Title: A Muggle Way of Life
Author: Reyn
Rating: Not sure…T for now due to language, but if I expand this, it might get moved up to M
Author's Note: Hooray! I've finally gotten my attention back to this fic! I totally LOVE the experiences you guys are giving me! Please keep them coming! Oh! I'm also open to any grocery shopping, clothes shopping, and any other outdoor or shopping experiences.
Chapter Dedication: Once again to the Calvin and Hobbes comics for the doctor visit
Previous Chapter: When we last left off, our Hero and Anti-Hero were in quite a mess of things, literally. Malfoy had attempted to make himself lunch, which ended with an exploding potato in the microwave and a fire on the kitchen stove. Staying true to his hero form, Potter used his failed attempt at a potion to put the fire out. This resulted in an explosion, forcing Malfoy to run to the shower to clean himself off, leaving Potter behind to clean the kitchen.
CHAPTER 2: Death By Shot
Harry Potter had barely started wiping off the stove when he heard a high-pitched scream coming from upstairs. With a sigh, he dropped his rag and hurried to the master bedroom to see what the problem was.
Not finding any traces of the blond there, he headed through the adjacent door into the master bathroom. There stood Draco Malfoy, attempting to look at his back in the mirror, with his shirt clenched in his hand. He turned as Potter walked in.
"You!" he cried. "This is all your fault!"
"What's my fault?" Potter asked as Malfoy waved the dirty shirt in his face.
Malfoy glared for a moment before turning his back to Potter, listening with some satisfaction as the boy gasped.
All across his back were a number of scrapes and scratches, caused by the exploding pot. Blood dripped down from some of the wounds and smeared across others from when the shirt had been removed. Harry stood wide-eyed, staring at the damage.
Draco shifted uncomfortably as the silence prolonged. Honestly, a few small scratches were hardly worth gaping at.
Finally Harry spoke. "Malfoy, maybe you should go lie down. I'll go get some warm water and a towel to clean that off."
"Why? It's just a few scratches."
"A few - Blimey, Malfoy! It looks like someone took a lawn mower to your back!"
Malfoy's frown turned into a look of confusion. "What's a 'yarn mover'?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Your back is completely shredded you ponce!"
Malfoy's eyes widened as he looked back at the shirt in his hand. The backside was torn in a few places and there were several blood stains, but nothing to suggest his back was shredded.
"What are you talking about Potter; it's just a few cuts!"
"Malfoy, look at yourself! Your entire back is bleeding!"
Once again Malfoy turned, trying to see his own backside in the mirror. He gasped as he noticed it seemed to be much redder than before.
"Merlin, I'm dying," was all he said before the world around him faded to black.
Harry rushed forward catching Malfoy under his arms before he hit the floor.
"You idiot. Only you would do something as dramatic as faint at the sight of your own blood," Harry said as he dragged Malfoy's unconscious form across the room.
After situating Malfoy face down on the bed (which required a lot of huffing and straining on ex-Gryffindor's part), Harry headed downstairs to grab a bowl and washcloth. But before he could reach the kitchen, there was a knock on the door.
Harry paused, worried that it was the Ministry of Magic at his door, here to arrest him for the magic signature the exploding potion was sure to have given off. He quickly shook his head of that idea, remembering the numerous wards placed around the property. Another insistent knock brought him to his senses and he quickly opened the door to reveal Mrs. Annabelle Thatcher, his neighbor.
Mrs. Thatcher was an old widow who was very kind, but a bit too nosy for Harry's liking. She strongly suspected Harry and Malfoy to be something of an item, and was forever bringing over baked goods as an excuse to get into the house to see if her suspicions were true.
Harry was fairly sure the Order obliviated her at least once a day, considering no rumors had ever been spread about some of the odd occurrences that happened at 85 Cherry Tree Lane. That and the fact that she considered Malfoy to be nothing short of an absolute gentleman was a sure sign that there was something funny with her head.
"Hullo, Mrs. Thatcher. Can I help you with something?" Harry said politely.
"Good evening, Harry dear," Mrs. Thatcher greeted kindly, peering over his shoulder. "Are you alright? I heard a small explosion and I wasn't sure where it came from until I noticed the mess on your kitchen windows. Is everything ok in there?"
"Er…yes, everything's fine. Just a simple cooking mishap is all," Harry replied as honestly as he could.
"Cooking troubles? Oh dear, better let me have a look then. I was the cooking champion back in my day. I'll be able to tell you what can be salvaged," Mrs. Thatcher said as she brushed past Harry and entered the house.
"Oh no, that really won't be necessary! I doubt any of it can be saved! Really, you don't need to trouble yourself!" Harry called out as he chased after the old lady.
"Good Heavens!" Mrs. Thatcher exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. "What on earth were you trying to make?"
"Err…"
"My word! In all my years, I don't think I've ever come across a cooking accident this hazardous."
"Yes, well, you see, there's a reason for that…" Harry said as he tried to think up a plausible excuse.
"Draco and his chemistry set again?" Mrs. Thatcher asked understandingly.
"Y-yeah. That's it," Harry stuttered.
A while back, Harry had told all the neighbors that Malfoy was studying chemistry and that any explosions or flickering electrical currents were simply a result of his experiments. Malfoy had been highly offended at being lumped together with muggle science, but as it was the neighbors accepted it and so the story stuck.
"Where is young Draco?" Mrs. Thatcher asked as she looked around expectantly.
"He's upstairs sleeping," Harry answered.
"Oh?"
"Yes, well, he was feeling tired, and I decided to cook him lunch, but I forgot that he left one of his experiments in the fridge. I mistook the unlabeled container for…err…potato salad…and…err…yeah." At this point, Harry really wished he had the ability to shut up.
"Oh my. He must have been very tired to sleep through an explosion like that," Mrs. Thatcher commented. "I heard it all the way from Mrs. Wheeler's living room, and that's a good three houses down."
"Well, he was pretty exhausted," Harry replied, instantly regretting those words.
"Really? Whatever for?" Mrs. Thatcher asked with wide, curious eyes.
"Oh…various activities." Harry mentally groaned. Could he stick his foot even further in his mouth?
"I see," Mrs. Thatcher said with a look of dawning comprehension. "But aren't you young adults supposed to have more stamina?"
Harry made several attempts at an answer, but gave up with a bright blush and a shrug.
"Ah, now I understand," Mrs. Thatcher said, smiling. "You know, dear, you should really save some of that energy and put it towards other use. Now, I'm not telling you to stop such activities, mind you. Why, back when Jack and I first married we would go at it like-"
"Ah! That's - that's more than enough, Mrs. Thatcher!" Harry quickly interrupted. "But if you don't mind, I really need to get started on cleaning this mess. Plus, I've still got Malfoy to attend to upstair-"
Harry quickly cut himself off. Apparently he could stick his foot in much further than he had originally anticipated. Fucking brain. He really needed to learn how to think before speaking.
"Oh, well, why don't you go see to your boyfriend and I'll get started on this mess then," Mrs. Thatcher said as she began to roll up her sleeves.
"He's not my boyfriend and you really don't need to worry about this, I can clean it," Harry said as Mrs. Thatcher made her way over to the stove.
"Is this….oh my, is this part of the pot?" Mrs. Thatcher asked as she held up a gunk-covered bit of metal.
Harry instantly recognized it as part of his old cauldron. "Uhm, yes?"
Mrs. Thatcher examined it for a moment, when her eyes suddenly went wide. She quickly looked at Harry. "You are alright dear, aren't you? No broken skin?"
"No, I was on the other side of the kitchen when it happened. Why?"
"This pot is rusted over! If any of it scratched you, you'd need a tetanus shot right away!"
Harry's mind instantly flew to Malfoy's back. Well, he had been exaggerating when he told Malfoy that his back was shredded…it was really nothing more than a few scratches. But still, he never really kept his cauldron very clean, and chances were that rust would be the least of Malfoy's worries.
"Harry, are you sure you're alright?" The elderly woman's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. I'm fine," Harry reassured. "But I really do need to get things done here."
"Yes, I'll leave you to it then," Mrs. Thatcher said as she put the piece of cauldron down and headed to the door.
"Thank you for stopping by," Harry said as he ushered her to the door.
"Oh! Before I forget, Harry. I've been meaning to talk to you about your garden. There's an excellent Nursery on the corner of 5th and Mallard that sells some rather fine quality manure. I figured that might help you with your efforts on your garden," Mrs. Thatcher said as she headed down the porch steps. "Well, I'll be seeing you later. Ta-ta, dear."
Harry stood, clutching the door handle with a dumbfounded look upon his face. Manure! Why hadn't he thought of that! Merlin, he'd been living in the wizarding world for far too long. All he had to do was stop by the Nursery and they could easily help him with all his problems.
Feeling extremely stupid, Harry shut the door and went to work cleaning the kitchen and Malfoy's wounds.
Doodle-eh-doo! Doodle-eh-doo! Doodle-eh-doo!
Draco woke up to a mild stinging sensation on his back. As his senses slowly sharpened, he realized the pain was coming from something soft that seemed to be gently dabbing at his skin, with the most caring of touches. Groaning in annoyance, he shifted slightly, causing the touches to stop.
"Sorry. Did I wake you?"
Draco's eyes shot open at the voice and he quickly sat up, scrambling away. "Potter! What the hell do you think you're doing! Where's my shirt!"
"I was just-"
"Get out of my room! I never gave you permission to enter!"
"Well you were-"
"I swear to Salazar if I find out you molested me while I was sleeping-"
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SHUT UP!"
Malfoy's mouth snapped shut.
Harry blinked, slightly surprised that Malfoy actually listened.
"Er…right. Well, I was exaggerating when I said your back was shredded, and I was able to clean up all your scratches," Harry said as he motioned towards the small pile of red-stained cotton balls. "But I've got a bit of bad news…"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What bad news?"
"Well…" Harry thought of the best way to put it lightly so Malfoy wouldn't explode. "We need to take you to the hospital."
"What for?"
"My cauldron sort of shattered in the blast, and the shards may be what tore at your back…and…well…my cauldron wasn't exactly kept in perfect condition."
"What exactly are you saying, Potter?" Malfoy asked dangerously.
"Some of the rust from the shards could have gotten into your bloodstream," Harry said hesitantly.
"So?"
"So we need to get you to the hospital right away for a Tetanus shot."
"I have no intention of going to St. Mungo's over such a trivial matter. And what the hell is a 'Tetanus shot'?" Malfoy said haughtily.
"That's the thing. We're not going to St. Mungo's. We're going to the local hospital."
"WHAT! You mean a MUGGLE hospital! Not on your life!" Malfoy shouted.
Harry sighed. He had expected this reaction and knew exactly how to counter it.
"Malfoy, unless you want to die a horrible, painful, not to mention very ignoble, death, you don't really have a choice in the matter."
"Ha. Your threats won't work with me. Dumbledore said you have to keep me alive," Malfoy stated smugly.
"That's what I'm trying to do. I'm serious here. If you don't get this shot, you could get really sick and die," Harry said exasperatedly.
"Nice try. There's no way I'm falling for that one," Malfoy said as he crossed his arms stubbornly.
"But Malfoy, you could be getting sick already! Do you feel warm at all?" Harry knew he had to at least feel hot…he had used warm water when cleansing Malfoy's back, plus he turned up the heater for when this problem arose.
Malfoy shifted a bit when he realized that he did in fact feel a little warm. "That doesn't matter. I'll just take some of that muggle medicine and I'll be fine."
Harry stared at him. "You can't be serious."
"What?"
"You're willing to take muggle medicine, but you won't visit a muggle doctor?"
"Yes," Malfoy said stubbornly.
"I don't believe this! What the hell do you have against doctors?" Harry demanded.
"They're heathens! Don't you give me that look! I've heard rumors about their methods!" Draco exclaimed.
"What methods?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.
"They use leeches! They put them on your arm and they suck your blood right out of you! Not only that, but they go and cut off your appendages if your bone is broken. AND they cauterize open wounds to close them up!" Malfoy said in an increasingly panicked voice.
"Malfoy, they did that type of stuff back in the Medieval Ages! Their methods have been updated since then," Harry said incredulously. "The worst they'll do to you is give you a shot."
Draco still looked highly doubtful. "And what the bloody hell is a shot?
Harry hesitated. He had a feeling Draco wouldn't agree to this if he knew the full details of what a shot was.
"It's a way of administering medicine into the body," Harry said. "Look, I can promise you that you won't lose any arms or legs or…er…other appendages. And they definitely will not have any leeches anywhere near the building. And the most they'll do with any scratches or cuts is put a bandage on it."
Malfoy simply frowned and reaffirmed his doubtful manner.
Harry growled before continuing. "Plus they have malpractice laws that basically state that if the patient is unsatisfied with their treatment, they can sue the doctor."
This statement seemed to catch Malfoy's attention. "Really?"
"Er…yes. Something like that. Basically, people got tired of doctors doing half-assed jobs, so they began to file lawsuits against them for poor treatments and such. So now, all doctors have to pay their malpractice insurance to help them pay for any lawsuits that may be filed against them. The more lawsuits they get, the higher their insurance. So this helps keep them honest and forces them to do a good job when treating patients."
Harry was sure that half of what he was saying wasn't quite right considering he hardly listened when he had first learned about this from Hermione, but it seemed to be holding Malfoy's interest, so he stuck with it.
"I see. So if I were to go to this muggle healer, and if he did something I didn't like, I can sue him?" Malfoy asked slowly.
"You can sue him for every penny he's worth, kick him to the ground and ruin his reputation for life," Harry said.
Malfoy thought this over for a moment. "Fine. I'll go."
Harry mentally sighed with relief. "Excellent. Now why don't you go ahead and take a quick shower. You still have some of the potion in your hair."
"Don't tell me what to do, Potter," Malfoy mumbled as he climbed out of bed and headed to the shower.
Harry turned and headed to his own bathroom, deciding to take a shower as well before Malfoy used up all the hot water. He remembered all too well Malfoy's reaction when he first discovered that the supply of warm water was somewhat limited. The result had been an extremely irate Malfoy, storming around with a head of shampoo wearing nothing but a towel, raising hell for no less than three hours.
The tirade would have lasted another five hours if Harry hadn't pointed out that the hot water was probably back on by that point. This statement had shocked Malfoy (who believed the water was gone for good) to the point of him nearly dropping his towel, causing Harry to go wide-eyed for a moment before quickly looking away. Not to mention fighting back the blush that had formed when he noticed how gloriously even Malfoy's milky skin tone was throughout his entire body.
Once done with his shower, Harry jogged downstairs in search of his keys. By the time he found them, Malfoy was already standing by the door.
"Ready?" Harry asked as he opened the door, the response being in the form of Draco rolling his eyes as he stepped outside.
Harry walked up to his car, unlocking it with his remote entry. He was about to hop in when he noticed Malfoy standing next to him by the back seat door.
"You know you can sit in the front, right?" Harry asked.
"What, and let people think I'm some kind of servant?" Malfoy asked, highly offended.
"Malfoy, you're in the muggle world now. People could care less about where you sit in a car."
With a frown, Malfoy stomped around to the front of the car on the passenger side, mumbling about 'stupid, backwards muggle cultures'. Harry watched as Malfoy continued to simply stand there, glaring over at him.
"Well, aren't you going to open my door?" Malfoy demanded.
Rolling his eyes, Harry held back the comment that only couples do something like that as he went to open Malfoy's door, praying that Mrs. Thatcher wasn't peeping out her windows.
Doodle-eh-doo! Doodle-eh-doo! Doodle-eh-doo!
Harry sat, flipping through a magazine, attempting to ignore the blonde's nervous fidgeting as they sat in the Examination room, waiting for the doctor to arrive. Malfoy's eyes seemed to be fixated on the numerous posters that were pinned on the wall, depicting facts about various cancers and diseases.
"Potter, is it possible for wizards to get muggle diseases?" Malfoy asked nervously.
"Probably, only I doubt they go by the same name in our world," Harry replied distractedly. "Plus you can probably only get the more serious diseases here in the muggle world as well."
"So…" Malfoy gulped. "I can catch menopause then?"
Harry stopped reading, slowly raising his gaze to meet Malfoy's curious eyes. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No. What? Why? No. Why, is it bad?" Malfoy asked, nearly losing his head in terror. "Actually, there are a lot of things I'm not telling you. Could you be a little more specific?
"Do you have a penis?" Harry asked slowly, fighting back his smirk.
Malfoy nodded, wide-eyed.
"Well then you have nothing to worry about," Harry said casually, going back to his reading.
"Wait a minute, what makes you so sure?" Malfoy asked peevishly.
"Trust me on this, Malfoy. As long as you have a penis, a scrotum, a prostate, and an Adam's apple, you don't have to worry about 'catching' menopause," Harry said, before pausing for a moment to think. "And as long as you don't hang around old ladies as well."
"Why? What's wrong with old birds?"
"They're the ones that carry the menopause."
Much to Harry's delight, Malfoy's eyes seemed to grow even larger, obviously thinking about Mrs. Thatcher and her lot. Swallowing uneasily, he fidgeted a bit before deciding to accept Harry's answer and went back to educating himself through the range of advertisements splashed about the walls, allowing Harry to turn his attention back to his magazine.
"Oh Merlin…Potter, I think I have Alzheimer's disease!" Malfoy exclaimed, his eyes currently reading through a large poster with a brain on it.
Harry snorted and glanced up. "What makes you say that?"
"I can't remember what I had for lunch!" Malfoy said, panicking.
"That's because you never got a chance to eat lunch," Harry replied in a bored tone.
"You're trying to give me anorexia, aren't you!" Malfoy said accusingly.
"What? You can't 'give' someone anorexia." Harry said, putting his magazine aside.
"Yes you can! You refused to make me lunch! And look where it landed me! In a hospital!" Malfoy yelled, wildly gesturing at the strange nonmagical objects littered about the place. "With muggles no less!"
"Malfoy, anorexia is when you refuse to eat because you believe yourself to be fat." Harry tried to explain.
"Are you saying I'm fat!" Malfoy gasped.
"What? No, I'm just-"
"Yes you did! You think I'm fat!"
"I don't think you're fat," Harry said.
"Then why wouldn't you make me lunch?" Malfoy asked.
"Because I was busy."
Malfoy's response was to cross his arms and look away, glaring at the wall.
"Look, you're not fat. I don't think that at all," Harry said, trying to reprimand the situation. "You've got a great body with great muscles and everything. Not that I've been looking, mind you."
"Whatever, you poof. Like I would ever turn for you. You might give me AIDS," Malfoy said, his attention currently on an AIDS poster.
"You can get AIDS from both sexes, you twat," Harry said tiredly. "And I am not gay!"
"Sure. I bet you picture me in the shower just to get yourself hard."
"Hardly. At least my libido's that of a normal 19 year old's," Harry said, picking up his magazine.
"Godric, what if I have prostate cancer!" Malfoy worriedly announced, his eyes flying to the poster with a giant penis plastered across it.
To this, Harry raised a brow. "Have you been having any troubles with your sex life?"
Malfoy shifted slightly, pausing to think. "Thanks to you, I haven't had much of a sex life-"
The sound of someone clearing their throat caused Malfoy to snap his mouth shut.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Muraki." The man said as he stretched out his hand to shake both Potter's and Malfoy's. "So, which one of you is Mr. …Milroy?" he asked, consulting the form on his clipboard.
Harry snorted as Malfoy scowled at his false last name. 'Milroy' hardly measured up to something as high-class sounding as 'Malfoy'.
"Well then, Mr. Milroy, what seems to be the problem today? Not feeling well?" Dr. Muraki asked as he went about gathering items for the examination.
"I'm fine," Malfoy said stubbornly.
"His back was scratched up with a bunch of rusty metal, so he needs a tetanus shot," Potter said.
"I see." Came the absent-minded reply as the doctor turned around, holding what appeared to be a Popsicle stick. "And has he had all his childhood shots?"
"Er…" Harry honestly didn't know whether wizarding children received such treatments.
"Have you ever had the chicken pox? Measles? Anything like that?" The doctor asked, turning his attention back to Draco.
"The 'Weasels'? The Weasleys have a disease named after them?" Draco asked, thoroughly surprised and not to mention extremely terrified if it was anything like the family themselves. Oh Sweet Salazar! Did the Weasels consist of one being infected or afflicted with red hair and freckles!
"Not the Weasels, you idiot. The measles. You know, the mumps? Small pox? Chicken pox?" Harry said exasperatedly. "No? Well how about Mad Cow disease? Anthrax? The Black Death?"
Draco frowned, obviously not recognizing any of the listed muggle illnesses. "No. I hardly ever get sick. My family had the best Healer money could buy," he said, choosing to ignore the fact that Harry was obviously making fun of him for his lack of knowledge concerning muggle illnesses.
"Then I'll assume you've received all your shots," the doctor said as he moved closer to Draco, Popsicle stick poised in hand.
"I told you, I'm not sick! What's that? Will it hurt?" Draco asked fearfully, leaning away from the doctor's hand.
"It's a tongue depressor. It won't hurt at all," Dr. Muraki answered kindly. "Now, open your mouth and say 'ah'."
Draco did as instructed, his eyes glaring at Potter, who seemed to be snickering from behind his magazine.
"And when did this incident occur?" the doctor asked.
"Earlier today, around lunchtime," Potter replied, watching as Dr. Muraki tossed the depressor into the trash.
"What's THAT? Will it hurt?" Draco asked dreadfully as the man in white took the thing from around his neck and placed it on his ears.
"It's a stethoscope, to listen to your heart. It won't hurt at all." The doctor explained patiently. "Now please remove your shirt."
After glancing at Potter for reassurance, Draco removed his shirt, flinching slightly as the cold end piece was placed against his chest. The doctor listened for a moment before walking around to the other side of the hospital bed to examine the scratches on Draco's back.
Silence reigned as the doctor went about scribbling notes on his clipboard before reaching over to grab another strange shaped item. This time, it looked like a long thin white wand with fluff on the end.
"What's THAT? Will THAT hurt?" Draco asked as he scooted away slightly.
"It's a cattle prod," Harry answered. "It hurts a little less than a branding iron."
The Gryffindor watched in gleeful amusement as Malfoy's eyes rolled up in his head, passing out for the second time that day.
Grinning sheepishly at the glare the doctor was giving him, Harry said. "He has no sense of humor…"
"Your friend here is obviously already distraught about this visit, and you're not helping him in the least," the doctor scolded as he went to retrieve some smelling salts from a nearby drawer. "I'll have to ask you to wait outside once he is revived."
Harry didn't argue as he put down the magazine and went to stand by the door, waiting patiently as Malfoy was brought to. Once he was sure the boy was awake, he moved to step outside, and stood beside the door, listening to the conversation from within.
"Hey, Doctor, why are you rubbing my arm with cotton? Are you going to put a leech there?" Malfoy could be heard asking.
"…" Silence on Dr. Muraki's part.
"Are you going to bleed me? You're not going to amputate are you? ARE you?
"…"
"What's that? Is that a shot? Are you going to…AAUGHH! IT WENT CLEAR THROUGH MY ARM! Ow ow ow ow!"
"…"
"I'M DYING! I hope you paid your malpractice insurance, you quack! WHERE'S POTTER!"
Harry groaned as Malfoy's voice was easily heard in the halls by several passing nurses and patients, who all slowed in their tracks to see what might be going on.
"He's a little nervous," Harry told them with an awkward smile.
The nurses nodded understandingly before continuing down the hall. It was at this moment, Dr. Muraki walked out of the room.
"He'll be fine. Be sure to bring him back in if he complains about feeling fatigued, feverish, sore, or anything like that," the doctor said as he consulted his clipboard.
"If he complains or if he actually is?" Harry asked wisely.
To this, the Doctor couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I see what you mean. I'll take this paperwork up to the front desk, and you two should be free to go."
Harry nodded in thanks and ducked back into the room, only to be greeted with a deep glare from Malfoy as the boy sat clutching his arm where the shot had been given.
"I'm never trusting you again," The blond stated angrily.
"Oh go on, it wasn't that bad," Harry said as he approached the hospital bed.
"Wasn't that bad! You told me they updated their methods! Sticking a bloody needle in my arm is as primitive as they come!" Malfoy complained as he put his shirt back on. "I can see why the Dark Lord wants to get rid of them all. Neanderthals! The lot of them!"
Harry bit his tongue from making any comments, allowing Malfoy to continue on his tirade while they headed towards the parking lot.
"Walking around with their head stuck up their arses. Yes that's right, I'm talking about you, you stupid muggle! Don't you give me that look! I know hexes that will cause your face to become stuck like that! Yeah, not a very pretty picture is it!" Malfoy yelled at a bystander as Harry was forced to grab his arm to drag him off. "OW! That's my bad arm, you twat!"
Harry quickly let go as he opened the door for Malfoy to get in the car, noticing with some amusement that the Band-Aid placed on Malfoy's arm was decorated with the Simpsons ©.