Epistolary Romance

Epistolary Romance

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: Unfortunately, still the 21st of June 2008.
Time: 12:43 p.m.

Potter,

This department owl is less inclined to make a meal of our fingers than the feathered monster you deployed this morning. Unlike you, I actually display a modicum of concern for the well-being of my partner's... extremities. Kindly show me similar consideration when you reply. If you send that taloned menace my way again, it will most likely end up as the newest display in Granger's taxidermy exhibit. I mean it.

Attached is a rough draft of my version of events. Note my omission of politically sensitive information, such as the fact that you and I indulged in a bout of enthusiastic sodomy in the kitchen of a former Death Eater. I hope that your incident report is similarly circumspect. Send me a copy when you're done flirting with that woman from Ops.

Shacklebolt seemed dubious about our joint report, and your antics in today's meeting certainly didn't help. I keep getting looks from the Weasley girl. The two of you did break up, didn't you? Or should I expect a Castration Hex the next time I walk past her desk?

Concerned about the safety of the family jewels,

D. Malfoy

---

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: Unfortunately still the 21st? Looking forward to the weekend, are we?
Time: 1:14 p.m.

Malfoy,

I'll have you know that Tarsus is perfectly well-behaved with me -- or has been, anyway, after that first incident in which he nearly flew away with Dodgson's wig. In fact, Tarsus reminds me of you: pale, arrogant and quick to take offense. That's why I have owl treats in my desk. You should consider stocking up on them, too.

And for the last time, Hermione's work is post-modern art, not taxidermy. You'd better be careful what you say around her, or she'll turn your house elves against you. (She did that to Zabini last year, and I think you remember what state that poor bastard was in. Starved, unshaven and wild-eyed.)

Your incident report is hilarious. How do you manage to sound so dry? "Magic carpet apprehended whilst fleeing out of second storey window," haha. And yes, I noticed your rather glaring omission of the buggery. I almost wish you had written about it -- I'd like to hear you describe it in that officious tone of yours.

I'll send you my own report when I'm done writing it up. Might be a while yet, because I just finished talking to Lavinia about the possibility of the two of us taking next Friday off. You do know what next Friday is, don't you?

So yeah, I wasn't flirting with Lavinia. Why do you always think I'm flirting with every woman I meet? It's obvious that you're the one who does all the flirting -- except that you flirt with blokes, and that's ten times worse. You were practically licking the Minister for Magic's ear at our last awards ceremony. I never thought I'd see Scrimgeour turn that shade of red.

Shacklebolt was probably suspicious because neither of us could account for an entire hour in our joint report. According to you, we spent that hour looking for Dark artifacts in Avery's cutlery drawer. My "antics" included kicking you in the shin when you insisted that Avery's forks were evil weapons of many-pronged doom, but I think I was well within my rights for doing that, because you were getting increasingly hysterical. I mean, I do get it -- Shacklebolt's glare has been known to drive grown men to tears -- but maybe you could've been less obviously flustered. The initial cutlery excuse was flimsy, but it held. It was better than telling him that we were shagging like bunnies. Your panicking as much as told him that, so I wasn't surprised when he banned us from talking to each other for the rest of the day. Not that owling each other isn't fun, in its own way. Reminds me of when you went to visit your mother in France, and we spent two weeks writing dirty letters to each other. I only hope that your Mum never found out.

Ginny and I broke up three years ago. She is not giving you the evil eye. Stop being paranoid and make some plans for next Friday. I've got plenty of good ideas, already.

Looking forward to polishing your family jewels,

Harry

---

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: Can you blame me, Potter? Especially now that you've taken up jewel-polishing. A most refined hobby, and one that I'll be happy to assist you with this weekend.
Time: 1:53 p.m.

Potter,

I'll thank you not to compare me to an owl. I have absolutely nothing in common with that cantankerous, carnivorous beast. Except perhaps a deep hatred for Dodgson's wig, which looks like the flea-bitten posterior of a vole. To think that he propositioned me at the last LKDA Christmas party... I'm still reeling.

Granger's attempts at artistic expression notwithstanding, her reaction to Blaise's infidelity was rather extreme. Turning a man's house elves against him is filthy, underhanded and downright Slytherin. While I've always had a healthy respect for Granger (especially after she spanked -- oh, I'm sorry, slapped -- me at Hogwarts), I must profess a greater fondness for her now. She made Blaise come crawling back to her, blubbering about commitment and stability and the resumption of sexual relations. No other woman has ever managed that. Not even Pansy, and that's saying something.

I surmise that Lavinia has approved our leave, then. It's a matter of constant surprise to me that you manage to be on a first-name basis with every female at the Ministry, but that you can't call Shacklebolt by his first name, despite the fact that you've known him for years. Not a flirt, Potter? Don't patronize me.

What I was doing with Scrimgeour wasn't flirting -- it was negotiating. I was simply informing him, in my pleasantest tones, that I would be very grateful to him if he stopped pestering you for publicity stunts. I can't be blamed if he misunderstood the import of my message, and thought that my gratitude entailed anything more personal than a large donation to his political campaign. It was only when his eyes glazed over that I realized I might have overdone it, at which point you'll note that I withdrew and left him swaying against the mantelpiece. Really, these politicians. One would think that they were hardier men.

As for the staff meeting, I was not panicking. I had definite and very well-warranted suspicions about Avery's forks. It is true that Shacklebolt is a bald Medusa capable of killing wizards with his glare, but I believe I held up admirably under such trying conditions. The violence you inflicted upon my body only worsened the ordeal. Perhaps it was out of concern for my safety, and not out of any notion that you and I were "shagging like bunnies," that Shacklebolt banished us to opposite ends of the department and forbade us to speak to each other for a day. Your shin-kicking is vile and cruel, Potter. I already have to put up with you kicking in your sleep -- must I endure your abuse during daylight hours, too?

Mother very possibly did find out about your pornographic letters, if her sudden penchant for leaving copies of Witchery around the house was any indication. She left the magazines open at their centrefolds, which usually featured a lissome young witch in various states of undress, or molesting a broom, or -- in one remarkable case -- fornicating with a rolling pin. I was altogether unaffected by these pictures, aside from a certain academic interest and a belief that my mother had finally resorted to more Sapphic amusements. Imagine my shock when she revealed to me, over dinner one evening, that she had ordered these magazines solely to tempt me back onto the staid path of heterosexuality. I assured her that I had never walked this path, and as such could not be persuaded to return to it. She threatened -- I resisted -- she cajoled -- I balked -- until at last I escaped back up to my room, where I slammed the door and wrote you another letter in which I suggested that the next time we saw each other, you might consider sodomizing me with a rolling pin.

Perhaps that centrefold had inspired me, albeit not in the fashion my mother had hoped.

Girl Weasley is definitely giving me the evil eye. I can sense such things. I also have very clear memories of her calling me a boyfriend-stealing catamite, although that was three years ago... Truly, Potter, did you not tell her that you were the one who stole me away from my lover of the time, and that I firmly refused to carry on our -- acquaintance -- until both you and I had left our companions? Was I not sickeningly Gryffindor in my consideration for the Weasley chit's welfare, and for Terry's?

Altruism is a singularly thankless pursuit. Perhaps I should've just let you have me in the toilet of that despicable Knockturn pub. You were certainly eager. And willing. And not entirely inebriated.

Speaking of which, since next Friday is the third anniversary of our, ah, "truce" -- that's what the Weasel calls it, doesn't he? -- perhaps we should revisit that Knockturn pub. Horrid though it is. I've always wondered what it would've been like, had we continued our mutual appreciation in that cramped little cubicle. Perhaps this time we'll leave the door open, with naught but a Disillusionment Charm to keep curious eyes at bay.

Thinking exhibitionist thoughts,

D. Malfoy

P.S. You asked for an officious description of the events that transpired in Avery's kitchen. Perhaps this will suffice:

"Our inspection of the Death Eater's kitchen was interrupted by the discovery of virgin olive oil, which led to Potter remarking on the extinct nature of my virginity, and also on the suitability of certain condiments as anal lubricants. I challenged Potter's assertion regarding the preferability of olive oil to self-cleaning, magical Glyde. Potter extolled the virtues of edible lubricants, which could be cleaned via a judicious application of the tongue to one's nether regions. Self-cleaning Glyde, he postulated, was nowhere near as enjoyable. I was intrigued. My curiosity, and Potter's eagerness to satisfy it, resulted in a rather vigorous demonstration of Potter's claims against the kitchen table. Just as one might expect of dutiful Aurors, we plied the ancient table with various cleaning charms when we were done, and were even considerate enough to repair one of the table's legs, which had been -- damaged -- by our activities. No other furniture was harmed in the course of our mission. None of the Dark artifacts procured during said mission had aphrodisiac qualities; hence Avery should not be charged with sexual assault. Auror Potter and I were merely entertaining ourselves while on a routine and mildly boring reconnaissance, and we were fully cognizant of our actions. Since Avery is still in Azkaban, the Ministry need not replenish his supply of olive oil."

What do you think? Should I include this in my incident report? Shacklebolt will be apoplectic, but I'll enjoy shattering his composure for once. Not that he shattered mine, of course. Not at all.

---

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: Still the 21st, damn it. You'd better live up to your promise, Malfoy.
Time: 2:42 p.m.

Oh, god, Malfoy. You never told me that you ended up coming out to your Mum. No wonder your last letter from France was so... Um. You know. Wild. Even though I did do the rolling pin thing. Oh, god. I don't know whether to be horrified or amused that the first thing I did to you when you got back was -- but you did ask for it -- but maybe you could've told me what had happened, and then I could've been more supportive. Maybe I could've visited your Mum, too. I mean, I still would, if you wanted me to. We could visit her together.

Dodgson came on to you? Dodgson? Is that why you always leave the break room in such a hurry whenever he enters it?

I'd hex him, but he's already such a miserable old sod, anyway. As long as he didn't actually lay a hand on you, I suppose I could be merciful. Maybe. Or at most, I could cast a Vanishing Charm on his wig. At least it'll keep Tarsus away from his head.

The thing with Hermione and Zabini still shocks me. I know it's silly and hypocritical, because -- well -- you and me, we're hardly -- um, I almost put my foot in my mouth there. You would've hexed me. But you know what I mean... No one expected Hermione to end up with Zabini, of all people. He's a cheating, conniving bastard -- really bloody smart, sure, and a ground-breaking researcher and all that, but everyone always thought that Hermione would end up with Ron. It was like... they were meant to be together. If only Ron hadn't been such a blithering idiot and gotten sexually obsessed with Lavender Brown while we were in school, he and Hermione would've become lovers. Instead Zabini came along and seduced Hermione with his Slytherin wiles, and the next thing I knew, I had two best friends who were busy shagging anyone but each other, and I was left in a state of pathetic virginity until Ginny finally got me drunk and jumped me.

In retrospect, I probably should've realized my gayness sooner, since sex with Ginny sort of frightened me, and I always got inappropriate erections whenever Zacharias Smith brushed up against me in the DA dueling sessions, and when I finally graduated and found out that you were dating Terry Boot, I had intense and very gory fantasies about castrating Boot and feeding him his own penis. Which was, er. Worrying. Although the Prophet kept saying that I was psychotic and disturbed, I'd never actually felt psychotic or disturbed until I found out that you were with someone else. Suddenly, all I could think about was what you looked like when someone else was touching you, what you sounded like when someone else was fucking you, and I... I got drunk, spectacularly drunk, and I was in danger of turning into a full-fledged sot when I finally met you in that pub, and dragged you into the restroom and shoved my tongue down your throat.

Believe it or not, I still hadn't admitted to myself that I was gay, even after I'd stuck my tongue down your throat, and after you'd -- you know -- and after we'd decided to break up with Ginny and Boot and I'd finally convinced myself not to do Boot any bodily harm. I think it was two years ago, after we'd shagged for the umpteenth time, and the Prophet printed that article titled The Boy Who Lived: Gay?, and I thought, "But I'm not gay," and then I realized how stupid I was. Haha. Although possibly I'm more Malfoysexual than homosexual, since the only reason I ever got hot around Smith was because he looked like you. Sort of. He was skinny and blond and a berk, anyway. Unless of course I just have a thing for berks, in which case I'm berksexual. And you're totally going to hex me now.

Yeah, Lavinia did approve our leave. We weren't flirting, all right? Look, it's not my fault if all these birds want to give me their first names. I never asked for them. And Shacklebolt would look at me like I'd lost my mind if I started calling him Kingsley... Hell, I don't even think his wife calls him Kingsley. Not that I want to know what she calls him. At all.

Don't you dare complain about my shin-kicking, Malfoy. It's no wonder I end up kicking in my sleep -- it's probably to shut you up, since you never stop snoring. Loudly. Why won't you let me buy one of those Cure for the Snore kits? Sure, they're Muggle, but they work. Hermione says so.

As for what you did with Scrimgeour -- you enjoyed it, you bastard, and you know it. Hardier men, my arse. By the time you were done with him, Scrimgeour wasn't hardy so much as hard. How come you've never spoken to me in your "pleasantest tones"? Or can you only do that when you're bribing somebody?

I'll have to think of something you can bribe me for...

And -- um, Malfoy. Are you serious about the -- door thing? Leaving it open, I mean. You do realize that people will walk past the cubicle we're... engaged in. And that they might not see us, but.

Wow, okay. I see where you're going with this. But if it turns out like the rolling pin thing, I'm not going to keep doing it every weekend until you get tired of it, Malfoy. I won't drag you to every pub in Britain just to -- just to have people -- I mean, what if someone actually --

Incoherent now. It's all your fault. Shacklebolt just stepped out of his office and he's giving me this weird look. I do not like Shacklebolt looking at me when I'm turned on. Damn you, Malfoy. Damn. You.

Suddenly grateful for the cover of my desk,

Harry

P.S. I really don't think you should include that in your incident report. But the passage itself? Priceless. Clearly, you need to be writing more Ministry reports. And also buying more olive oil.

---

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: I always keep my promises, Potter. Which is why, contrary to your repeated accusations, I am not a tease.
Time: 3:10 p.m.

Relax, Potter. You were very supportive. You held me up when my knees gave out, didn't you? And you whispered the filthiest little things, things that quite erased the memory of my mother's words. Needless to say, you made me very fond of rolling pins. Very fond, indeed.

Don't even jest about visiting my mother, you imbecile. Not unless you want her to hire an entire brothel of nubile witches with which to seduce us away from each other. This was precisely why I didn't tell you about it before. You would've panicked and done something stupidly Gryffindor, like earnestly confessing your feelings to me in her presence, which would've led either to her murdering you, or -- and this is a distinct possibility -- to her casting an irreversible sex change spell on you, so that my relationship with you would be more socially acceptable, and so that you could bear me heirs.

Do you feel up to child-bearing, Potter? If not, stay away from my mother. I'm warning you. She is a dangerous woman, even more dangerous than Granger, because she has neither a conscience nor any hint of shame. She's a Slytherin through and through, and -- well, so am I, but I'm your Slytherin, and I quite prefer you as a man, so you needn't worry about any sex change spells from me. Far from it. Perhaps the occasional Engorgio, when I'm feeling up to the challenge, or an Impedimenta, when I'd like you to stay still. Certainly nothing that you wouldn't enjoy. That we both wouldn't enjoy. Hm.

You called Blaise a cheating, conniving bastard. That's music to the Slytherin ear, Potter. How come you never pay me such lovely compliments?

I really will have to thank Shacklebolt for forcing us to communicate via owl. You're being very forthcoming in your little missives -- I had no idea that you'd wanted to castrate Terry, and the thought is... strangely flattering. Perhaps less flattering than the berksexual comment, but mollifying enough that instead of hexing you, I might just tie you up. You hate not being able to touch me, don't you, Potter? That Impedimenta could be of use. As could my school tie. Which, I'm well aware, you've already masturbated with. Twice. Did you really think the cleaning spells would help? That I wouldn't find out?

Your scent lingering on Hogwarts silk. There isn't a thing you do that I'm not aware of, Potter. Painfully aware of. You know that.

At this very moment, for example. You're adjusting yourself underneath your desk. Hoping that the others won't notice. You don't dare do more, but oh, how you want to -- with me watching you from across the room, too far away to touch, but near enough to watch, near enough to know. Dodgson's scribbling away on the desk next to yours, innocently oblivious -- and the Weasley girl is chatting with her friend at the entrance to the break room. None of them know that you're hard, and getting harder. None of them know, but I do.

I needn't bribe you for anything, Potter. There is nothing you could withhold from me, and we both know it. You'd best surrender and reconcile yourself to my tender enmity.

Damn it. Shacklebolt's heading this way.

It's still only three in the afternoon. We'll be off work in two hours. Do you really need to eat, Potter, or could we skip dinner and have an orgy instead?

Eager to display my jewel-polishing skills,

Draco

P.S. Snoring is for peasants. I do not snore. I... vocalize.

P.P.S. Keep your damned Muggle devices away from me.

---

Ministry of Magic
Department of Lesser Known Dark Artifacts
Sender: Harry James Potter, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Recipient: Draco Malfoy, Senior Auror and LKDA Investigator.
Classification: Restricted to Level Three personnel.
Security: Identity confirmation required upon receipt.
Date: Tease. You fucking tease.
Time: 3:54 p.m.

Malfoy, I -- well, we got rudely interrupted by Shacklebolt, whom I could hear from all the way over here, chastising you for wasting Ministry time (and owls) on "insipid love notes." They were hardly insipid. In fact, the raging hard-on I'm sporting right now is testament to the fact that they were about as far from being insipid as humanly possible.

I'm only grateful that he didn't actually read what we'd written. I suppose even Shacklebolt's frightened of some things.

He should be. You're tormenting me, Malfoy. As much as you tormented me at school, although I never understood then what it was you wanted, or what it was I wanted. Only that I wanted to hold you down and pummel you, and the only thing that's changed over the years is the kind of pummeling, and not the. The holding down.

God, Malfoy. You're such a -- sod it, my brain can't even come up with a word -- "insane sex demon" about covers it, but that's three words, not one. And I sound like an idiot, so I should stop.

But. Orgy? Yes. Food? Later. Much later. Perhaps when you're done tying me down and teaching me a lesson. With your school tie. Oh, god. Yes, I totally wanked off with it, but can you blame me? One day I'll have to get an illegal anti-aging potion from somewhere and turn you back into your Hogwarts self. And then you can snipe and snarl and sneer at me just like you used to -- not very different from what you do now, but -- and then I could teach you a lesson, and wouldn't you like that, Malfoy? I know you would. I know I would. Fuck.

Before Shacklebolt suspends us for inappropriate behaviour while on the job, we'd better stop exchanging these owls.

It's a good thing we've got one hour left before clocking off. Because I can't leave my desk in this state. Not without getting charged with indecent exposure. And making Dodgson fear for his chastity.

I bet you can't leave your desk, either. What're you thinking of, to calm yourself down? Ron? Hagrid? Arithmancy?

Well, just to torment you, since turnabout's fair play... Think instead of your school tie wrapped around my wrists, or maybe even around my throat, tightening with every writhe. Silk pulled taut as you arch above me. Slytherin green and silver, darkened with my sweat.

Ha. Good luck with calming down, Malfoy. You have an hour.

With the tenderest enmity,

Harry

P.S. The only vocalizing you'll be doing tonight is the waking kind. Because I'm not letting you sleep, Malfoy. Remember what you said about your family jewels? I'm going to polish them until they shine.

P.P.S. Don't see why. You were awfully fond of the handcuffs.