"Where are your two friends, then?" he asks, looking at Potter curiously. Usually one can't find one of them without the other two, and Draco's almost surprised the Golden Trio don't have some sort of spell cast over them that doesn't let them split up for too long. Attached by the hip doesn't begin to describe it. "Abandoned you, have they?"
At once he realises what he has just said, and the grin he wasn't aware of pulling at his lips fades. Despite Potter's lack of reaction, he has half a mind to grab hold of him and convince him to stay, because he didn't mean it like that.
What was it he had said in Potions that day – what had set Potter off and ultimately started all of this?
"People you care about always seem to… die, don't they?"
And, Potter had looked so angry at his words, and perhaps if Professor Snape hadn't been in the room, he would have punched him. Right in Draco Malfoy's stupid, grinning face before Granger could stop him. And, with his wand left behind in his bag back at his desk, perhaps Draco would have punched him back.
Though, looking back without a vision clouded with spite, he supposes it wasn't so much anger as it was hurt. Draco's words had hurt him, and of course he had been angry with him for saying what he did. But it hadn't been because of annoyance building up – the metaphorical glass eventually filling up and running over – but rather because what Draco Malfoy had said to him hurt.
Because what he had said is somewhat true.
"They went off somewhere to look for Valentine's gifts for each other." It doesn't sound like Potter has registered his poor choice of words, perhaps too caught up in the poster from the League Cup last year of the Tornadoes' Seeker to notice. Either that, or he's simply used to Draco Malfoy's lack of kindness when he speaks, and has decided to ignore it. "Where are yours?"
Potter is looking at him now, and Draco looks away as a familiar warmth wells up in his chest. He fears if he makes just a little too much eye contact, and the warmth in Draco's chest spreads far enough, he might do something as absurd as blush, and what a preposterous thought that is.
"Around here somewhere, shopping," is all he says, and when he casts another look around the shop, his gaze once again lands on the snitch. It has stopped moving now, sitting still with its wings spread.
It looks different from the one he owns. There's a different shine to it, the engravings are much more swirly and decorative, and it's expensive. He hadn't noticed the price tag earlier, despite it being right there before his eyes, and of course it is nothing but pocket change to a Malfoy, but…
It's borderline ridiculous.
"It's charmed."
Draco looks at him curiously. "Charmed?" He looks back at the snitch, and leans down to study it a bit closer. Other than its speed, or lack thereof, it looks normal enough. Perhaps it's a bit shinier, but that could be the shop's lighting. "This?"
With the point of a finger, Potter redirects his gaze to a poster on the wall, which Draco had also somehow missed. Despite the bright colours and festive decorations, it had avoided his attention entirely. On the other hand, he did somehow manage to miss the fact that his– Pansy was dating someone for an entire week, so perhaps he's simply a lot less observant than he thought.
Seeking Love This Valentine's?*
Draco nearly snorts at the horrible pun. To top it off, it's written in big, swirly letters in a – quite frankly ghastly – shade of hot pink, and surrounded by drawings of snitches and hearts fluttering about. He imagines this is what it would look like if a pygmy puff vomited all over a piece of parchment. Had it been any brighter – and pinker – he would be fearing for the well-being of his eyes.
Charmed Golden Snitch: Seek a Date
*Not to be used in official Quidditch matches, as stated by § 75 of the British and Irish Quidditch League Rules and Regulations (Golden Snitches and Charms)
The silence that has occupied the air between the two of them stretches over an amount of time he couldn't even begin to guess. Something else – admittedly a bit less interesting – catches Draco's eye, and while he busies himself looking at that, Potter disappears somewhere near the front of the small shop. He doesn't leave, however, as Draco never hears the door, and he's back by his side – well, in his vicinity anyhow – a few minutes later.
When Draco moves to the other side of the shelf full of a variety of League teams' memorabilia, he almost thinks Potter might be following him around. A moment or so ago, he had been looking through the assortment of Beater's bats in the corner – and Draco can't deny he wouldn't mind seeing Harry Potter in action as a Beater. He might actually want to sit the match out for once and let the substitute take over, especially if he'll end up with arm muscles like the Slytherin Beaters.
In any case, now Potter is standing on this side of the shelf as well. He isn't looking at him, though, but rather a nearby rack of Hufflepuff Quidditch robes. How… curious. Whatever would he do with those.
Draco puts down the Falcons branded broom polish – which he's fairly certain they don't even use themselves – and shuffles past the broom on display to find something else to look at. Though, perhaps it's more so to test his theory, and when he glances over his shoulder, his suspicions have been confirmed.
With a snort, he turns around, and tilts his head in feigned confusion. "I didn't know I had gotten myself a pet."
Potter's head turns a little too fast for him to have been as engrossed in the broom on display as he had seemed, and he stares at him with those adorably wide, green eyes of his. Draco almost wonders whether or not he really needs those glasses, what with those saucers for eyes.
An amused noise escapes his lips. "A mooncalf, no less."
"What?"
"You're following me," Draco states in a matter-of-fact tone, and all he gets in return is a blank, perhaps a bit confused stare. Is it not on purpose, then? Has Harry Potter just inadvertently latched himself onto Draco for the time being, trailing behind him like a pet?
Draco Malfoy can't really say he minds. It's endearing. It's reminiscent of Crabbe and Goyle, or Theo when his mind is all up in the clouds again. It's… cute. He's fairly certain he could lead Potter just about anywhere like this.
"Tell me," he begins as a smile toys with his lips, and Potter stares at him expectantly, "when you go out with your friends, do you pay attention to where you're going – where you are, even? Or do you simply sit back and trust Granger to not lead you straight into the Forbidden Forest?"
The cogs in Potter's head seem to begin to turn, and then his mouth opens, and closes. This goes on for at least a few seconds, all the while Draco's amused smile only grows, before he finally speaks. "I'm not following you."
Right. Yes. Of course. He's been looking at this wrong, because Harry Potter is actually just really interested in becoming a Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team next year.
"Are your friends expecting you anytime soon?" Draco asks, and dares take a few steps closer, in a manner he hopes isn't as threatening or intimidating as usual. Potter doesn't seem to take it that way, fortunately, and stays exactly where he is.
"No, why?"
Draco shrugs nonchalantly, shoves his hands into his pockets, and looks him right in the eye. When he does, the familiar warmth of what he assumes to be the Gryffindor common room wells up in his chest, and there is the faint scent of burning wood on a cold day in the air.
"Perhaps you could follow me to the Three Broomsticks next?"
