Title: Why Harry
Should Not Let Draco Read Muggle Literature
Rating: G
Word Count: 1177.
Challenge: From malachic over on LJ:
Keywords: spite, journals, library.
Dialogue: "Nadsat IS a
language, even if it is from a book."
Summary: Harry
thought it was a good idea when Draco started showing interest in
Muggle culture. Ha.
Beta: raphsody606.
(I just wanted to acknowledge that both fictional languages mentioned herein remain the property of their creators, Anthony Burgess and J. R. R. Tolkien. Also, though I tried to be as grammatical as possible, I may have horribly misused the words here; I'm sorry).
Why Harry Should Not Let Draco Read Muggle Literature
"Ah, don't go bezoomny, Harry. This is all cal anyway."
Harry gritted his teeth and did not yell at Draco, but it was a near thing. And Draco's smug smirk as he peeked around the edge of the Daily Prophet to see if he was getting a rise out of Harry brought Harry closer to the edge than he would have liked.
Harry turned away and stared determinedly down at his own copy of the newspaper. (They had started getting two after Harry discovered that Draco regularly took the Quidditch section off to read in private and lost it as a result. It was simpler than arguing). Draco snickered and remarked, "He'd rather read a gazetta than talk to me. I swear, it's read the gazetta, rabbit, then come back and get nagoy to perform the old in-out in-out, but then spatchka before anything to interessovat him can happen. Same old raskazz all the time."
Harry flung down his newspaper. "Shut up," he told Draco between his teeth.
"What?" Draco folded his newspaper, the picture of innocence. He always was when he'd irritated Harry enough to respond. One quarter of our relationship is sex, one quarter is talking, and half is annoying each other, Harry thought. I'd move out if it wasn't so much trouble remembering which clothes are mine. "You wanted me to learn to appreciate Muggle culture. I've been learning their literature and their languages. And I admit, it's fascinating."
"You're not speaking a real language," Harry informed him flatly.
"Nadsat IS a language, even if it's from a book."
"Argh." Harry pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment, then stood with a sharp shake of his head. "If I run off with that blond from Regulation and Control who keeps flirting with me, it'll serve you right."
"You'd do that just to razdraz me, not because you want him," Draco said, with an idle wave of his hand. "You'd have to be pyahnitsa to look at someone besides me, anyway. And then I'd chase him down and razrez his glazzballs off."
"I'm glad I can't understand you," Harry said, ducking into the closet in search of his cloak. "And anyway, I don't know what you hope to accomplish with this. You're only doing it out of spite."
"How can you say that, when I've finally learned to kopat the finer points of those Muggle lewdies' jeezny?"
Maybe it wouldn't be so much trouble to remember which clothes are mine, Harry thought, as he wrapped his cloak around his head against the heavy rain and stepped out the door of their flat. The red shirt he's wearing today—Hermione bought me that two years ago. And the green waterproof cloak must be mine, because he never remembers to get the housekeeping charms right without house-elves around…
"Is Draco still speaking Nadsat?"
Harry underlined the sentence he'd just finished reading so he'd remember where he was in the report, and then leaned back with a sigh. Hermione hovered in the doorway of his office, watching him with a sympathetic eye.
"If you can call it speaking." Harry pushed his hands into the middle of his back and stretched. He hadn't slept well last night—Draco had poked him continually with his toes, demanding that Harry feel how cold his feet were—and now he ached. "He only drops random words into conversation. They could mean everything or nothing."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Why are you with him, again?"
"I don't know," Harry said sourly. "Maybe next week it'll seem like a good idea again."
"Well." Hermione stepped forwards and laid a worn book down in the middle of his desk. "Until then, there's this."
Harry picked the book up and frowned at it. It bore the stamp of the Diagon Alley Half-Public Wizarding Library, and the title said An Abridged Dictionary of Quenya. He looked pointedly at Hermione. "I thought you'd convinced Gillyweed to let you go to the library because you were checking out those back issues of journals referring to the 1955 House-Elf Controversy?"
Hermione didn't even blush. "What Gillyweed doesn't know will never hurt her," she said airily. "Besides, I did find the journals. But I found this, too. It's another made-up language, and from what you've told me, Draco's never read the book it comes from."
"What book is that?"
"The Lord of the Rings."
Harry snickered. He could remember the title from the Muggle bookshop he'd dragged Draco to last week, but Draco had turned up his nose at buying a copy even though it seemed quite popular with younger Muggles; too thick for him to contemplate spending his precious time on, apparently. "Thanks, Hermione. He's unlikely to read it even if I do."
"You really should, Harry. It's the origin of quite a few stereotypes about wizards common in modern Muggle society, and if we're ever to achieve rapprochement with them…"
Harry sat and nodded, letting the words flow around him. The problem with Hermione is that you know all her words are English, and yet that doesn't make them any more understandable.
Still, her fetching him this dictionary was a nice gesture. Harry made plans to look at it over lunch, and until then returned to his exciting life as a Ministry drone.
"Hi, Harry." Draco didn't look up from his copy of A Clockwork Orange, which he was probably reading over to find more annoying words, Harry thought. "Everything horrorshow?"
"It was mára," he said, and hung his cloak in the closet, meanwhile watching Draco's reaction closely out of the corner of his eye. "Any apsa manwa?"
Draco went very still. When Harry turned around fully, it was to see a betrayed expression on his face. Harry cheered silently, but reminded himself that he should look bland at all times. "Yes?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
"That's not English," Draco said. "It's not Nadsat, either."
"Nope," Harry agreed, and stepped around Draco, headed for the kitchen. "You know, we should think about attending that asar the Ministry is giving in an otsola. You would look particularly good carnimírië."
Draco caught his arm and spun him around. "Tell me what language that is," he demanded.
Harry smiled at him. "Lá."
"Tell me!" Draco was pouting now, and Harry remembered one reason he stayed with him. He was absolutely adorable when he pouted.
Harry kissed his cheek and went into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "I'll get the mat manwa immo!"
From the sound of it, Draco had kicked the wall. Harry chuckled and quietly Summoned A Clockwork Orange whilst Draco was occupied. There was no reason he couldn't become an expert in two fictional languages at the same time, and torture Draco in two ways.
And besides, Quenya had a much bigger vocabulary than Nadsat. Harry was quite looking forwards to the next few otsolas, until the dictionary was due back to the library.
Yes, it's quite pleasant to be with him when I'm winning.
End.