Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Love of His Quill ❯ Send Me a Love Letter ( Chapter 3 )

Love Of His Quill

Chapter Three: Send Me A Love Letter

By Kitsune Yarisha

 

 

“I can't believe you're making me do this, Blaise!” Draco complained as his friend tugged him toward the Charms room.

 

Blaise stopped walking and relinquished his hold on Draco's sleeve. He gave Draco a disapproving look as he scolded, “If you hadn't fallen head over heels in love with him I wouldn't have to do this. Now pull yourself together! You're a Slytherin for god's sake.” Blaise huffed before continuing down the twisting corridor.

 

Draco followed reluctantly as he fingered the note in his pocket nervously.

 

Blaise had convinced him, early this morning after reading the poem Potter had sent, to write a letter in response. He told Draco that if he didn't do it he would risk getting totally and utterly rejected by the Gryffindor golden boy. Draco, hating the thought of that, had immediately sat down and started writing.

 

“Hurry up, Drake!” Blaise shouted from a little ways ahead.

 

Draco walked forward quickly, his eyes a dangerous blue hue. “Blaise, if you wish to live… never call me Drake again!”

 

“Yes, sir! Never again, but only if you hurry up! We're late as it is!”

 

“And who's fault was that?”

 

“Me? You think we're late because of me?” Blaise asked innocently. He smirked as he added, “I wasn't the one who almost passed out because Potter wrote me a letter!”

 

Draco's face flushed a dark red as they turned to corner. He smacked Blaise on the back of the head and scowled. “Shut up, you bloody prat.”

 

“I love you too, Drake.”

 

“Stop it!”

 

--

 

“Harry?” Hermione asked in a hush voice as they entered the Charms room and took their seats. “Are you alright?”

 

Harry sighed heavily before answering honestly, “I'm a bit scared that Malfoy is going to answer my note…” He fingered his quill feather with slightly numb fingers from the cold air.

 

Hermione sighed and nodded. She turned her attention away as watched the other teenagers make their way into the oddly chilling Charms class. She rubbed her arms absentmindedly as she heard a student gasp. She turned in her seat to face Harry.

 

“Potter.”

 

“Malfoy.”

 

The silence stretched between them and their acknowledgements. Neville shifted in his seat nervously; it groaned under his weight, creaking ominously.

 

Sending the offending Gryffindor a glare, Malfoy handed over his note, saying tensely, “Here, Potter. Snape told me to give you these potions to work on. He said they're fifth year level so even you should be able to complete them.” He sneered and walked away quickly, avoiding the other Gryffindors before sitting down calmly next to Blaise.

 

Harry blinked before scoffing at Malfoy's clever excuse. He looked at the note for a moment before shoving it into his pocket.

 

Ron sat down and gave him a questioning look. He mouthed, as Mr. Flitwick walked in, “What was that about?”

 

Hermione's face heated and Harry just smiled. He didn't answer as he turned back to the front of the room and focused on Mr. Flitwick's starting lecture on the helpfulness of the four-point spell.

 

--

 

“Lumos,” Harry muttered quietly from his seat in the common room. The tip of his wand glowed dimly, just enough to read, in result to his spelled command. He shivered lightly in the cold of the Gryffindor tower. He pulled out the folded letter and scanned it briefly before reading it.

 

Dear Potter,

 

I'm sorry for the actions of my friend Blaise Zabini. I didn't realize he had taken anything from my room, and I'm mortified by what he did do with my things. My feelings are sincere as I guess Granger may or may not have told you. Poems are extremely difficult to write otherwise. Well, at least for me. Most of the Slytherins know already about my obsessions with you. Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Adrian were the only ones that didn't know. Again, I'm sorry if the way for found out wasn't exactly noble or anything, but Blaise is a Slytherin house mate whose sneaky, clever, and unpredictable. We, or he, don't really follow anything anywhere near the Gryffindor system of nobility and honor. So believe me when I say I really do like you. It isn't a trap or an elaborate lie. Thank you for listening.

 

Forever,

Draco L. Malfoy

 

Harry let out a surprised noise and immediately covered his mouth. His eyes darted to the bedroom stairs. A light turned on and voices could be heard from the rooms. “Shit,” Harry swore as he stood.

 

“Incendio!” He muttered. A fire lit in the fireplace; he threw the letter in and watched as it began to crinkle at the edges and catch fire. It burned quickly and turned to ashes just as his housemates began to come down the stairs.

 

“Harry?” Ron questioned as he stumbled down the stairs and stared at his dark haired friend.

 

Emotionless green eyes stared back at him from across the room, the fire making them seem so much lighter. “What is it, Ron?” He asked in response bluntly.

 

“You weren't in your bed and we just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Ron explained quickly and Seamus, who had appeared at his side, nodded in positive.

 

Harry adverted his eyes. “Right.” He took one glance at the fire before walking past Ron and Seamus up the stairs. “I'm going back to bed. You two should too.”

 

--

 

“It says:

 

Dear Malfoy,

 

Thanks for writing and I suppose I believe you. To tell you the truth, I've always liked you it was just the way you treated me (and my friends) that screwed up my liking for you, and nearly made me hate you. Thanks again.

 

Happily,

H. J. Potter

 

That's so cute, Draco!”

 

Draco scowled at his Italian friend before taking the note back and stalking off to his rooms.

 

“Pureblood,” he muttered to his guardian portrait of Salazar Slytherin, who scowled at being awakened but let him in anyway. The other portraits in his room awoke at his arrival and, after several greetings, he settled into a chair by the fire with a piece of parchment paper at a quill.

 

He sat for a moment, unsure of what he should place on the parchment; the quill twirling in his hand carelessly.

 

He settled for a confession.

 

Dear Potter,

 

There are things you do that make me wonder,

Things you do that make me wish you'd make a blunder.

There are things you do,

That set my heart pounding with thoughts of you.

There are things you don't seem to see,

That makes butterflies flutter within every part of me.

It's the lovely smile that is placed on your face,

That gives everyone in the room so much more space.

It's the shine in your eyes,

That anyone would follow blindly, as if they were hypnotized.

It's the sweet tone of your voice I hear,

That makes me love you and want to keep you near.

 

My love for you is what makes me glow, and sometimes everything moves far too slow.

I don't intend to ever let these feelings go, and I hope you know I will not take a no.

There are times I want to steal you're heart, and times I want to be tart.

I afraid of what I feel for you, and I'm even more scared to admit that I love you.

 

Love,

Draco L. Malfoy

 

If that wasn't a sufficient enough announcement of his growing attraction, he didn't know what was.

 

He read over the brief letter and snorted at the sappiness. For the love of God, he was turning into a sodding Hufflepuff! He called his owl to him after a moment of self-pity. Tying the letter to its ankle and instructing it blandly before letting it fly off.

 

This insufferable attraction to a certain ebony-haired, emerald-eyed boy was getting the better of him. He huffed in annoyance and made his way to bed for a light nap.

 

--

 

It had been a week before Harry managed a look at the letter he was sent. He simply hadn't had the time of day to read it, what with all the homework they were given.

 

Professor McGonagall, who should have given Gryffindor an easier time considering, and Professor Snape seemed to think that shoving homework down their students' throats was going to end the post-exam slacking. (Fat lot of good that would do in his opinion.)

 

However, now, at this very time in the Great Hall during breakfast today, he had time. He unfolded the letter in his lap, scanning it briefly. He paused for a moment, his bacon hanging on his fork halfway to his mouth. He put the fork down and reread the letter.

 

A bright blushed colored his face as Hermione asked in concern, “Harry, are you alright?”

 

Harry stuttered something incoherent back, earning a suspicious look from her. He smiled and turned back to the letter, going over it once more.

 

Harry looked up and glanced at the paled-skinned boy at the Slytherin table, who was turned from him, talking to Crabbe and Goyle.

 

He swallowed and whispered to Hermione, “I'll be back in a minute, alright?”

 

She nodded in consent and watched as he left the Great Hall in a rush, unnoticed by the other students almost completely. She grinned as she looked at the Slytherin table.

 

Her friend was falling in love.

 

She would have to remember to tease him about it later. After she had finished her homework, of course.

 

She turned back to her food and ate it happily, ignoring the stares from her housemates as she began to hum in-between bites.

 

--

 

Draco looked up as soon as Potter stood to leave the Great Hall, letter clutched tightly in his tanned hand.

 

Blaise grinned from beside him and said, “Oh, well, now isn't that absolutely adorable? You make him so flustered!”

 

“You seem to have an uncanny ability to make everything you say sound absolutely perverted.”

 

“What can I say? It's a gift.”

 

“As if anything you do could be considered worthy enough to be deemed a gift.”

 

“Is it me or are your sentences longer than mine, Drake?”

 

“Do not call me that!”

 

“Don't change the subject!” Blaise retorted in defense of himself as Draco glared at him.

 

Draco looked away and sighed as he asked, “Doesn't it bother you in the least?”

 

Blaise shot him a confused look from the corner of his eye as he took a long sip of pumpkin juice and a bite of his toast. His question was muffled by food. “What?”

 

“That I'm in love with Potter?” Draco grounded out, his voice so very low Blaise almost couldn't hear him. He glanced around the table; until he was satisfied no one had heard.

 

Blaise glared at him as he lectured, “Draco Lucius Malfoy! It matters not what anyone else thinks! Your love is your own and no matter what anyone says, that will always be the truth! My opinion, which is obviously positive, is of little concern.”

 

“Thank you, mother,” Draco drawled out with a slightly hidden grin.

 

“My dear son, you're very welcome!”

 

“Please stop with the nonsense, Blaise!”

 

“All right, Drake.”

 

“Stop it!”

 

A screech interrupted their fight. Before long an entire flock of owls flooded into the Great Hall, carrying various letters and parcels.

 

Much to Draco's surprise a note fell into his lap. He opened it and read over it. It read:

 

“I was always running

Running away

From my feelings

Everyday

When all this time

I should have realized
That you as you were

Would not criticize.”

 

 

To be continued.