𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐒 2008

Getting There (2/2)

Getting There Part 2 of 2

Here?

“Do I want to accept a video chat from d_malfoy? No I don’t, but I’ve not got much choice have I?” Harry complained to his laptop.

The instrument made no reply. Harry rather thought it ought, considering the thing was supposedly top-of-the-line wizarding tech. So said the swots from IT, anyway. Malfoy would know at a glance. Harry didn’t care and couldn’t be arsed to find out.

Increasing the mic volume, he rubbed at the painful pressure in his right temple and hit what he hoped was the correct key. A new window opened and-

Harry stared, his jaw all but in his lap. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“I happened. Like it?” Malfoy tilted his head, displaying the skin-smooth dome of his skull to advantage whilst Harry did a decent impression of a dying fish.

It should have reminded him of Voldemort. It didn’t. Lack of hair had made Voldemort look twice as dead. Malfoy looked… touchable. Harry wished he’d poured himself a stiff drink before he’d sat down.

“So is this,” he gestured in Malfoy’s general direction, “what you had to tell me?”

“No, but the shock value has been excellent I must say. I’ll have to try it next on Father.” Malfoy thumbed open the lid of his cigarette case. Harry groaned.

“Three days ago your kid and mine tried to blow up my attic. I need another shock like I need a hole in my head.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. He stuck a cigarette between them. “Did they really?”

“Yes,” Harry said with great feeling, “they really did. If there’s permanent damage, I’m suing you.”

“You’re welcome to try,” said Malfoy with the air of a man who kept a slavering pit-bull of a solicitor on retainer.

“Believe me, Malfoy, if I decide to go after you, I won’t give you advance warning.”

“There’s the bastard Potter we all know and love,” Malfoy snickered. “Do you know I’ve a scar bisecting my right nipple? Really, Potter, my nipple. Was that truly necessary?”

“God!” Harry was caught between laughter and acute mortification. “That was so much more information than I needed.”

“Why? You’re the one responsible.”

“I’d’ve thought you’d have forgot that by now.”

“Have you?”

“Point.” Harry wasn’t going to look at Malfoy. Was not. “If you’re done embarrassing me, do you think we could talk of something else? Anything excluding scars, nipples or exploding attics would be aces.”

“Actually,” said Malfoy, “I thought you might like to know that as of tomorrow I’ll be back on British soil. I’ll come round to fetch Scorpius, shall I?”

“Oh.” An image of Albus, laughing at and with Scorpius, popped into Harry’s mind. “It’s not necessary if you’ve still things to do. I—we like having him.”