It's late in the day when Orpheus comes out of Madame Malkin's with his grandfather and several new, wool robes flung over his arms. Draco's been complaining that his old robes are too thin, and "the wind blows right through them!" so Orpheus convinced him to come down and order some thicker ones.
The lady who had helped them with their purchase was patient and kind, but she had nowhere near the amount of attention to detail that her mother, who passed away over forty years ago, had had. The absence of the original Madame Malkin seemed to be even more upsetting to Draco, whose wrinkles were set into his face like little valleys, contorting smoothly around his constant scowl.
"That woman has no idea what she's doing. Damn! I knew we should have gone to Hallia's instead!" he grunts as he walks behind Orpheus, his silver, emerald-encrusted cane clacking against the coarse pavement.
"I'm sure the robes are just fine, Grandfather. The quality hasn't changed."
"The quality hasn't changed, my arse! Well, I'll tell you – they won't be seeing any business from the Malfoys again!"
"That's what you say about every store, yet you still shop at all of them. Oh, look! Ice cream! It's hot today – why don't we stop and get a scoop or two?"
Draco's entire body convulses in disagreement with this plan and with a shaking hand, he jabs his cane into the ground.
"You think an 112-year-old man is interested in ice cream? Most of my teeth aren't even real, for Merlin's sake! Do you want the rest of them to fall out of my head, too?"
"All right, all right! Would you calm down? I asked you a simple question and now you're making a scene!"
"I don't give a flying grindylow if I'm making a scene! Oi! You in the hideous cardigan! What do you think you're looking at? Yeah, you better walk away before I jam my cane right up your –"
"Draco!"
A stocky young man in a pink and brown sweater makes a confused face and continues walking toward the ice cream shop, ignoring Draco. Orpheus shakes his head and puts a hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Honestly. I can't take you anywhere," he complains.
"Malfoy?" an aged, groveled voice asks from behind them and they turn around to see a short, grey-haired old man around Draco's age, accompanied by a man in what appears to be muggle workout clothing who can't be more than a few years older than Orpheus.
"You!" Draco snarls, his hand tightening over the handle of his staff as his grey eyes glint menacingly.
"It seems the famous Malfoy genes aren't all they're cracked up to be. I think I've seen more hair on a crystal ball."
After a few seconds, Orpheus sees a strip of skin that's faint and lightning shaped, just below the man's hairline, and suddenly he knows exactly who's standing in front of him.
"Oh –! Mr. Potter! Please forgive my grandfather, he's gotten quite cantankerous in his old age. I'm really a huge f–"
"I don't suppose the length of your cane is compensating for something, Potter?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You want to fight, just say so, old man!"
"Old man? You're the one who looks like an orange peel that's been in the sun too long!"
Apparently this insult is the last straw, because Draco hobbles over determinedly to Harry, swings his cane back a bit, and slams it into Harry's side.
"Come and get me, you daft prune!"
After a wince, a yelp of pain, and an entire minute of rubbing his ribs, Harry takes his own cane into both hands and retaliates by whacking it into Draco's shins.
Draco howls and bends over to clutch at his legs, then shakes his fist at Harry and swings at him again. When Harry tries to stand up straight in order to take his turn, he finds that his back has been thrown out and he can't do anything but huff and stare at Draco, who seems to be in a very similar position.
"Fool! You haven't even made three hits!" Draco mutters with great effort, using his cane to keep him on his feet now instead of to maim Harry.
"I don't see you taking another swing. Don't think you can handle any more, then, eh, Malfoy? Are you finally too much of a dinosaur to break my nose?"
"Knock it off, Grandpa!" the man who was walking with Harry yells, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him away from Draco.
"You're drawing quite the crowd, Grandfather," Orepheus comments, his face promptly breaking out in embarrassed, red splotches.
"Let's go home, yeah? I think you've had enough excitement for today."
"This isn't over, Potter! You better pray you never see me again, because I guarantee this gorgeous face will be the last thing you ever see!" Draco shouts.
"Gorgeous? Gorgeous for an orange peel, maybe! Let me at him again, Jack. Do us both a favor," Harry retorts, every movement he makes causing him to wince in pain and touch a hand to his back.
"Come on, Grandpa," Jack sighs, blowing exasperated air through his lips as he steers a fruitlessly-struggling Harry down the street, and out of sight.