother said to write,” Draco said, yawning widely before sitting down at the desk. “Quit it before you wake the others.”
Persephone seemed to shrug in response to his worries and continued to tap her clawed foot impatiently until Draco dipped a quill into the waiting ink, then sucked absently on the tip as he tried to think of what to say.
Dear Mother and Father,
“No,” he said. “Not right.”
He crunched the paper into a tight wad and threw it over his shoulder. It accidentally bounced off Goyle’s head, but it had no effect. Dipping the quill in the ink again, he began afresh.
Dear Father and Mother,
“Plebian,” he said in disgust, and this sheet joined its brother on the ground. Persephone stared with increasing disbelief as Draco worked his way through at least twenty sheets of parchment, tossing aside such greetings as Most Revered and Excellent Sir and Madam and Honorable Parents and Hail, Purebloods that Have Caused Me to Be. At one point he seriously considered addressing the letter To Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. With a sigh after he had scrawled Hey you! across a paper in sheer frustration, he resigned himself to the obvious.
Dear Mother and Father,
Persephone gave him a pitying look.
“Yeah, yeah, back where I started, so sue me,” he said to her.
The results of the Sorting have been exactly as they should be, and I am writing to you from the Slytherin first year dormitory.
It’s damp.
Draco stopped, squinted, then threw the paper onto the rapidly rising discard pile.
“Too whiney.”
Dear Mother and Father,
I have been Sorted into Slytherin and am pleased to be in the house of my forebears.
“Even if it is damp,” he mumbled under his breath as his pen continued to scratch along the page.
I am starting classes today, first History of Magic with Professor Binns and then double Herbology with Professor Sprout. I believe that class is with the Ravenclaws.
Draco tapped his pen in a rapid staccato against the desk, tiny drops of ink spattering everywhere. He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. There was a great deal he wanted to say, but he wasn’t really sure if it was appropriate to speak to his parents about such things.
I also met
“Miss Parkinson? Pansy? My intended? The fiance I ruddy well didn’t know existed until a few weeks ago? The relatively hot girl with the highly expensive shoes?” Draco thought in consternation.
Pansy Parkinson last evening.
He considered carefully how to phrase the next statement. Frankly, he wasn’t entirely sure about the girl. She was adequately pretty, obviously wealthy if those were in fact real emeralds on her shoes, and also a pureblood Slytherin of noble parentage. He supposed that his alliance with her wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him, and she seemed suitably impressed with him. There was no reason to think their relationship wouldn’t work according to plan… several years from now.
She seems suitable.
There, he thought, nodding. It wasn’t a soppy rendering of hearts and flowers, thank Circe, yet it didn’t seem entirely cold. Persephone had taken a perch on the back of the chair on which he was sitting and gazed down at the paper as though she could read. She glared at the words, then shifted her gaze back to Draco. He could have sworn she raised an eyebrow at him, despite her complete lack of eyebrows.
“What?” he said, nonplussed.
She hooted disdainfully, and Draco returned to his letter.
I also met Crabbe and Goyle on the train ride.
He blinked for a moment as he realized it didn’t even occur to him to call his new “best friends” Vincent and Gregory. They were Crabbe and Goyle. Shrugging and deciding to figure out later why he couldn’t comfortably use their first names, he plowed on.
They’re not on a mental level with Malfoys, of course, and I think they may need some tending to, but otherwise they too are adequate companionship. The other Slytherin boys are Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.
“And we all live together in a damp dungeon under the lake,” he griped again. Persephone poked him once on the top of his head with her beak, and he immediately raised a hand to smooth his hair back into place.
Draco considered mentioning his brush with Potter and his friend the poverty-stricken redhead, then realized his father might not be at all pleased with the outcome of that situation. Perhaps it would be better to leave that for another time. Still, one major question lurked in the back of his mind, one that he wasn’t sure how to phrase, but it was bothering him to no end.
I know that you were both worried by the number of mudbloods Dumbledore has permitted to enter the school. However, perhaps he has had a change of heart. I didn’t see anyone that looked like a mudblood in the Great Hall last night. Everyone appeared to be eating normally with knives and forks, no brawls occurred, and all the students were capable of speaking clearly and following basic directions. Could Dumbledore have locked up all of them somewhere else for the night so they wouldn’t disturb the Purebloods while we ate? Is it possible he’s sent them all back to their hovels?
He looked over the last few lines carefully, trying to be sure he was putting everything just as he had seen and heard it. From his earliest days he had been informed over and over again about the hideous things that were mudbloods, how they only looked human but really weren’t, were barely capable of grunting a few words, little better than a troll could do, and were utterly, completely revolting in appearance and manners. No, he was quite sure not a single one had been in the hall last night, and he was glad of it. Persephone poked him on the head again with her beak and gave him a significant look until Draco remembered one thing he’d left out.
Thank you very much for the owl. She should make a very good pet.
He scanned the letter carefully for errors, then signed his name in a flourish at the bottom.
Draco Malfoy
He tilted his head to one side, considering, then dashed a postscript onto the page in smaller print.
P.S. Though the food here is quite good, I do miss Dobby’s taffy.
A little request for sweets wouldn’t go amiss, he thought. He carefully attached the letter to Persephone’s leg, and she was off like a shot through the false window and off into the sky, speeding towards home. With a sigh of relief at having finished his task, Draco finally looked around the room and realized his four roommates were not only awake but had already left for breakfast.
“Bloody hell! I’m going to be late for the first day!” he yelled to no one, grabbed his entire pile of new schoolbooks rather than wasting time to search through them for the ones he needed, and sped out of the room.
Two minutes later, he returned, grabbed his forgotten wand from the nightstand, then left again.
Two minutes after that, he tore into the room again, changed out of his pajamas and into his Hogwarts robes, thanked his lucky stars that the common room had been empty and the only commenter had been the rather snooty mirror over the fireplace, and sped off for the third and final time.
He just missed the arrival of a pair of owls that collided with each other in the window of his room. One, obviously a school owl of relatively low standing, hooted in indignation, while the other, a very large owl with remarkably orange eyes, gave an offended shriek. They looked at each other with suspicion and a shadow of loathing, then deposited a letter each on Draco’s bed before flying off once more, their wings jostling one another in a show of angry (and quite literal) ruffled feathers.
On to part 9
Author: Meltha
Rating: PG at this point, but likely to rise
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Again, this will rise.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco writes the letter home that his mother requested. Being Draco, this is, of course, a major production.
Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author Note: Some information double-checked through the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Previous parts can be found here
Draco awoke the next morning with a sharp pain in his left kneecap. As soon as he could pry his eyelids open, he was able to see that the jabbing sensation was caused by Persephone’s highly insistent beak.
“Lay off, will you?” he mumbled semi-coherently as he rolled over, only to have the graceful bird alight on his head indignantly and hoot at a volume he didn’t know an owl could reach.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he said, stretching stiffly. He’d slept reasonably well the night before, but it wasn’t his bed, not that it was uncomfortable, really. He supposed he simply missed the manor. In time, he was sure, Slytherin would feel like home… granted, a drippy, damp, underground lair of home, the sort that might cause rheumatism and an infestation of doxies, but if it had been good enough for generations of his ancestors, complaining about it wouldn’t help. He flinched, though, when he thought what the accommodations for the other, lesser houses must be like. For Hermione’s sake he hoped Gryffindor at least had a roof.
Persephone had fluttered to a small desk next to Draco’s bed and was insistently tapping the blank paper with her beak.
“Okay, okay, I get it, Mother said to write,” Draco said, yawning widely before sitting down at the desk. “Quit it before you wake the others.”
Persephone seemed to shrug in response to his worries and continued to tap her clawed foot impatiently until Draco dipped a quill into the waiting ink, then sucked absently on the tip as he tried to think of what to say.
Dear Mother and Father,
“No,” he said. “Not right.”
He crunched the paper into a tight wad and threw it over his shoulder. It accidentally bounced off Goyle’s head, but it had no effect. Dipping the quill in the ink again, he began afresh.
Dear Father and Mother,
“Plebian,” he said in disgust, and this sheet joined its brother on the ground. Persephone stared with increasing disbelief as Draco worked his way through at least twenty sheets of parchment, tossing aside such greetings as Most Revered and Excellent Sir and Madam and Honorable Parents and Hail, Purebloods that Have Caused Me to Be. At one point he seriously considered addressing the letter To Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. With a sigh after he had scrawled Hey you! across a paper in sheer frustration, he resigned himself to the obvious.
Dear Mother and Father,
Persephone gave him a pitying look.
“Yeah, yeah, back where I started, so sue me,” he said to her.
The results of the Sorting have been exactly as they should be, and I am writing to you from the Slytherin first year dormitory.
It’s damp.
Draco stopped, squinted, then threw the paper onto the rapidly rising discard pile.
“Too whiney.”
Dear Mother and Father,
I have been Sorted into Slytherin and am pleased to be in the house of my forebears.
“Even if it is damp,” he mumbled under his breath as his pen continued to scratch along the page.
I am starting classes today, first History of Magic with Professor Binns and then double Herbology with Professor Sprout. I believe that class is with the Ravenclaws.
Draco tapped his pen in a rapid staccato against the desk, tiny drops of ink spattering everywhere. He wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. There was a great deal he wanted to say, but he wasn’t really sure if it was appropriate to speak to his parents about such things.
I also met
“Miss Parkinson? Pansy? My intended? The fiance I ruddy well didn’t know existed until a few weeks ago? The relatively hot girl with the highly expensive shoes?” Draco thought in consternation.
Pansy Parkinson last evening.
He considered carefully how to phrase the next statement. Frankly, he wasn’t entirely sure about the girl. She was adequately pretty, obviously wealthy if those were in fact real emeralds on her shoes, and also a pureblood Slytherin of noble parentage. He supposed that his alliance with her wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him, and she seemed suitably impressed with him. There was no reason to think their relationship wouldn’t work according to plan… several years from now.
She seems suitable.
There, he thought, nodding. It wasn’t a soppy rendering of hearts and flowers, thank Circe, yet it didn’t seem entirely cold. Persephone had taken a perch on the back of the chair on which he was sitting and gazed down at the paper as though she could read. She glared at the words, then shifted her gaze back to Draco. He could have sworn she raised an eyebrow at him, despite her complete lack of eyebrows.
“What?” he said, nonplussed.
She hooted disdainfully, and Draco returned to his letter.
I also met Crabbe and Goyle on the train ride.
He blinked for a moment as he realized it didn’t even occur to him to call his new “best friends” Vincent and Gregory. They were Crabbe and Goyle. Shrugging and deciding to figure out later why he couldn’t comfortably use their first names, he plowed on.
They’re not on a mental level with Malfoys, of course, and I think they may need some tending to, but otherwise they too are adequate companionship. The other Slytherin boys are Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.
“And we all live together in a damp dungeon under the lake,” he griped again. Persephone poked him once on the top of his head with her beak, and he immediately raised a hand to smooth his hair back into place.
Draco considered mentioning his brush with Potter and his friend the poverty-stricken redhead, then realized his father might not be at all pleased with the outcome of that situation. Perhaps it would be better to leave that for another time. Still, one major question lurked in the back of his mind, one that he wasn’t sure how to phrase, but it was bothering him to no end.
I know that you were both worried by the number of mudbloods Dumbledore has permitted to enter the school. However, perhaps he has had a change of heart. I didn’t see anyone that looked like a mudblood in the Great Hall last night. Everyone appeared to be eating normally with knives and forks, no brawls occurred, and all the students were capable of speaking clearly and following basic directions. Could Dumbledore have locked up all of them somewhere else for the night so they wouldn’t disturb the Purebloods while we ate? Is it possible he’s sent them all back to their hovels?
He looked over the last few lines carefully, trying to be sure he was putting everything just as he had seen and heard it. From his earliest days he had been informed over and over again about the hideous things that were mudbloods, how they only looked human but really weren’t, were barely capable of grunting a few words, little better than a troll could do, and were utterly, completely revolting in appearance and manners. No, he was quite sure not a single one had been in the hall last night, and he was glad of it. Persephone poked him on the head again with her beak and gave him a significant look until Draco remembered one thing he’d left out.
Thank you very much for the owl. She should make a very good pet.
He scanned the letter carefully for errors, then signed his name in a flourish at the bottom.
Draco Malfoy
He tilted his head to one side, considering, then dashed a postscript onto the page in smaller print.
P.S. Though the food here is quite good, I do miss Dobby’s taffy.
A little request for sweets wouldn’t go amiss, he thought. He carefully attached the letter to Persephone’s leg, and she was off like a shot through the false window and off into the sky, speeding towards home. With a sigh of relief at having finished his task, Draco finally looked around the room and realized his four roommates were not only awake but had already left for breakfast.
“Bloody hell! I’m going to be late for the first day!” he yelled to no one, grabbed his entire pile of new schoolbooks rather than wasting time to search through them for the ones he needed, and sped out of the room.
Two minutes later, he returned, grabbed his forgotten wand from the nightstand, then left again.
Two minutes after that, he tore into the room again, changed out of his pajamas and into his Hogwarts robes, thanked his lucky stars that the common room had been empty and the only commenter had been the rather snooty mirror over the fireplace, and sped off for the third and final time.
He just missed the arrival of a pair of owls that collided with each other in the window of his room. One, obviously a school owl of relatively low standing, hooted in indignation, while the other, a very large owl with remarkably orange eyes, gave an offended shriek. They looked at each other with suspicion and a shadow of loathing, then deposited a letter each on Draco’s bed before flying off once more, their wings jostling one another in a show of angry (and quite literal) ruffled feathers.
On to part 9
