Refraction

"'I think maybe the whole world's gone mad.'

"'Uh-uh. It's always like this. You probably don't get out enough.'"

--Neil Gaiman

* * *

(Harry and Draco, 1996)

Draco, 30 June 1996

I'm tired. I miss you. Suspecting all over again that everything you ever said about muggles was right--and more. I'm so tired.

So, you have to write me. In pity. Please? If you're sure we can send letters.

Harry

* * *

1 July 1996

Potter, that was indeed the most pitiful piece of correspondence I have ever had the misfortune to read. You sound terrible. Hex a muggle or something. Bound to cheer you up. You won't get into trouble, either, because--and let it never be said the damnable prophecy is all bad--you can now get away with anything, up to and including murder, because They need you to kill old Whatsisname for Them.

Maybe we should keep Whatsisname alive, just for that reason. Stash him on a tropical island somewhere--give him an annual allowance. Let him get a tan. Admit it, Potter, it would be fantastic fun. Picture taunting dear old Cornelius into insanity. Eh? Eh?

Ah, no one's watching my owls. To be honest, no one's watching me at all, because I keep getting hexed into unconsciousness by Harry Potter and thus being an embarrassment to Malfoys everywhere. I bask in the lack of pressure and expectation. That's why I made you hex me again this year, you see--all part of my clever plan for world domination.

Summer is hard, isn't it? No one and nothing to distract you, and no one who feels the same way. I may be far away, relatively speaking, but do remember that I'm here.

That sounded terribly Gryffindor, and is, therefore, entirely your fault.

Draco

* * *

5 July 1996

"Old Whatsisname"? Malfoy, that's just sad. Also, if your plan for world domination involves lots of getting beaten up...you've got a problem. If it worked like that, I would be running the show, and you would be my minion.

Your devoted servant,

Harry

* * *

6 July 1996

Now wait just a flipping minute, here--

I wait with bated breath for nearly a week to be graced with a letter from the amazing Harry Potter, and all I get is a pitiful three lines? This is not on, Potter. I demand a refund. Or, failing that, for you to refer to yourself as my devoted slave, not servant. At the very least.

And, yes. Old Whatsisname. What am I, a mad Gryffindor? NO. It's nice and all that you're not afraid of him, but the rest of us sane human beings recognize fear as A SURVIVAL INSTINCT, and so we cuddle it close and love it. Let it keep us warm at night. You know. Or, no, I guess we've established that you don't know, being, as you are, insane. And Gryffindor. Same thing.

Don't knock my plan for world domination, Potter, or else you shall have cause to regret your flippancy. When I rule the universe.

You sound better. Is that because you are better, or because you're putting up a good front? Tell me everything, Potter. I adore the misery of others.

Regally yours,

Draco Malfoy

P.S. MORE THAN THREE LINES THIS TIME.

* * *

7 July 1996

It

was

four

lines,

Draco.

Your favorite correspondent,

Harry.

* * *

7 July 1996

Potter.

Have I expressed my hatred for you recently?

* * *

7 July 1996

Not recently, no.

Incidentally, I think your owl is getting tired. It tried to maim me.

On the subject of VOLDEMORT, you say prudence, I say pathetic cowardice...but I don't mean to criticize your Slytherin lifestyle. By no means! I'm sure it must be hard work, constantly leaping up on chairs to avoid mice, and so on. Really. My heart goes out to you. Oh lord and master.

And I'm fine. I was fine. Just the muggles, you know. Can I hex Dudley? Really? Just the once...

Harry

* * *

9 July 1996

Slave,

From now on, I'd like you to sign off, "Your humble servant, Harry." On documents addressed to others (not that there should be many of these), you may sign, "Harry Potter, chattel of the noble Draco Malfoy."

You're a lousy liar, Harry. Just so you know.

Yes, by all means, hex the muggles! Beat the muggles, spit on the muggles! Show them all those nifty new curses I taught you--explain that you need to practice them...to save their miserable muggle lives. How about that? I tell you, Whatsisname is a very valuable fellow. A cottage industry, as it were. I can't believe I never saw his potential before. We should make badges. "Whatsisname for Goat." What do you say? Feel free to admit my genius. Perhaps grovel a bit.

Oh, Gryffindor. I suppose courage is in the eye of the beholder. As is suicidal idiocy.

I expect a muggle-hexing update, possibly complete with distressed twittering from the Ministry. Slave.

The Noble Draco Malfoy

* * *

17 July 1996

Drakey Poo,

I can't bring myself to hex the muggles. Am vaguely irritated with myself. I could hex your dear Aunt Bellatrix, maybe...but I just don't care enough about the muggles. After so many years, indifference is truly mine. Even jellylegs is beyond me, because I can't be bothered to pick up my wand. Where is the warming hatred of yesteryear?

"Whatsisname for Goat." Draco.

Right, so--if we're asking personal questions--how's your life? Dad broken out of Azkaban yet? House elves treating you right? What do you do during the day?

Grovelingly yours,

Harry

* * *

20 July 1996

Minion,

We were not asking personal questions. I merely made a statement. But since you ask, the house elves are groveling, Father is still in Azkaban, thanks for caring, and Mother seems to be on another planet. Her body walks around and chats, but her mind is long, long gone. As is usual. I spend most days mixing Potions ingredients in combinations and concentrations I would never be permitted at school, and carefully analyzing which explosions produce the prettiest colors. Nightshade and powdered unicorn horn is winning thus far. 3:1, if you're interested. And I love my shielding charm.

You know what this means, Potter. Now you have to give me a summary of your day. In detail. Mwa-ha-ha.

Say, it's not like you to be indifferent. Usually you go all homicidal and scary when you're upset. Now you're worrying me, Potter, and when I'm worried I get indigestion. All. Your. Fault.

And what's wrong with my badge idea, I'd like to know?

So you're mine, eh? Oh, the possibilities...

Lord Draco

* * *

25 July 1996

Milord,

Thank you for that update on your digestive system. Don't know how I would have survived without it. And don't be ill--I'm liking the indifference. It's a little worrying, maybe, but the rage made me tired--and I'm already tired. Tired all the time. I suppose you're going to worry about that, too. Here's another one: I'm cold. Always. Why is that, d'you suppose? It's summer. Warm summer, even.

My day: I wake up early and sneak outside to steal a newspaper from a neighbour--checking for Death Eater attacks. I sneak back up and, if I don't get caught, write letters, hide in my room, and periodically raid the kitchen. They ignore me when I'm in my room, see. If I do get caught, I turn right around and spend the day lurking in the park. I sneer at the neighbourhood bullies. They run away. It is odd. And that...is my day.

Nightshade and powdered unicorn horn, 3:1. I'll look into that.

You and your badges.

You're flirting with me, aren't you? It's unsettling. Stop.

The Lowly Harry

* * *

31 July 1996

To the Lowly Harry:

Birthday greetings.

You may have been devastated by my inexplicably long silence. I understand. I have an explanation, however: I took a vow of noncommunication until my eyebrows had grown back. I took this vow on the event of my combining dried belladonna and powdered basilisk tooth, 2:5, in excess tears of willow. A Very Bad Idea. Perhaps I should alert the Weasley duo. Thought all combinations and concentrations of three ingredients had been done, and therefore would have warnings available when a young aspiring Potions Master might look for them. Apparently I give too much credit to the wizarding world.

You're right, as well. Hate it when that happens. I am worrying about your constant exhaustion and chill. If you like, I can come club you into unconsciousness at night. Then combine dried belladonna and powdered basilisk tooth, 2:5, next to your bed. In excess tears of willow. I swear it'll warm you right up. I would do it, Harry--just for you.

So, bullies run away. Call me mad, but maybe that's because you look like a strung-out, semi-homicidal lunatic, Potter. And why might you look that way? Oh, yes. BECAUSE YOU ARE.

Hex a muggle for your birthday, Potter. Seriously. A little present to yourself. Brighten your life, guaranteed.

Whatever, Potter. I'm not responsible for your delusions of grandeur. I do have standards, you know.

Lord Draco

* * *

5 August 1996

Draco--

Going to Order HQ tomorrow and your owl won't find it--so write to me right now! Feel free to come over and set fire to my bed, even, club me into unconsciousness, whatever! (And I so am not semi-homicidal, you miserable little Slytherin).

The point is, entertain me. Because I'll go into, like, Draco withdrawal. Sorry, Lord Draco withdrawal. Now it sounds like a disease. Jesus. I keep waiting for you to make a menacing anagram out of your name and force everyone to call you by it. What's your middle name, anyway?

As you say, whatever. Delusions of grandeur or no, you're the one who called me

Lovely Harry

* * *

5 August 1996

Ugly Potter,

You're such a pathetic sod. A semi-homicidal, babbling pathetic sod.

I can't visit! A visit would have taken planning, which would have required time, WHICH YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME, stupid Gryffindor. Now I have to wear the wings off poor Artemis. And then she will gnaw (peck?) my hand off at the wrist in retaliation. I hope you can bear the guilt.

Look, poor little mudblood, my middle name is Lucius. I'll bet yours is James. And the eldest Weasley's? Is probably Arthur. Bet Girl Weasley's is Molly, too. Because that's what we do, here in the wizarding world, oh Saviour. Eldest son gets the father's name for his middle, eldest daughter gets Mum's, and everyone else gets stuck with something else. Usually unfortunate. Say, what's your Weasley's middle name?

Have fun at...ah...HQ. Snicker.

LOWLY. With a W. W. Poor blind boy. I pity you.

The Lovely Draco

* * *

5 August 1996

Lovely,

Ron's middle name is Bilius--his uncle's name. Don't tell anyone. It would be cruel. Honestly, I wonder about his mother sometimes...

Sorry about your soon-to-be-mauled hand. Well, not really. But it would be the polite thing, wouldn't it?

Tell me a story.

I'm not so blind that I don't see you eyeing me, Malfoy.

Harry

* * *

5 August 1996

Serf,

Weasley's parents really hate him, don't they? And have done since birth. Amazing. I think they may hate him more than I do, which is doubly impressive.

I will tell Artemis to bite you. Don't think that I won't.

A Story.

Once upon a time there was an ungrateful little boy who felt that, just because he had grown up in abject misery and recently discovered that a half-dead madman was out for his blood, he did not have to show the proper respect due a Malfoy. For this reason, he was brutally humiliated at school by said Malfoy until his spirit was appropriately tamed, and he came crawling to young Malfoy's feet with thanks and apologies, which young Malfoy graciously accepted. The boy has been a relatively good little minion ever since.

The End.

I see now, Potter. You're not blind, you're hallucinating.

Emperor Draco

* * *

5 August 1996

Lord Flouccausy,

You shouldn't hate Ron. Clearly, he's over-hated.

Artemis bit me. You are a whore.

That was a great story, Draco. Someday I'll tell you the one about the Quidditch star and his resentful, second-string opponent. You can look forward to it.

If I'm hallucinating, why are you weirdly defensive?

Harry the Adorable

* * *

5 August 1996

Crazy Boy,

I think you need to sleep, lad. Firstly, you're calling yourself adorable, which, true though it may be, is certainly out of character. Secondly, you referred to me as "Lord Flouccausy" for reasons fathomable only to yourself. Thirdly, you admitted that Weasley might not be universally loved. Finally, and most telling, you postponed an opportunity to taunt me with your superior Quidditch skills. You may even be ill. GO TO SLEEP. The sun will be up in ONE HOUR. Technically, this makes it the sixth...which means I've been misdating my letters. How embarrassing. Sadly, I haven't the energy to change this one. Woe.

Are you going to be alright with this trip, crazy boy?

Alright, you caught me. Happy now?

Draco.

* * *

5 August 1996

Loverboy,

It isn't the next day until I go to bed, and I am not sleepy. I suppose I will sleep, though. Just for you. Lest you worry. Can't have that. Plus, you need to sleep. You didn't catch the I am Lord Flouccausy = Draco Lucius Malfoy cleverness, and you called me superior in Quidditch, and you said I'm adorable.

Oh, dear. Go to bed, Malfoy. I think you may be ill.

I think I'll be alright. I hope so.

And, yes, I'm very happy.

Harry

* * *

5 August 1996

Wait, loverboy? You're taking some sort of muggle drug, aren't you, Potter? I'll bet you won't even remember this in the morning. Typical man.

Lord Flouccausy. Now there's a name to drive fear into the hearts of the masses.

Good night, Harry.

Draco

* * *

5 August 1996

Night, Draco.

Thank you for talking to me.

See you in September.

Harry