𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Potty Wee Potter and a Newt in Transfiguration (2/3)

Potty Wee Potter and a Newt in Transfiguration Part 2 of 3

"What happened to your ears?"

"Potty was a bad elf."

A sigh. "I told you already that it wasn't your fault he got inside. Idiot pretend-Muggle wanting to use me as reference for his book. Ha!"

Harry couldn't quell the quivering in his knees. But Malfoy had stopped being loud. He wasn't looking at him now, nor did he seem to be talking to anyone in particular, the silver fork absently shredding the rashers on his plate instead of transferring them into his mouth. Harry managed to halt the reprimand on the tip of his tongue before it could have caused him a few ironed fingers in addition to the ears.

"He was the one I was sent to when no Healer could help me. Not that he was much help, he and his stupid Muggle machines. He had the balls to say to my face that my parents were at fault for giving me the middle name Triton. I've forgotten he even existed. He must have heard of Scorpius and was probably curious how I managed to produce him with my wife. As if I would ever tell. Mother was right; one should never let one's Obliviate grow rusty."

Harry could recall accurately that the spell had been fired right after the exclamation: "See it this way: it could have been worse. It could have been a horned toad."

Harry turned a deaf ear to the rest of Malfoy's rant: a deaf and hurting ear. He wondered how long he could continue finding other transgressions to blame it on before Malfoy got suspicious.

†

He shouldn't have worried. Ultimately, his defeat was brought on by something as inconsequential as insomnia.

Malfoy's library was small, and it looked even smaller because it was so cramped full with stacks of books that didn't fit on the shelves anymore. There was no place for even a house-elf to squeeze through between towers of old parchment and dusty knowledge.

The east corner of the room was markedly dust-free in a shining quadrangle three rows high and ten books wide, but it was well hidden behind the back of Malfoy's armchair – the only furniture that had not been evicted over the course of time.

And of course, it had been the feather duster. But then, Hippogriffs were known for not mixing well with secrecy; still, trouble more frequently manifested in the shape of bruising as the consequence of a hard kick or a deep scratch, rather than a rumble of falling books and a subsequent Stunner aimed three feet higher.

The click of the electric lights (Malfoy had learnt the precaution of keeping his wand on target) was followed immediately by a tremulous Homenum Revelio, which should not have had that effect… Harry stared at his perfectly human-shaped hands for all of three seconds – which was the length of time it took for Malfoy to recover – and completely missed the next Stunning Spell coming at him.

†

He thought he had just dreamed it.

But no, Malfoy's pinched countenance and the way the wand kept twitching in his hand said it had been more than just a figment of his imagination, even if the loosened bindings around his feet suggested that he had already returned into his smaller form. Already? How much time had gone while he had been out of commission?