Pardon My French

By Violet Beck

Arc I :: Quelle Chance!

Chapter Five :: Blackmail is a Boy's Best Friend

At about ten thirty, Pansy finally got out of the bathroom. Her hair was soggy, her disposition was sour, and her legs were definitely a bit the worse for wear. She plunked down on the bed next to me, and bade I order room service before she ate me alive.

Not five minutes later, a stout but rather more-sightly-than-usual elf staggered into our room under the weight of two enormous trays of food. We'd honestly ordered the entire menu. Pancakes, roast beef, assorted vegetables, eggs Benedict and devil's food cake--every possible food grouping was represented in the most gratuitous way possible.

Pansy's mood improved instantly on sight of the feast, and once I knew I was no longer in danger of being consumed whole, I couldn't help but perk up a bit, either. We fished an ice cube out of the cherry cola for my black eye, and dug in.


We'd eaten everything. Absolutely. Everything. Pansy was slumped warmly against my side, sleepy and sated by food. Our luggage had arrived about halfway through the meal, so she'd changed into a frilly pink dressing robe, and my boots had been kicked across the room in favor of some cozy green socks. The dirty dishes had been collected. All was quiet on the 329 front.

Well, sort of. I groaned and shifted myself. Note to self: it is not prudent to eat five slices of cheesecake for breakfast.

I would have slept, but I wasn't tired. I was just vapid and rather uncomfortably bloated. I tried to close my eyes--and the second I did, I remembered I was a Malfoy in Hawaii who still had to send a letter back to a certain Potter. Dammit.

I wouldn't write it now. I'd just...sit here. And be useless. Yeah. Right.

With a soft sigh which I doubt my near-catatonic ex-girlfriend even noticed, I raised my wand and murmured, "Accio parchment!" in the direction of my trunk. The aforementioned article sailed to me, and I grabbed a complimentary pen from the night table. ("I was stolen from Huoala Inn, Oahu, Hawaii.")

Ugh. I shoved myself into an upright position, and scribbled down the first word: "Harry." Not a bad start, considering what I'd been through on the previous attempt. I continued. "I'm on holiday in the tropics with my family. Hope your summer's been pleasant--because this trip isn't. I'm bored as hell." Okay. Still good. I briefly glanced to the window for inspiration. Hm... "Weather's rather nice. Pansy Parkinson's here, and she gave me a black eye. Nothing else too interesting has happened since we got here, so I'll spare you the boredom and end this letter now."

With a flourish, I signed my first name, and the task was finished. A night's sleep had done wonders for my previously addled brain. Before me sat a letter that was both friendly and utterly mush-free! Who would have thought it was possible!

For kindness's sake, I decided to add a post-script. "Since you apparently had trouble finding my address last time, I'd suggest using 'Loci Hospus' on any future letters."

There. I folded it shut, and regarded it for a second. Done. Finite. Easy, right? Now it was just time to take my own advice and try out the old Address Charm.

My wand hovering over the letter, I collected my thoughts before casting. As you've surely already gathered, spells and most other action-oriented things are not my forte. "Loci Hospus Harry Potter!" I said, and with an artful little swish-flick, all that could be done was done. I bit my lip, hoping it would work.

"What the fuck are you enchanting, you stupid git?" Pansy mumbled from where she'd burrowed herself into my side.

I ignored her, and sighed with relief as an unseen hand began to spell out the following on the front of my letter:

M. Harry Potter
La Petite Chambre de Coucher
4 Rue Privet
Petit Whinging, Surrey

"...The fuck?" I groaned, my former burst of triumph punctured. "What is that, French?"

Mumbling something unintelligible (but obviously insulting), Pansy roused herself to survey my handiwork. "What? Ungh... I think so. The hotel's translation spells must have picked up on your froofy fake accent."

I glared murderously at her. "I do not have a fake French accent."

"Well it's a fake something accent," she persisted. "Face it, Draco, you're Eurotrash."

"Bloody hell," I grumbled.

"Ponce-ese?" she suggested.

"Fuck yourself with a rake?" I suggested.

"Why the hell are you writing to Harry Potter, anyway?" she questioned.

I turned bright scarlet, and Banished the letter to the hotel's Post Room before she could get a second look.

One look, however, appeared to have been plenty, for Pansy was grinning like a Gryffindor with a righteous cause. "Oooh, Draco, I wouldn't have thought he was your type!"

"Don't even insinuate that!" I growled. My face must have looked like a beet. I tried to crawl under the covers, but she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me up to face her.

"He is, isn't he!?"

"Please," I whimpered, "Kill me now."

"Ah ha! Oh, this is rich! You've got something going on with Potter!"

"Don't say it like that!" I yelped. "It''s just a sexual thing! Honest! It's actually quite sadomasochistic and respectable cetera."

"Agreed. But is said sadomasochistic 'thing' mutual?" Pansy pried.

"Yes. I think it's safe to say he started it, actually." I had to suppress a smile at the memory.

Pansy snickered none-too-kindly. "Your father's going to castrate you when he finds out."

I glared at her. "That's why he's not going to find out, Pansy-baby," I snarled. "Because, I mean, I could always let on to your dad what we did in the back of your car that Christmas."

Now Pansy's cheeks burned. "You wouldn't."

I grinned at her. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Fine, Malfoy, you've got a deal." She laughed to herself, lying back against the pillows. "Potter...oh, honestly."

"Enough of that," I whined, and got out of bed. "You're such a pain in the arse. I'm going to go see Severus."

My ex-girlfriend perked up. "Oh! Does he know about this sadomasochistic 'thing!?'"

"Christmas, Pansy," I threatened. "Christmas."


Severus stared at me. He appeared to be trying not to laugh. We were currently sitting at the small, regulation table in his hotel room (already strewn with bits of potion paraphernalia), and I was watching him sip some herbal infusion or another.

"You've lost me," he said frankly. "So did she punch you before she convinced you to shave he legs, or after?"

I stared glumly out the window. "Afterwards. It was a direct result, really."

"Oh, I suppose she has some battle scars as well, then?"

I smirked. "Rather gory ones."

"Hm..." Severus looked into his tea, contemplating this. "We could just pretend you fell down some stairs," he suggested at last.

"Headlong onto a fist?"

"Stranger things have happened."

It took me a moment to realizing he was having a joke with me, and when this stunning revelation at last dawned on my marble brain, I chose to ignore him. Instead of responding, I inspected my reflection in the window. Gingerly, I probed my swollen eye with my fingers, and winced.

"You don't think you could whip something up for this, could you?" I asked, motioning towards his potion-making supplies.

"Oh I'm sure I could," he said with a smile, "but only after dinner."

I gave him a one-eyed glare.

Chapter Four | Chapter Six

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