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Summary
“I must have dialed the wrong number.”
“Okay,” the reply was short and curt and it made her tense.
“I just got a new phone. I loved my old one, but well I dropped it on the cement and it stopped working completely,” she continued as she simultaneously whisked parmesan cheese into her pot.
“Okay.”
“I've had my old phone for five years so I suppose it was time for a new one anyway, but I lost all my data including my contacts.”
“...”
“And my friend, Harry, wrote his number down for me to add, but I must've typed-”
“Are you going to tell me your whole life story or can I go back to my reading?”
“Oh, sorry...what are you reading?”
The phone beeped signaling the end of the call.
[In which Hermione wrote down the wrong number and Draco is not a therapist.]