Mastering the English Language

Austen,

Way to go on the whole intelligence factor. "Moron." Original.

Favourite Colour: Blue... contrary to popular belief.

Favourite Food: Peanuts.

Favourite Number: What kind of question is that? Who has a favourite number? I guess... fine. Ten.

Your turn.

Axel.

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Keats,

You are impossible.

I have a question.

Why are we writing to each other?

Austen.

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Austen,

Because out of a moment of brief insanity, I sent out a letter to the Hogwarts campus and it, unfortunately, fell into your hands.

Now, I have very little to do in my free time but to bug you, which I am positive I do. So, the fact that I am a very interesting chap to talk to and that fighting with me is in your all too bland personality keeps you writing back. It's probably a dignity thing.

A boredom thing for me.

A pride thing for you.

See, I told you that you were vain. It's still one of the Seven Sins.

Axel

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Keats,

I am not vain. I told you this. I am just afraid of getting old. It is not a vanity thing.

You're Slytherin (by hypothesis), so how on earth are you affiliated with the ways of the Catholic Church?

I don't agree with your analysis, but I asked.

I think I have charmed you in my dainty and feminine ways and it keeps you writing back. I am simply just filling the time gap between ten-thirty and eleven o'clock at night a couple of times a week. Except when they get really short, that's when I'm sending them about everyday.

But really, I can't write lengthy letters to you everyday (or even every other day, for that matter), for I am a very busy person affiliated with very important things.

Austen.

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Austen,

You are vain. Don't try and hide it. You're probably blonde, with exotically colored eyes (purple or aquamarine or something) that you're immensely proud of, but you have some terrible flaw that makes you absolutely and terribly vain. Like bad teeth.

My governess was Catholic. Old and batty she was. Her parents raised her Catholic. I think they were both Mudblood's- which still made her pureblood- which is the only reason I can think of that my parents hired her. She was absolutely and completely bonkers. She talked to my toys. Ugly, too. I am pretty sure that every night she went through this...this...this phase. I swear, every time I saw her, her skin was bit greener. I think it was melting off of her face.

She'd go on and on about how I was going to hell for being so greedy and that if I didn't repent I would, "Burn in Hell for centuries and centuries in an eternal pit of black widows, cockroaches, vipers, and acidic orange juice in a room with no lights."

That Mudblood thought I was afraid of the dark. The acidic orange juice was what messed me up as a kid.

Axel.

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Austen,

You didn't exactly send anything back with my owl. Wondering if you had a momentary (more than usual) prat-lapse and forgot to actually attach the letter to my owl.

Not that I care much. But I am running out of parchment (hence the fact that this is on the back of one of my first-year potions essays) and I was hoping that you'd send over a letter and I could use it for McGonagall's essay due tomorrow. Just charm the ink off, you know?

Axel

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Didn't forget. Had nothing to say.

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Austen,

Nothing to say about my batty old governess?

Axel

PS- Love the fact that you used a Chocolate Frog for the last letter.

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No.

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About the vanity comment?

PS- BB Trading Card...

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No.

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A Sugar Quill Label? I figured that you might use that as wallpaper.

Axel

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Austen,

Okay. Why do we write to each other?

Because I'm always sane. I may be rebellious, stupid and occasionally heartless (and I love it), but I do it all with a sane mind. I like the fact that you could be a serial killer on the other side of the Forbidden Forest, and I am writing to my absolute and morbid demise.

And you're mad at me. A lot of people are angry with me. I don't particularly care. Because they're not worth my time. But how else am I supposed to annoy the hell out of you again if I don't know why you are currently angry with me- and so I do it again?

Axel.

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You Slytherins are all the same with your names and your stereotypes. You're a prick, all the same.

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Austen,

Ohhh, you're a Mudblood-picky person. You must be a Granger-advocate.

Oh, Merlin. You're not Granger, are you?

Axel.

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Yes. Yes. Heavens, no.

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Austen,

Thank Merlin's whore.

Axel.

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Merlin's whore?

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Yes, you know he had to have a few. A man with his talents?

Axel.

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You're terrible. A result of your insane governess.

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Austen,

Yes, a result of my verse-speaking, self-condemning, holier-than-thou governess. I haven't had orange juice in years.

Axel.

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Axel,

I don't blame you. Orange juice is gross anyway.

Your parents should have hired a Mary Poppins sort of character. You know?

Austen.

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Marie,

Who?

Wait, that old tale with the crazy governess with the chimney-sweep lover and over dosages of medication? My mum read me those books as a kid.

Axel.

PS- HAH! You called me Axel. Therefore- you are my Marie. Remember?

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Keats,

I did not call you Axel. Calling you Axel would mean that you are my Swedish lover and I am a frivolous (but brilliant) queen.

And that, I am not.

Yes. But she was not crazy. Okay, a bit. But she seemed to be a whole lot better than your governess.

And the chimney-sweep was not her lover. The starving artist/lunatic was (who might be the same person as the chimney sweep). I think his name was Bert.

Austen.

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Austen,

You did in fact call me Axel. I have the proof.

Oh, all right. I'll be your Bert if you'll be my Poppins (you've already gone by Marie. Mary wouldn't be much of a change- Besides- I can call you Poppet, now).

Bert.

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Keats,

Poppet is too much of an endearment for me.

Austen.