Christmas Drabbles Part Ten
Dec. 22nd, 2008 04:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrules*snickers* I actually forgot about this next bit.
“You don’t always have to be such a prat, you know,” Harry said and snatched his arm away. He looked around curiously. They were in an older part of London that looked similar to Grimmauld Place. The houses were tall and thin, built mainly of brick and old stone.
“According to you I’m always a prat.”
“How would you know? This is the first time we’ve spent more than a few angry minutes in each other’s company.”
Malfoy only rolled his eyes.
“Where are we?” Harry snapped, annoyed that they had slipped back into the old familiar pattern of sniping at each other. Were they to be forever destined to induce pain?
“Kingsley’s house.”
“Kingsley? You know where Kingsley lives?” Harry was nearly flabbergasted. He didn’t know where the Minister lived. How the hell did Malfoy?
“Honestly, Potter. I thought you would have been invited to weekly Sunday dinners, being the Chief Poster Child for Good, Righteousness, and the Ministry Way.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, giving vent to his frustration. He slammed open the wrought iron gate and was further irritated when it slid open soundlessly instead of scraping open with a horrific shriek common to most rusty iron gates He stalked up the concrete path.
Kingsley’s wife answered the door and immediately gushed over Harry, practically giving credence to Malfoy’s words. Harry refused to look at the blond, not in the mood to see the familiar smirk adorning his perfect lips.
Mrs Shacklebolt hurried to fetch Kingsley, who stood in the door looking imposing and unimpressed. “Do I want to know why you two are here… together?” he asked. “Because I think any complaints can wait until business hours, yes?”
“We’re not here to complain, we’re just carolling. For Christmas,” Harry said lamely.
Kingsley said nothing.
“Singing?” Malfoy prodded. “Sounds issuing from the diaphragm, through the larynx, past the tongue and lips in a pleasing fashion? You understand? Music?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Kingsley said. Harry absently wondered how many times a day the blond heard those words. A lot, he wagered.
Part Eleven
Part One
“You don’t always have to be such a prat, you know,” Harry said and snatched his arm away. He looked around curiously. They were in an older part of London that looked similar to Grimmauld Place. The houses were tall and thin, built mainly of brick and old stone.
“According to you I’m always a prat.”
“How would you know? This is the first time we’ve spent more than a few angry minutes in each other’s company.”
Malfoy only rolled his eyes.
“Where are we?” Harry snapped, annoyed that they had slipped back into the old familiar pattern of sniping at each other. Were they to be forever destined to induce pain?
“Kingsley’s house.”
“Kingsley? You know where Kingsley lives?” Harry was nearly flabbergasted. He didn’t know where the Minister lived. How the hell did Malfoy?
“Honestly, Potter. I thought you would have been invited to weekly Sunday dinners, being the Chief Poster Child for Good, Righteousness, and the Ministry Way.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, giving vent to his frustration. He slammed open the wrought iron gate and was further irritated when it slid open soundlessly instead of scraping open with a horrific shriek common to most rusty iron gates He stalked up the concrete path.
Kingsley’s wife answered the door and immediately gushed over Harry, practically giving credence to Malfoy’s words. Harry refused to look at the blond, not in the mood to see the familiar smirk adorning his perfect lips.
Mrs Shacklebolt hurried to fetch Kingsley, who stood in the door looking imposing and unimpressed. “Do I want to know why you two are here… together?” he asked. “Because I think any complaints can wait until business hours, yes?”
“We’re not here to complain, we’re just carolling. For Christmas,” Harry said lamely.
Kingsley said nothing.
“Singing?” Malfoy prodded. “Sounds issuing from the diaphragm, through the larynx, past the tongue and lips in a pleasing fashion? You understand? Music?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Kingsley said. Harry absently wondered how many times a day the blond heard those words. A lot, he wagered.
Part Eleven
Part One
