Author's Note: I think this story was originally written in 2006, which ages ago. Wow. Anyway, it was completely terrible and really badly written, but I have since rewritten it in order to save my own pride. All characters belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, apart from Beatrice Booth. She is a creation of mine who I am most proud of, and also features heavily in a story I co-wrote named Haggis from Algernon, which can be found on the account Rude_Gus.
Anyway, enjoy and review, please!
Letter from Lily Evans to Beatrice Booth
Friday, 1st July, 1977
Dear Bea,
I miss you!
I apologise in advance for offloading a rant so soon, but I've only been home since yesterday and I'm already on the verge of assassinating my sister's boyfriend. Before you ask, no, it's not that awful Fergal Burke who was obsessed with rubbing his scarf against his face, she's got a new one now. His name is Vernon Dursley, or Vermin, as I have so fondly taken to calling him. He resembles a mountain troll, equals a mountain troll in intellect, talks of nothing but drills, and does nothing but sit around our house on his fat bottom, whispering to Tuney and sending glares in my direction. He glares at me because he knows I'm a witch, you see, which just means that Tuney has decided to keep this one by her anorexic side for good. She never told any of her other beaux that her sister was a freak. Of course, he's perfectly nice when Mum and Dad are around, and I'm having lots of fun doing magic in front of them (oh, the joys of being of age!) and seeing them squirm. I'm sure he thinks I'm going to attack him. I wish I could.
Therefore, my dear Beatrice, I am bitterly heartbroken that you've decided to leave me this summer, and am considering suicide. (I'm trying to guilt you into staying, is it working?) I'm horribly jealous that you get to go to France this year, while I stay at home with my parents and the human definitions of little and large. I think that Vermin is going to be here quite a lot.
I'm horribly bored, and I have no one to talk to. Write back to me, Bea, I need some sunshine in my pitiful rain-cloud of a life. I fear this summer is going to be my most boring yet. Also, tell Aaron and Miriam that I said hello, and your parents, too!
Love you to pieces,
Lily x
Letter from Beatrice Booth to Lily Evans
Sunday, 3rd July, 1977
Dear Mrs. Potter,
I bet you're all annoyed now, aren't you? I don't care! That's the beauty of mail, I can tease you about Potterkins all I like and you can't throw a heavy and/or pointy object at me. Therefore I say HA, Lily Evans! I'm perfectly aware that you will murder me when we get back to school in September, but it's worth it just to picture your face. Right now. I'd probably change my mind if you actually murdered me. Don't.
We're leaving for France tomorrow, and I've got nothing packed apart from the school trunk that I haven't unpacked yet, which is actually not meant for super fun holiday, and I think people will ask questions if I try to bring that on a plane. You see how much I love you, Daisy? I'm discarding a very important task in favour of writing to you. This means that you can't kill me when I get back.
Your sister's boyfriend sounds incredibly sexy. (Ha!)
I'm joking, of course, you poor old cow. You know the rhyme, don't you: Fat and skinny went to bed; fat rolled over and skinny was dead? Make it your mantra, darling. What are you going to do with him all summer, besides have your way with him, you dirty, dirty girl? Maybe I should write to him and warn him not to antagonize you. Since you have no Potter to explode at, I fear that you're in danger of spontaneously combusting this summer and then your insides will be, like, everywhere. Please don't, if you do go and pull a stupid stunt like that I'll be really bored at Hogwarts for the next year and I'll have nobody to copy Potions homework from. I'm sure that with your non-mountain troll-like intelligence, you can come up with something interesting to get stuck into for the next two months. You should have taken me up on my offer to come with us!
The mother is calling me from downstairs, so I must go, but I love you, love you, love you loads, like cake! Give Vermin (branleur!) a kick up the arse from me, and give your Mum a hug from me when you get your foot dislodged from said arse.
And now I bid you adios, in preparation for my French adventure. I'll let you know if I snog any fit blokes so you can be suitably jealous!
Beatrice xx
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Monday, 4th July, 1977
Lily, my darling, the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the bulge in my - I could go on.
But I won't, because that would be really disgusting and I'm a good, respectable boy. Seriously.
How are you doing at home? Missing me yet? Since we parted company on Thursday morning, I have been distraught without you. Mostly. Occasionally. It's incredibly traumatic, being without you, you don't even know the half of it. I can't eat unless I'm hungry, and I can't sleep some nights, usually when Sirius is overcome with one of his insomniac fits and makes me go exploring Godric's Hollow with him, but still, I think about you a lot even then. The absence of your fiery locks and dazzling green eyes has created a void in my life which is impossible to fill, and believe me I've tried everything I could think of to fill it: pancakes, steak, chicken, etc. There was even an incident involving an engorged goldfish, but let's not get into that now.
Anyway, you may wonder why I am writing to you even as you throw your hands in the air like you just don't care and shout with joy. Your dear friend Beatrice (you may ask her to be bridesmaid at our wedding, if you wish, just don't let her bring her crazy boyfriend. Bald people unnerve me) told me that you would be rather bored this summer, so I decided to shower you with attention in order to amuse you. Thoughtful, aren't I? I would ask you to write back, but I have a hunch that you won't, so I might as well tell you now that I'm going to keep writing to you until you crack and write back to me. You can tell me to bugger off if you want, but you know as well as I do that that only succeeds in making me even more persistent.
Until next time, you beautiful temptress, you,
James
Letter from Lily Evans to Beatrice Booth
Monday, 4th July, 1977
Beatrice Ellen Booth, I am going to kill you.
Tell me, if you please, what gave you the idea to suggest to Potter-the-idiot that he should contact me? Have you had a temporary lapse of sanity? Have you conveniently forgotten that I find him about as amusing as I find Vermin's hairy hands (urgh, gah, bleurgh)? I have to now face a summer full of annoying ramblings from Potter. If I didn't love you so much, Beatrice Booth, I'd hate you. I'd hate you a lot.
I am sharpening my butcher knives in preparation for September 1st, upon which date I shall kill you and throw your bloodied, mangled body in front of the Hogwarts Express. Also, you know I would have loved to come to France with you all, but I couldn't have spent the entire summer away from Mum and Dad. I didn't get to see them at Christmas because, if you remember, I was at your house. I guess you've THROWN THAT BACK IN MY FACE, COW!
Adios is Spanish, not French. You were thinking of adieu. And what does branleur mean?
Lily EVANS x (and the x is given grudgingly)
PS. You have a boyfriend. His name is Karl. Although he may be bald, that is not his fault and he is still a very nice boy. Don't you dare cheat on him in Paris, you whore. LE xx
Letter from Lily Evans to James Potter
Monday, 4th July, 1977
Potter, the bane of my existence,
As delighted as I am over the fact that pancakes and magically altered household pets cannot substitute for me, I must refrain from screaming in lusty delight, popping right over to your house and ravishing you on sight, and instead stab myself in the eye with knitting needles.
Bugger off,
Lily Evans
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Wednesday, 6th July, 1977
Evans, you wrote back, eh?
I knew it, you love me. The ladies just can't keep away.
Please don't stab yourself in the eye with knitting needles. Your eyes are so beautiful and stabbing them would be a sad waste, although I'm flattered that you would go so far to resist succumbing to your powerful primal desire to indulge in passionate lovemaking with me. You hid that pretty well, I have to admit. Would that be why you pushed me up against the wall last May, hmm? And here was I thinking that you were just trying to knee me in the groin. I must admit that the thought of you zooming to my house in order to ravish me sent me straight to the seventh heaven of delight. You've made my week.
Love and hugs and many annoying pokes to the back of the head, my darling,
James x
Letter from Beatrice Booth to Lily Evans
Thursday, 7th July, 1977
Darling Daisy,
I was only thinking of you when I wrote to Potter. My fear that you would spontaneously combust took a forceful hold of me in a most unusual manner, and I panicked. I figured that if you had Potter to vent your anger on, you'd make it through the summer. That and I know you fancy him rotten, you filthy-minded little minx, you.
France is lovely and sunny, and I look quite gorgeous with my tan. There is also an array of beautiful men to for me to feast my eyes on, although none are quite in Remus Lupin's league as of yet. You should be here, Poppy, the French boys would go wild over your hair, your eyes, and your skin, you lucky cow. Although in hindsight, bringing you would be a waste, as you would spurn them all. We all know by now that your heart has been captured by a certain messy haired, hazel eyed Quidditch player named James Potter. Don't lie and say that it hasn't, because your handwriting always slants to the right when you lie, and I'll notice.
Anyway, I think I will go take a swim now, in this lovely, cerulean blue, crystal-clear, über-refreshing swimming pool, while the lovely hot sun beats down on my back and it continues to rain heavily over in England. Oh yes, I know I'm rubbing it in, but I might as well have fun before I die. Since you're definitely going to kill me now.
Love you forever,
Bea xx
PS. Karl wouldn't care, just like I wouldn't care if he got off with someone in the Cotswolds, except he won't because he's bald (his fault, he wouldn't have lost his hair if he hadn't been so useless at Apparation) and more interested in insects. BB xx
PPS. Branleur is French for wanker. Another nickname for lovely Vernon!
Letter from Lily Evans to James Potter
Friday, 8th July, 1977
Potter,
I hate you,
Lily Evans
Letter from Lily Evans to Beatrice Booth
Friday, 8th July, 1977
Beatrice,
Words cannot describe how many things were wrong with your last letter, fille de joie.
I do not fancy James Potter. I'll admit that he is rather blessed in the aesthetics department, and his hair cannot be equalled in terms of unexplainable… oomph, but that does not mean that I am attracted to him. Yes, he has matured somewhat. Yes, he is rather funny (I suppose), and yes, you could say that we have been getting along much better lately and occasionally engage in good-natured banter, but I do not fancy him, and definitely do not love him. Not at all.
Stop referring to me as Daisy, Poppy, or any other flower's name that's not my own! You know how much I hate it when you do that! And my handwriting does not slope to the right whenever I lie!
Love you longer,
Lily xx
PS. I'm well aware that you and Karl have an open and, quite frankly, psychotic relationship, but after three years together you both might want to start considering monogamy. You are engaged to be married, after all. You whore. LE xx
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Saturday, 9th July, 1977
Evans,
No you don't.
JP
Letter from Lily Evans to James Potter
Saturday, 9th July, 1977
JP,
Is JP meant to be some new, cool nickname now?
You're right, I don't hate you, and I feel bad about saying that. I still want you to bugger off, though.
Lily Evans
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Sunday, 10th July, 1977
Evans,
No can do, I'm afraid.
Beatrice tells me that your sister is dating an obese terror named Vernon, who smells like an old shoe, and who is making life difficult for you. Want me to come and beat him up? As I am super masculine and have a lot of muscles, I will be able to do so without any hesitation at all. A knight in shining armour must protect his woman, you know. Particularly from sweaty trolls.
I've heard it told that women like romantic nonsense, so here we go: I've been keeping your replies in my bedside table, tied up with a ribbon. If you think that this is remotely girly of me, I feel like I should remind you that the ribbon is blue and I was fresh out of rubber bands and string. Blue because I am a man. A manly man. Padfoot saw the ribbon and suggested that I was homosexual, so I punched him for insinuating that you were masculine in any way. Has he not seen your beautiful curves, curves that have been known to drive many of the male students of Hogwarts wild, myself included? His response was that maybe I was latently homosexual. I think that you should tell him off.
I'm sending you 2141 kisses, one for every day I've known you.
JP x (x 2141)
PS. JP is a very cool nickname. Everyone says so.
Letter from Lily Evans to James Potter
Sunday, 10th July, 1977
Potter,
What has Beatrice been telling you? I can deal with my sister's boyfriend myself, thank you very much. The last thing I need is you turning up outside my house, wearing (knowing you) a suit of armour that you nicked from Hogwarts. You'd look like a fool and the embarrassment alone would send me to an early grave.
I'm disturbed that you would keep my replies wrapped up in a ribbon, blue or not. However, I did laugh at your reference to your own supposed manliness. What manliness? Do you think you constitute a man, Potter? Has your voice broken yet? Is the chest hair finally starting to grow? And what's this about muscles? Where? How? Since when? I've seen twigs that are better built than you. In fact, the only parts of your body where any muscles can be spotted are your upper arms, and that's only because you spend most of your time throwing a leather ball around. You're a skinny twit, you idiot.
I'm sending you 2141 slaps, one for each day I've known you.
Lily Evans
PS. Vernon smells more like a festering piece of cheese once stored in an armpit than a shoe, but it was a close enough comparison. I suppose he smells like one of your shoes. LE
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Monday, 11th July, 1977
Lily,
I am a man. A manly man of much manliness, sporting bulky muscles everywhere; and I wouldn't have been made Quidditch captain if I were not. Do not attempt to deny this, because I know you don't even believe it yourself. Why, you've just admitted to possessing a deep, lustful obsession with my biceps!
What are you wearing? (Sirius said to write this, not me)
James xx
Letter from Lily Evans to James Potter
Monday, 11th July, 1977
Potter,
I'm wearing clothes. Lots of clothes. Lots of ugly, bulky clothes.
Also, is sex all you ever think about? I was just curious, since you're being a complete pervert right now.
Lily Evans
Letter from James Potter to Lily Evans
Tuesday, 12th July, 1977
Lily, you even make bulky clothing sound beautiful.
Unfair! I'm not a pervert! Perverts do… perverted things, like get themselves off in the bushes and try to touch girls up on public transport. I don't do things like that, shame on you! If I do get carried away by the fact that you are, and this is entirely your own fault, absolutely gorgeous, and make comments that I perhaps should be slapped for, I can hardly be blamed. I am a manly man, after all, and a manly man has manly thoughts. You are quite welcome to examine my chest for hair very closely, if you wish, by the way.
To answer your question, though, sex is not all I ever think about. I'm pretty sure it takes more than an incredibly strong attraction to a beautiful girl to make a bloke chase her for several years, unless he's the type of bloke who lives to brag about his conquests. That really isn't the kind of crap I'm into, to be honest. I might have only liked your looks in the beginning, but I'm all grown up now. There's no way I'd still be doing this now if I didn't think you were amazing, but I do, even when you're all angry and acting like a smart-alec. Especially when you're acting like a smart-alec; it keeps me on my toes.
Stop signing your name so formally, you daft old bat,
JP
Letter from Beatrice Booth to Lily Evans
Wednesday, 13th July, 1977
Bonjour, Geranium!
You do fancy him, you liar. I see you salivating over his fine form at the breakfast table every morning when you think nobody's looking. I bet that instead of going to the Owlery every morning after breakfast like you say you do, you actually run up to our dorm to change your knickers, you filthy wench. Stop being so immoral, Rose. Really though, I can hardly blame you, James Potter is sex on legs. The things I'd do to him if I could aren't fit to be written here. The things I'd do to Remus Lupin, however, are not fit to even be thought of. They're probably not legal, even here in France, and everyone knows that France is a breeding ground for sleazy perversion. Ooh la la.
I'll call you whatever I like, Snowdrop. And so what if the thing about your handwriting was a lie? You still fancy the bloke. Minor details are minor and not worth thinking about.
Are things going well at home? Have you seen Snape around anywhere? I hope Petunia's not being a bitch. I hate that you're stuck with that selfish, jealous little cow. She only dislikes you because you're a beautiful, intelligent and witty girlie, who bakes lovely cookies, whereas she is none of those things. Also because you have magical powers and she wants them. Nothing's really going on with my family at the moment, except that Aaron's moaning because his band have got two gigs while he's away and he doesn't get to play with them and get it on with their groupies like the slut he is. Mum and Dad say hi, and Miriam says that she misses you loads. I also miss you loads, actually. Shocking, I know.
Oh, I dropped my wand off the Eiffel Tower yesterday, which was fun. Not fun was when it landed on the ground, shot sparks at some little child and burned a hole in his trousers. Thankfully, Miriam and Mum are both afraid of heights, so they were there to snatch my wand up before anyone else could get to it. It would be just my luck if You-Know-Who happened to be hanging around, disguised as a Chinese tourist.
You want the Potter love,
Beatrice xx
PS. You're right. I am getting married to the poor old sod. As my maid of honour, I should tell you in advance that I want Remus Lupin naked at my hen party. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. Ask Potter to help you. He'll do anything you ask him to, especially if you repay him with physical favours. BB xx