"Can I have a blanket? It's really cold," Malcolm asked. When Draco ignored him, preferring to concentrate on the letter he was writing by candlelight in his office, Malcolm knocked politely on the open door.
"Draco?"
Draco sighed heavily and pressed his palms against his eyelids until he could see bursts of color.
"Tibby."
There was a loud popping noise and Malcolm let out a yelp of surprise.
"Give the Muggle a blanket so he will go away," Draco grimaced. Tibby bowed and there was another loud pop.
"Whoa, so that's how it, er, she does it. Bloody amazing, right?" Malcolm laughed. Draco dipped his quill into the ink again and bowed his head again to concentrate.
"What are you writing?"
"None. Of. Your. Business. If you step one foot into this room, I will curse your eyebrows off," Draco drawled.
"But I'm already in here. Right in the middle of the room actually," Malcolm replied patiently. "This blanket just appeared out of nowhere, by the way. Is that a normal occurrence? Can I get a toothbrush like that too?"
Draco leaned back in his chair and swiveled around to find the auburn-haired nuisance clutching a blanket to his chest, staring down at him… with amusement?
"You're messing with me, aren't you?"
"You are really uptight, you know," Malcolm said. Draco watched him pull up a chair to the desk and lean his elbow on the desk, studying him. Draco frowned.
"I am not uptight. I am a grown man with business to attend to, unlike some people," he scowled. "The business of figuring out the stupid reason you could see the Leaky Couldron, as a matter of fact."
"So who are you writing to?"
"Flourish and Blots. It's a book store, before you ask. I may even be forced to speak with Granger tomorrow, thanks to you," Draco grimaced.
"If it's such a big deal, why the bloody hell are you even trying?" Malcolm asked.
Draco frowned but felt a bit unsure.
"It's because of my good looks, isn't it?" Malcolm asked.
"Get out."
