Post by Tiberius Malfoy on Aug 30, 2007 18:10:50 GMT -5
There weren't many people in the shop today, and in the downtime, he decided to write a letter to somebody who had long since forgotten him. They had fallen out quite considerably when he and Narcissa became engaged, though he still watched her at a distance. He knew under the brash exterior, there was something of a true hero in Majelicka Weasley
Tiberius grabbed up the feather and dipped it in the well. In his best cursive hand, the one his father methodically taught him at the age of six, he started to write. Dear Miss Weasley, then he stopped. What the heck was he supposed to say? She hated him. I hate you, her voice replayed in his mind. Best start with the basics. I know that we haven't spoken since we left Hogwarts. You've gotten everything you ever wanted out of life. I'm proud of you Maj. His writing looked pretty good, bolstering him. His teachers were always amazed at this skill of his, one that he was certain no other students in his school had when he was going through. His schoolmates often brought him envelopes to address to their aunts and grandmothers.
I am contacting you because I think you can assist us in dealing with the threat Enyo has become. I hope you can see past the . . . He paused and practiced spelling enmity a few ways on the blotter covering the small stand. Writing without an automatic spell checker was annoying. ... enmity between us and reply to this message. He frowned at the letter, but it would have to do. He signed it after some thought, Very sincerely yours, Tiberius Malfoy. He left off most of the flourish he would normally have put on his name.
He took out the sheet of parchment and copied the address onto the envelope. On the back he put their full address of the Burrow. Fighting painful hope, he put the letter in and sealed it.
He half-expected somebody walk in and say, “Why are you writing to that egomaniac?”
Tiberius grabbed up the feather and dipped it in the well. In his best cursive hand, the one his father methodically taught him at the age of six, he started to write. Dear Miss Weasley, then he stopped. What the heck was he supposed to say? She hated him. I hate you, her voice replayed in his mind. Best start with the basics. I know that we haven't spoken since we left Hogwarts. You've gotten everything you ever wanted out of life. I'm proud of you Maj. His writing looked pretty good, bolstering him. His teachers were always amazed at this skill of his, one that he was certain no other students in his school had when he was going through. His schoolmates often brought him envelopes to address to their aunts and grandmothers.
I am contacting you because I think you can assist us in dealing with the threat Enyo has become. I hope you can see past the . . . He paused and practiced spelling enmity a few ways on the blotter covering the small stand. Writing without an automatic spell checker was annoying. ... enmity between us and reply to this message. He frowned at the letter, but it would have to do. He signed it after some thought, Very sincerely yours, Tiberius Malfoy. He left off most of the flourish he would normally have put on his name.
He took out the sheet of parchment and copied the address onto the envelope. On the back he put their full address of the Burrow. Fighting painful hope, he put the letter in and sealed it.
He half-expected somebody walk in and say, “Why are you writing to that egomaniac?”
