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*
He's supposed to be concentrating on drills.
Blimey…
Dudley has a funny feeling. Funnier than any other feeling he's ever experienced.
(Not grief—Vernon Dudley has passed on. Not rage—Dudley hasn't yelled at his incompetent workers.)
It reminds him of…
"Duds," Malcolm interrupts, knocking on the office door, one-arm hugging Dudley's receptionist. She giggles. "Mm'taking off."
"Take Gordon with you. I need papers out of Grunnings' London division."
An exasperated-looking Gordon pokes his head in.
"Someone wants to see you, boss. Outside."
*
As soon as Dudley recognises that yellow hair, it makes sense.
—everything's smoky and pleasantly blurred, and Dudley has never kissed anyone, anyone, anyone—the bloke's hair shines yellow in the pub's light, his mouth warm—a murmur of more, more, more—he's never—felt the drag of his cock inside—warm—
"Zach?"
"Remember our conversation?" Zacharias asks, smiling thinly. "You said you made mistakes. I said I made mistakes in running from my school when it needed me… because I was afraid. I ran. I ran from you."Â
Dudley's fear of the funny feeling… it vanishes…
"You're one of those… wizards?"
Zacharias beams, cradling Dudley's opened hands against his stomach.Â
"And now your child is."
Blimey…
*
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