Disclaimer: You will be utterly baffled to find that Harry Potter and all its affiliated trademarks, action figures, softdrinks and soul-ownership deals do not belong to me, a mid-twenties student. Le shock. I also make no money from it. Nor do I plan to in the future. Which might also explain why I don't have any money.


Ch.9 Christmas Reunion

„ Brilliant, you really arsed it up! Where are we?"

That charming screech makes me notice the two children. I take a closer look and realise that the girl is at best the age of my own son. Eight. The boy is blubbering. They are quite alone. In Regents Park. In the dark. Which of course would be none of my blasted problem if only I could make that vision of my irritatingly earnest son disappear. Staring. Judging. Yes, son, look at „Daddy" ruining his perfectly nice argentinian hand-sewn leather loafers in the wintry park muck to help two navigationally challenged mu...ggle brats. I am almost at their doubtlessly dense side, when somebody apparates into thin air a few paces ahead of me, the blast of shifted air knocking me over backwards onto my... well. Cursing my altruistic intentions, I watch the mother swoop in over her brood.

„Hugo! Rose! Thank God! What happened?"

„I don't know! That Santa really scared me..."

„... genius here decided to spontaneously disapparate. And the tosser was clutching my arm as he did."

„I am not a tosser! And I don't even know how to do it! It was an accident!"

The woman pinches the bridge of her her nose.

„What do we always tell you two about controlling your urges? Your father and I were worried sick!"

„Dad knows?"

She waggles a silver lighter – a fine one, admittedly – in her left hand.

„I had to go and get the Deluminator. I expect he has half the Auror department in a tizzy by now."

The children groan. A sneaking suspicion creeps up on me as I watch her try in vain to tame either child's hair in a display of maternal fussing, her own uncontrolable pelt escaping what most likely are half a million pins. Quitely as I can, I try and retreat.

„I'll send word that I've got you."

She turns around to send off a patronus into the night air, and naturally the stupid thing charges right towards me. Once it is close enough to illuminate my face I recognise its shape and all dreads are confirmed. Fan-fucking-tastic. Granger.

„Draco Malfoy?" she scowls. And fails to lower her wand. Lovely. Her son peers around her legs.

„Draco? Now, that's a dumb name."

I look up from gathering my belonings. „Delightful of you to cast the first stone, Hugo." I sneer.