Fifteen Years

Part Five

“What was that? It was a little bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“That, Weasley, was my alarm system,” Draco Malfoy was pacing around his drawing-room, looking very disgruntled. “It’s state of the art -as you can tell. Nothing can come within my boundaries without being detected. I’m very curious, I must say. What were you doing, snooping around my manor?” Malfoy turned around, squinting at George. His blonde hair was ruffled and his cheeks were paler than usual.

“Me, snooping? That seems like an unfair accusation.”

“Look here, Weasley, tell me what you’ve been up to!”

“Your hosting skills remain as ever, Draco, quite spiffing,” George leaned back in the leather chair he’d been thrown towards and rested his hands on the arm-rests. “Nice place you have here. Still living with Daddy I see?”

Malfoy flushed.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot. Papa Malfoy’s rotting in Azkaban…”

“You are not a welcome guest in my household, you insolent red-head,” Malfoy said, eyes tapering into slits.“Now tell me what you were up to so I can decide what to do with you.”

George was just opening his mouth, when something small crashed through the office door. “Daddy!” said the little boy, rushing over and launching into his father’s arms, “I heard the alarm, and-” he paused as he noticed George, sitting stunned in the corner. “Who’s that Daddy?”

“Blimey,” George croaked, “A mini-Malfoy?”

“This is my son,” Draco said stiffly, untangling his arms from the boys, and setting him back down on his feet. “Scorpius, this is a Weasley. Remember never to fraternise with a Weasley, because they are dirty pieces of filth and I don’t want you to stoop to their level.”

Scorpius nodded and ran from the room, knocking into a small side table as he went. A thick book thumped to the floor.

“I forgot what a self-righteous git you were, Malfoy,” George shook his head.

Malfoy strolled over to the door and slammed it shut. He snatched the book from the ground, and sneered down at the crinkled pages. He muttered something inaudible and flung it across the room. It landed near George’s feet, and he peered down at it curiously. An In-Depth Study of the Works of Beedle the Bard, by Hildemara Garnet. His eyes widened and he looked away quickly. What was Malfoy doing with this?

Malfoy came and stood over him. “Interested in fairytales, Weasley?”

“No,” George said quickly, feeling his insides squirm, “just surprised that a slippery git like yourself could possibly own something so incredibly non-dark-arts as a commentary on children’s stories.”

Draco laughed -a cold, piercing sound that made George’s arms shiver.“Oh there’s plenty of dark magic in that book, Weasel-bee. I doubt whether someone such as yourself could ever figure out how to work even one of the simplest spells held within its pages. How many owls was it you got again? Two, wasn’t it? Must have been a big disappointment to your mother. Another Weasley failure…”

George sighed, impatient. “Look, Malfoy, stop being a git and let me go. I was just flying over on my way home, I didn’t even know you lived here, so I didn’t mean to intrude on your happy little household.”

Malfoy sniggered. He paced away from George, then twisted around to look at him, eyes luminous. “I could just let you go… but, that wouldn’t be much fun, you see. I’m sure my son would like to have a personal servant to order about for a week or so. We lost our house-elf many years ago, you see, thanks to that impertinent scar-headed friend of yours, and haven’t gotten around to replacing it.”