Leather Trousers

He emerged from his bathroom, freshly showered with his clean, damp hair sticking up every which way.  Carefully and meticulously the seventeen year old dressed himself in the new outfit he had purchased especially for the occasion.

Stepping in front of the mirror the boy grabbed his wand from the bedside table and, with the expertise of one well practised in the art of vanity, rivalled not even by Padma Patil, he swished this way and flicked that way, patiently perfecting the way his magically dried hair fell around his face, thankful for the wards that allowed underage magic within Malfoy Manor.

Half an hour later, the blond stepped back from the full-length mirror and nodded in approval.  His reflection winked and smirked back but somehow this display paled in comparison to a certain Gilderoy Lockhart who shall remain nameless.

Pocketing the small package on the bed, he raised his wand, closed his eyes and disappeared with a pop.

*~*~*~*~*

The boy arrived in the hallway outside the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive milliseconds later.  He knocked sharply on the door and waited.  But his patience did not extend to much outside the state of his appearance and it was quickly wearing thin by the time the door was flung open.

"Draco!"  The brunette launched himself at the blond and dragged him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.  Draco scanned the room critically, thoroughly appalled by the lack of furniture and abundance of broken Muggle electronics.

Draco produced a silver disk from his pocket and held it out to Harry in the palm of his hand.  Harry, recognising the Malfoy crest to be a portkey grasped Draco's hand and waited for the pull just behind his navel.  Two seconds and hundreds of miles later in the stands of a European Cup Quidditch match in Italy…

"Holy shit Draco!  You're wearing leather trousers!"