Hello all! This fic is being co authored by my good friend, Tish (long-live-arthur-pendragon over on tumblr) and, of course, me (Nai). It's our summer project. 8 weeks. 8 chapters. All letters. Let's begin.

Disclaimer: We do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 1- Week 1
or
I Write Potions Essays, Not Love Letters

Dear Evans,

Hullo, Evans; how's your summer going so far? It's been what, four days? Merlin, it seems longer than that. Mine has been terribly dull without your lovely face here to brighten my day. After all, who else is going to threaten to eviscerate me and feed my insides to the Giant Squid? That was a bit graphic, love. How is the Giant Squid by the way? Are the two of you still in holy calamari together? Last time I saw him he was chatting up the merfolk. Watch out for him, Evans; you don't know where those tentacles have been. Who knows how many diseases they can carry? You're too young (and pretty, of course) to contract any deadly infectious diseases. I'd miss you if you died. No one else can keep up with my witticisms like you do.

My life has been so tedious lately, that I'm actually writing to you, of all people. The last few days have been dead boring. Peter has gone with his mum to Dover for the week. Lucky sod. He's there frolicking on the beaches and I'm stuck up here where it's raining. Is it raining over there? I swear to Merlin, it's pouring kneazles and hippogriffs. Remus is home. He said he'd come by next week though so maybe I won't be reduced to playing Quidditch by myself. And Sirius, well I hardly ever know where he is or what he's up too. Last I checked (the night we returned) he was mumbling something about going to look at motor circles. What in the name of Merlin's left toe is a motor circle? Is it some sort of Muggle thing? I don't understand. Why would he want to buy a circle? Muggles are so strange. The other day I was reading a book written by one. It was about a wizard from Oz or someplace like that and it made no sense at all. The witch was green, Evans. Was she bitten by a dragon? She probably should check that out in case she's infected. Of course, if she's green then chances are she probably already is infected. Must have been pretty serious too, since all it took was a bucket of water to do her in.

I probably should have said this earlier (maybe you're thinking that some half wit has decided to pen you a letter from St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward) but it's James. James Potter. The bloke you threatened to tie to the tracks at King's Cross and let the Hogwarts Express run over him on its way back (you're a very violent little thing, aren't you? I blame it on the ginger. Don't you ever extinguish that fire). Yeah, that James Potter. Transfiguration prodigy, Quidditch extraordinaire, the dashing Marauder with fantastic hair.

Hello love. Missed me?

Now, before you scoff, roll your eyes and chuck this letter in the fireplace, read on until the end because I promise that I'm not wasting your time. At least, I hope you think that I'm not wasting your time. Please don't hex me.

I started doing the summer homework that was doled out during the last week at Hogwarts (Merlin above, this is only for the summer; imagine how the N.E.W.T.s classes are going to be. It's been nice knowing you Evans. Surely by the first week I'm going to want to pitch myself off the Astronomy tower. You'll cry at my funeral, right dear?) However, I'm not sure if you realised - you probably did; no one was begging you for help from behind - but I wasn't there for the last Potions class. I didn't skive off, I swear. I had booked me a night and day in the Hospital wing. Really charming place. Pomfrey is an absolute doll, yelling and screeching at me to take my potions. I told the woman that I was going to need a new pair of eardrums by the time I was ready to leave and she boxed me over the head. She's almost as pleasant as you, Evans. Point is, while you all were off soaking your brains in Potions infused knowledge, I was being abused by a banshee disguised as a healer in the Hospital Wing and did not learn anything from that lesson. Because of this, I did abysmally on our exam and old Sluggy decided that the best way for me to understand something that I wasn't in class for when he had you read the textbook was to write an essay on it.

Three bloody feet on Le Chevalier's principle- which I know nothing about by the way- in addition to the four feet on poisonous bases and their remedial counterparts. I tried using my charm to trick him out of making me do this. However, for reasons unknown to me, not everyone is as compelled by my allure as you are. Imagine that.

Right. Back to potions. Just carry a bloody bezoar in your damn pocket. I'm so tempted to write that for him under the antidote part but then he might kick me out of the class or something. Slughorn does not appreciate my wit and highly developed humour one bit. It's sad really. He has to put up with so many Slytherins on a daily basis, you would think he would be grateful for my hilarity.

So what do you say, Evans? Help a poor bloke out? I'll be forever in your debt. I'll stop Quidditch parties at twelve. I'll show you where the kitchens are. I'll owl you a box of sugar quills- you're always gnawing on them during Charms; I'll buy you them for the entire term. Just help me out, please?

Begging you from his knees,
J. Potter

Potter,

Well, you were right; it was some half wit that was writing me. It was absolutely imperative for you to tell me who you are. Otherwise, I would have mixed you up with Christopher, my correspondent from St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward, who I've been writing since forever. He, along with the Giant Squid, is ranked at first place for my affection. Of course, I would be able to tell the difference between the two of you. First off, I'd never insult a dear friend by comparing them to you. And secondly, Christopher's handwriting is much neater than yours. Merlin, Potter; did you ever go to a penmanship class? I spent the better part of twenty minutes squinting at the parchment. Now I understand why you're a specky git. Summer's been fine, by the way. The Giant Squid sends his regards. He's staying over. We're planning on running away to Siberia and eloping, you see. There's something about slimy tentacles and multiple suckers that just makes a girl go weak at the knees. And I know exactly where those tentacles have been, thank you very much. Not all male beings frequent broom cupboards as much as you, James Potter.

Sirius was talking about a motorcycle, not a motor circle, whatever the hell that is and I hope to God that you're wrong about him buying one. Do you know what a car is? A motorcycle is like a car except a thousand times more dangerous. If Sirius gets one, then I'm never going in a car ever again. I rather like breathing and not having my internal organs splashed on the road for everyone's viewing pleasure. And The Wizard of Oz is a classic muggle story. If you ruin it for me I'll ruin your face before tying you to tracks. I promise to drive the train over you myself and I swear to relish every second of it.

(I'm not violent the slightest, you just bring out the worst in me; but if you call me 'ginger' one more time then you'll see violent. I'll make what the Slytherins did to you look like child's play. My hair is red, Potter; get your damn glasses checked. They do nothing for your appearance so they should at least improve your vision.)

Is playing Quidditch by yourself some sort of euphemism? Because if it is, I really don't need to know what you get up to in your free time. You have me picturing Peter in a pair of swim shorts skipping through the waves now. Thanks for that. I could have lived my entire life, equipped with no less than forty cats, without having that mental image. Tosser. At least your friends are coming over soon. I have to wait until the middle of August to see mine again. Until then I'm stuck with my joy of a sister. Eugh, bite me.

I almost did chuck your letter in the fireplace, but that's only because I was trying to get it away from my ruddy sister. She seems to be under the impression that any post that comes is for her.

I remember that Potions class. It was the best one in a long time. I didn't have to worry about becoming covered in green sludge again. My potion was actually the best that day. Ten points to Gryffindor and no ignorant berks hissing in my ear or tugging on my hair? It was absolute bliss. Merlin himself smiled on me that day.

Two things you should know to get you through life, Potter:

1. You are not funny. You have no wit or humour for Slughorn to appreciate. And even if you did, he still hasn't forgiven you for that little stunt you and Sirius pulled back in second year. Really? Charming slugs to appear whenever he said the word 'wand'? Could you get any more unoriginal? I'll give you ten for magical ability, but you'll get a two for creativity. You should have made it something more creative; like causing the cauldrons to dance or some tosh like that.

2. When trying to bribe a girl to help you out with your Potions homework, you pull out all the stops. You offer her chocolate, you twat. Chocolate gets you places in life. Especially with women. Keep that in mind next time you're trying to woo your latest victim.

Le Chevalier's principle is fully explained on page 269 of your textbook. There's enough there to get you an A at the very least. And maybe if you write like a normal person- that is, fitting less than thirty words in a line- you can comfortably get three feet of parchment. As for the poisons and their antidotes, I can assure you that if you write 'just use a bezoar' you'll get a T. I asked him about it. It's all fine and well for me to do that in class but not for the essay. Honestly, what sense does that make?

You hair isn't fantastic, you're not a transfiguration prodigy nor are you a quidditch extraordinaire and you are a Marauder but you aren't the dashing one. That title belongs to Sirius. He's also the one with fantastic hair. And I am completely impervious to your so called charm and allure (none of which you have by the way.)

Forever keeping your head at a normal size,
L. Evans

Dearest Evans,

I have to admit, when I received your rather prompt reply I was hesitant to open it lest you charmed it to turn me into a pin cushion or something. Needless to say that I was very relieved - not to mention stunned; bloody hell, I'm pretty sure Sirius thought he would have to Ennervate me - that there were no curses or bewitchments cast and only two feet of parchment from you. By the way, Ginge, you are in no position to criticise someone's handwriting Miss 'Everything- Has- To- Be- A- Goddamn- Loop.' I think the only thing loopier than it would be your dearest Christopher from spell damage.

Girls like multiple suckers, eh? Well, I can assure you Evans that I'm plenty good at sucking. And the whole 'bite me' kink? Never knew that you were into that; I'll file that away for future reference, along with your other helpful bits of advice. I'm very funny, in case you hadn't realised. I can charm your knickers off any day (and then we can get down to all that biting and sucking you mentioned). By the way Evans, I have much more decorum than to get down to things in a broom closet. And even then, not as much as you insinuate. Also, it took me a whole two minutes to realise what you meant by the whole 'playing quidditch' thing. When I finally did figure it out, I laughed so hard that I fell off my bed. You're a cheeky little thing aren't, you?

Sirius decided he was buying the motorcircle thing after all. It's a bit monstrous if you ask me. When he turns this thing called the 'throttle' it even roars like a dragon. Sometimes it shoots fire as well, although it's from the wrong end. I don't trust these muggle contraptions, Evans. They're secretly all plotting against us.

Thanking you for the help,
J. Potter

Evans,

Okay, I guess I deserved to have that letter spew green slime all over me. I apologise for all the biting/ sucking remarks. (No I'm not.) (All right, yes I am, but mainly because you might send another blank letter to curse my ears off or something.) You managed to get green slime all over my desk and clothes and face. Merlin, Evans; what was in that thing? I think my face is still stained and no amounts of cleaning charms can get it out fully.

Because of your little stunt though, not only is my Puddlemere jersey ruined (I don't care that it was old and Wilton's not playing anymore; the man's a fucking legend) but it also fell onto my Potions book, right where the lesson on Le Chevalier's principle began. So now I am back to square one, knowing nothing. Would you mind explaining it to me? Please?

Hoping you would agree to,
J. Potter

Evans,

Please. I'm begging you. Please Evans, help me out. I'll stop poking fun at your handwriting. Hell, I won't ever call you 'Ginge' again. Don't send back Wrock empty talon-ed again. Please.

J. Potter

Potter,

Sending me a chocolate frog is not a proper bribe. Most girls prefer that their recently acquired sweets not try to escape from them, but I guess it was an all right effort. I managed to eat the sucker before it escaped. Don't think for a moment that that makes you any less of a specky git than before. In fact, now you've moved up to a specky, twat-faced git. The only reason I'm writing this is because your owl (Wrock? Really?) sat on my desk practically begging me with those little brown eyes of his. I swear to God, Potter, if you told him to do that I'll curse your bollocks off. Git. Stupid, specky, twat-faced git with terrible handwriting and whose mind cannot be cleaned, not even by the most powerful bottle of Mrs Scower's Magical Stain Remover or the most potent 'Scourgify' to ever be cast.

In layman's terms, Le Chevalier's principle states that if the equilibrium is disturbed by changing conditions, the position of equilibrium moves to counteract the change. The main changes we have at our level would be temperature and the addition of other ingredients. It's basically the reason why most potion ingredients are used in pairs and it helps with the essay on poisons and their respective antidotes. Each pair has a so called good and bad half. The 'bad' half is used in the poisons while the 'good' half is used in the antidotes. There are some exceptions to this rule of course; bezoars being the main one. Of course, in addition to the whole good and bad thing, obviously there's going to be other ingredients that would react with whichever one (the god half or the bad half). The Potion would readjust itself in a way so that a new equilibrium is achieved. The tell tale signs of new equilibriums include colour changes, smoke spirals, changes in consistency and a host of other things, all of which lead towards either the end of a step in the making of the potion or the end of the potion itself.

I'm copying the pages that you need for the rest of the essay (the history and whatnot) from my textbook and attaching it to this letter just so you won't hound my poor soul any more.

Crossing her fingers in hope you're caught in the middle of a tragic Quidditch accident,
L. Evans

P.S: Don't think for one second that you have any effect whatsoever on my knickers.

P.S (again) (would it then be called P.S.S. or P.P.S?): Since you said that it was your favourite jersey, I guess I can tell you how to get the stain out. If you have House Elves, just tell them that it is Bubotuber based. They'll know what to do. If not, then pull that silver spoon out of your mouth and get ready to hand scrub that bugger with a scoopful of aforementioned magical stain remover. Soak your head one time while you're at it. Maybe it might help clean some of the filth that's built up in it.

Evans,

Thank you for finally replying. Also, you're a bloody goddess, you are. Yes, my owl is named Wrock. I christened him that when I was a wee toddler and he was a hatchling. I thought he was a rock, okay. He's grey and black and I wasn't - as you so eloquently put it - a specky git as yet. The name just stuck with him, I suppose. Not all of us were witty enough to bestow twenty syllable names to our pets at age five.

After spending almost half an hour deciphering what it is that you wrote (your handwriting is atrocious), I have to come to the conclusion that in addition to being a goddess in disguise, you're bloody brilliant and should write a Potions textbook. It would make a lot more sense than this dung they've got us using. Even though your handwriting gave me a veritable headache, I would have gotten an even larger one had I only the textbook to use. You're brilliant. I'm going to be saying this until the end of time. Hex me as much as you want, I'll still be singing your praises.

Knowing that you're lying about wanting me caught in the middle of a tragic Quidditch accident (you'd miss me too much),
J. Potter

P.S: I actually do have an effect on your knickers; remember that dare from fourth year? When I had to steal a pair of them? Never thought you'd be the pink frilly type, love.

P.P.S (I believe it would be called P.P.S): My hands are rubbed raw now, but I finally have my shirt back. Lily Evans, you are, really and truly, a fucking goddess. I said it before but I'm stating the fact once more. What would I do without you?

Potter,

Without me? Hmm, let's see, you might have been expelled by third year. You're lucky I like Remus (you're still a specky twat-faced git with terrible handwriting; I don't like you at all), otherwise I wasn't going to place the blame on Peeves for half of the mischief you lot get up too.

As far as names go for pets, I guess Wrock isn't all that bad. I had a pet fish once when I was five. I named him Fish.

Your handwriting is still much worse than mine is, by the way.

Thinking that maybe death by broomstick collision is a bit harsh and we should tone it down to wrestling with the Giant Squid for my affections,
L. Evans

P.S: You still have those? Merlin, that's slightly creepy. Not to mention scary. I would order you to give them back but first of all I gave them to you off my own free will (I have to admit, seeing you streak through the Great Hall would have been entertaining to say the least; you were a scrawny little matchstick. Still are) and secondly, god knows what you and Sirius did to them. Not to mention Peter. (Remus is the little saint who certainly would not do any sort of depraved deeds to my undergarments.) You can keep them.

P.P.S: I know.

Cookies to anyone who catches the blatant 10 things I hate about you reference. Also, Le Chevalier's principle (as far as we know) is not a real thing in the wizarding world. But it is based off a real thing in the chemistry world. Hell yeah chemistry nerds.

Lots of Love,

Tish and Nai xoxo