The Boy Who Lived

April Fools

He was still in contact with Hagrid. He regularly wrote letters or visited and if one of Hagrid's magical creatures needed help because their case was more complex than Hagrid's expertise could deal with, well, then the half-giant would always call on Draco.

Draco found it amusing that it was him who continued a friendship with Hagrid and not Potter, despite that always seemed to be a given that it would be the other way around.

'Harry ain't never wrote to me,' Hagrid would bemoan and invariably it would end up with the huge man sobbing into his enormous teacup.

'I'm sure he's a very busy being an important Auror and what-have-you...' Draco would offer, not knowing anything of Potter's life; he tried to avoid the tabloids as much as possible. 'I'm sure he means to contact you but something probably gets in the way...'

'Doctor Malfoy,' Mrs Wurtleby interrupted his thoughts as she bustled into his consultancy room whilst struggling with a large cat carrier and an oversized carpet bag. 'Oh, Doctor Malfoy. It's poor Mr Squeers. My grandson, you know, accidental magic...' she heaved the carrier up onto the bench before Draco had a chance to offer to take it from her. She reminded Draco of Professor Sprout; a short bustling woman with a loud voice and utterly deaf to any conversations about anything other than her precious Kneazles.

'...and he's got a broken tail as a consequence,' Draco said sympathetically. 'Come on then, Mr Squeers, let's have a look at you.'

He carefully opened the carrier because Mr Squeers could certainly be described as a temperamental bugger.

The large ginger Kneazle hissed at Draco. Its ears flattened.

'Now, now, Mr Squeers,' Draco murmured and he discreetly whispered a calming spell while Mrs Wurtleby was busy rootling in her bag.

Mr Squeers reluctantly emerged from his cage, glaring slightly but, thankfully, with his claws retracted. He looked embarrassed, if anything.

'When you told my receptionist it was a suspected broken tail...' Draco sighed. No wonder Mr Squeers was grumpy.

'Ah, here it is,' Mrs Wurtleby extracted a long fluffy ginger tail from her bottomless carpet bag.

'Well, your grandson certainly cauterised it well,' said Draco weakly. It was obviously going to be one of those days. 'I'm afraid Mr Squeers is going to have to stay in overnight and I can't make any promises.'

Mr Squeers was rubbing against Draco's hand and purring loudly. Draco didn't trust him. Draco knew the cat could turn on a sickle and, if he felt inclined to do so, the claws would come out. Draco thought the Kneazle would have been better off called 'Wolverine' but he doubted Mrs Wurtleby had even heard of X-Men, let alone watched Hugh Jackman sprout foot-long adamantium claws from between his knuckles.

'I'm sure you'll be just magnificent,' Mrs Wurtleby gushed.

Draco wasn't entirely sure if she was talking to him or Mr Squeers.

'His tail might be a bit... shorter,' Draco said hesitantly, certain Mr Squeers was listening in and understood every word. 'I may have to remove two of his caudal vertebrae...'

'I trust you to do what you think is best, Doctor Malfoy,' Mrs Wurtleby said, her hand already on the door. 'Otherwise dear Hagrid wouldn't have recommended you last year when I needed help with naughty Mrs Peggotty's troubles.' She whispered the last bit conspiratorially. Mrs Peggotty had 'made friends' with a local Tom cat, an ordinary non-magical alley-cat at that. Mrs Wurtleby still considered it a bit of a scandal.

Mr Squeers growled lowly as Draco manhandled him back into his carrier and took him through to the kennel area at the back of the veterinary. He asked his student nurse, Abi, to prep Mr Squeers so he was ready for surgery later.