Sh-Shopping Spree

by

TheLastLynx

Chapter 1:

The Bet

Draco sipped from his glass of 75—year—old Ogden's and glared at Blaise. Despite his long hours in the Ministry, his friend looked immaculate.

Of course, he did, vain bastard. He'd probably chosen the Chesterfield by the window for the sole reason that the light would bring out his cheekbones.

Tosser.

Draco flicked his wand, and the curtains snapped shut. The dim lighting in the Manor's drawing-room would make his own hair shine like a beacon. Draco smirked. There. Having a distinctive family feature was such a help in maintaining an edge.

And he didn't have to work.

'—Nott's actually dating Parkinson!'

Draco swivelled his glass, the amber liquid sloshing against the finely cut crystal. 'What a load of rubbish!'

'It is true though. Seen it myself!'

Draco raised an eyebrow in response. Blaise leaned back and grinned. 'With my own eyes. Swear on my honour.'

Draco snorted.

'All right.' Blaise grinned. His teeth were a glinting row of immaculate white in the dimly lit room. 'My mother's honour.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. The notion was utterly ridiculous. So why defend it?

'Look, Malfoy—' Blaise scooted to the edge of the seat and carelessly dropped his tumbler onto the coffee table. Draco's mouth twisted at the resounding clang. Mother would be extremely displeased if there was a single scratch on her beloved Marcel Breuer. He waved his wand to clean the couple of drops of firewhisky from the surface and levitated the edition of today's Daily Prophet onto the lower tier of the table, just to be safe.

'If you don't believe me, how about we make a little wager out of it?' Blaise said lightly, wholly unbothered by his carelessness towards the furniture.

Draco dragged his eyes from the mess between them. 'Don't be ridiculous, Zabini. I've known Nott my whole life; Parkinson, almost as long.' He pressed his lips together. 'For Merlin's sake, I dated the bint for the better part of fourth and fifth year. So, please,' he waved the hand with the tumbler dismissively around. 'I know for a fact that they hate each other.'

Blaise considered him for a long moment. His eyes shone in the firelight and it made Draco want to do...something. Extinguish the fire, for example, or jinx him, or maybe do both at once. But he had been taught to behave like a proper host, so he bit his tongue.

'Nott and Parkinson, what can I say—' Blaise began airily, lounging on the sofa, '—people do change. Our Hogwarts days have been over for…how long is it? Eight years?'

'Seven,' Draco said drily.

'Yes.' Blaise quirked his head; he seemed amused. 'Obviously, we've all changed.'

Draco's narrowed his eyes. Yes, there had been change, and not all for the worse — if one discounted the fact that he did not have anything better to do than spend his evenings with Blaise's antics or Theo's moaning if he didn't want to attend another of his mother's deadly boring tea parties. He sometimes wondered if working was actually as bad as Lucius made it out to be. But considering the outrage any discussion of that kind would provoke with his parents, Draco dutifully filled his days with the sort of nonsensical activity pure-bloods regarded as a superior use of one's time.

'Secondly,' Blaise continued and he draped himself further across the sofa as if he was some kind of Muggle fashion model, 'it wouldn't be the most surprising story of all times, would it?' His fingers caressed the leather upholstery and Draco began to wonder whether his friend was putting on a show and if so, for whose benefit exactly. 'This whole 'from enemies to lovers' thing is quite the classic, isn't it.' Blaise leaned even further back into the sofa and gesticulated to the room at large. 'Shakespearian even. Quintessentially English, one might say.'

Draco laughed hallowly. 'What nonsense. That's the stuff of romance novels, not bloody reality.'

'Oh, it is reality, I can tell you that!' Blaise crossed his legs. He was so brimming with self-satisfaction that the upper was bouncing up and down.

Draco scoffed and threw his friend his signature condescending look.

Wholly unaffected, Blaise busied himself with the coffee table between them. For whatever reason, he seemed to be fascinated with either the furniture or the decanter or the alcohol. But it was only for a moment, and then Blaise continued to make an absolute fool out of himself again. He held his glass up, and against the dim glow of the hearth, the liquid glowed like gold.

Even in the twilight, Draco had to admit that the reflections set off the dark skin of his friend unpleasantly well. Bloody pansy. His fingers pressed into the cold ridges and dents of the glass. But he would remain calm - which was another thing the bleeding war had taught him: the worst had already happened.

Despite it all, his irritation must have shown somehow because just then Blaise looked up at him again, mouth twitching from suppressed amusement. He leaned back into the leather seat and draped an arm over its rest, and Draco already felt his equanimity slipping. He took a healthy swig from his drink.

It was moments such as these that he wondered why on earth he put up with Blaise's antics to begin with. He definitely needed more alcohol for this. Pulling out his wand, he summoned the decanter back to him. He regarded its almost vanished contents with a frown. There was a secret stash in his father's study. Maybe if he sent Nobby, his mother wouldn't notice...

'Actually—' Blaise continued conversationally, '—I'm rather surprised you don't believe me. I would've thought you'd be the first to grasp just how dangerously close attraction and aversion can be.' His eyes flickered to the coffee table and back to Draco, and he smirked. There was that irritating look again. It made Draco's wand-hand itch.

'I haven't the slightest what you're on about,' Draco said down his nose.

Blaise just grinned like the smug fool that he was. Automatically, Draco lifted his chin in defiance.

'One word,' Blaise said. He looked pointedly at the coffee table between them. 'Granger.'

Draco froze, his hand going numb around his glass from his iron-fist grip. 'You've gone completely mad, Zabini.' He shifted in his seat, searching for a more comfortable position. 'I am not in love with Granger.'

A log crunched in the hearth and a few golden sparks erupted into the air, briefly sparkling like minuscule stars and then disappearing into nothing.

Blaise leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands folded. His dark eyes were flashing in the crepuscule, and he grinned triumphantly. 'I never said anything about love.'

'And neither am I secretly attracted to her.' Draco sneered like he hadn't in years. His fist was clenched so tightly around the crystal material that his knuckles were starting to hurt.

Blaise just chuckled, still lounging on the sofa like an utter prat, and Draco felt an overwhelming need to put his wand to use. There were a couple of ancient jinxes he had recently discovered in one of Grandmother's tomes. Maybe they ought to be tried out…

He sat up straight, righting his already perfect posture. 'Why on earth would I be attracted to that buck-toothed, bushy-haired, stuck-up bitch?' His voice cracked like a whip through the drawing-room. The fire crackled in the hearth, shadows and flickers of light were dancing across the room like spectres. The blood was whooshing in his ears, and the crystal glass felt slippery in his clammy hands. They were itching to use his wand.

He drowned the last of his drink.

Blaise tapped a finger lightly against his quivering lips. 'It's interesting you would say that since we both know that Granger's days as the ugly duckling have long since passed.'

Draco's eye twitched. 'I do not know any such thing.'

Blaise stared at him blankly. He blinked once, twice. Slowly, his gaze slid over to the piece of furniture between them. Draco's eyes followed, reluctantly.

There lay today's issue of the Daily Prophet, neatly folded in half just below where Hermione Granger was smiling from the title page, even-toothed and smartly dressed in Ministry robes, a stack of files tucked under her arm. Draco's head snapped up, heat spreading like shame through his body.

'Yes,' Blaise said casually, dark eyes flashing, 'it's awfully hard to keep track, these days.'

Draco's fingers pressed against his tumbler almost violently were going numb. 'She could be bloody Circe for all I care,' he spat. He shifted in his seat to cross his legs. 'She'll always be a Mu—' Blaise's eyebrows shot up, '—uggle—loving, self-righteous, stuck-up bitch to me.' Uncrossing his legs again, he jerked forward to slam his glass onto the table, caring very little about comportment or his mother's obsession with furniture or any of that superficial nonsense.

Who did Blaise think he was?

'NODDY!'

There was a crack and a middle-aged house-elf appeared, smartly dressed in a simple linen suit, embroidered with the Malfoy crest.

'Yes, Master Draco,' he said with a calm and deep voice, bowing so deep that his long, pointy nose almost touched the polished wooden floor.

'Bring me the firewhisky in my father's study. Without my mother noticing,' he barked. 'Please,' he added, almost softly.

'Right away, Master Draco.'

There was a plop and the elf disappeared.

Feeling considerably better, Draco settled back into his comfortable chair and regarded Blaise with an arched eyebrow as if nothing had happened.

Just for a second, his friend's expression wavered; to Draco's great irritation it resembled pity of all things. But in the blink of an eye, it the moment had passed, and Blaise was once again the vision of the bored, pure-blooded, pretty boy, lounging in his seat, one arm draped over the rest, fingers caressing the leather. 'Righto. People stay enemies forever. Therefore, Parkinson and Nott can't possibly be "an item", as it were?'

Draco's eye twitched. 'Precisely.'

'If you're so sure,' Blaise said after a pause, leaning so far into the sofa that he seemed to disappear into the piece, 'I don't see why you're quite so opposed to a friendly little wager.'

Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise really was a fool if he actually believed that. He himself met Theo practically every other day. And even though their last meeting at the Manor had been a while ago, his memory of the event was vivid and crystal clear — not least because Pansy had been there as well, and Theo wouldn't stop moaning about her.

'Ugh. Don't get me started on Pansy and her screeching banshee voice,' Theo had complained then, 'By Merlin, Draco, why on earth you went to the Yule Ball with that hideous little pug face is really beyond me. You weren't that desperate then, were you?' He aggressively stabbed his rare tenderloin steak, blood squirting from the sides. Draco opened his mouth to answer but Nott intercepted. 'She always pouts her lips like so,' he made a squishy face and grimaced, 'as if she's out to snog the first poor chap who won't resist. Bloody nuisance, that.'

It continued in a similar fashion all through dessert...

'Why did Narcissa invite her again?' Theo said, aggressively licking the rest of his chocolate soufflé from his spoon. 'Gosh. Can't we have a gathering to ourselves, just once? Just look at that obnoxious witch.' Theo had glared at Pansy who was wearing a little black dress and standing next to the fireplace, giggling at something Narcissa had said. He choked. 'Makes me want to bloody heave. Always stalking about in those ridiculous storky legs of hers—' He then gulped down the rest of his digestif in visible agony.

Blaise clapped into his hands and Draco almost jumped in his seat. 'So! About that wager then—'

'You've completely lost it, haven't you. Makes me wonder how you find witches that are still willing to bed you — seeing as the ones you did shag, you've obviously all irritated to death.'

'Ah, do I smell envy?' Blaise grinned slyly. 'You only say so because you're too stuck up to know what to do with a witch, even if one lay ready and starkers in your bed every day of the week. No wonder you only have a go at it once a year; that probably exhausts your repertoire as it is. I bet you could learn a thing or two, especially from my,' Blaise made a meaningful pause, 'Irritating self.'

Draco gnawed his teeth. Forget host duties; Blaise Zabini needed to be put in his place.

'So?' Blaise asked, his eyes glinting.

Draco watched his friend closely, waiting for something that would expose his bluff. But the only thing Blaise exhibited was his utterly annoying behaviour of lounging about as if he wasn't anything other than a bored-to-death ministry minion.

Yes, Blaise definitely needed a reminder of his place in the world, and this was the perfect opportunity for it. Draco was absolutely sure about Theo and Pansy, not least because he genuinely sympathised with Theo's situation. Some people just riled you up, and the only thing to deal with it was to get it out of your system, even if that meant complaining about them for hours on end.

In desperate need for another drink, Draco glanced around the room for the Whisky he had asked. Noddy was nowhere to be seen; there was only the empty crystal sitting on the table, taunting him with that Prophet front cover. He cursed himself internally for not having thrown it out right away. Yet another reason why there was a point to be made.

So Draco nodded sharply.

'Marvellous.' Blaise clapped into his hands. 'If I'm right, what should I have you do?' He tapped his finger against his quirked lips, never taking his eyes from Draco. 'Oh, the options, oh, the options…'

Blaise's giddy excitement made Draco thirst for preemptive revenge. An idea struck and he had to contain himself not to laugh out loud.

'Well, Zabini,' Draco started and relaxed into his chair, his leg slightly bouncing in anticipation, 'since you're so confident about your appeal to the ladies, and seeing how dedicated you are to blood equality, I think it would be a lovely idea if you sought out the Weasel girl and asked her out, Potty or no Potty. And while we're at it, why don't you do it after one of her Quidditch matches? It'd be such a shame if you didn't have an audience. After all,' Draco smirked sardonically, 'we all could learn a thing or two.'

'Feeling a bit devious, are we, Malfoy?' Blaise grinned, his impeccable teeth flashing in the crepuscule. 'Well… I'm certainly thrilled you're feeling so inspired. Let's see if I can think of something that lives up to that…' Blaise turned his head fixing his gaze on the sweltering fire. Absentmindedly, he reached for the whiskey carafe, and tried — unsuccessfully — to replenish his drink. With a purse of his lips, he put the stopper back onto the empty decanter — when suddenly his shoulders stiffened. He lifted his head and fixed his glittering eyes on Draco, a dangerous grin slowly spreading over his face.

'Oh, my dear Draco, you are going to looove this.'