shlure
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
“Won’t your silk trousers be ruined in the wet sand?” Potter asked after several silent moments, as if he’d been trying to decide on what to say after weeks of not talking again.
“They’re wool, actually,” Draco said simply, moving his leg closer to Potter to let him see for himself. The Gryffindor was obviously in distress and maybe even some pain, and if taking it out on Draco right now helped him, Draco would let him. Maybe he really did have a crush on the poor bastard. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Potter’s voice sounded less venomous now.
“That you got picked,” Draco explained, “I can’t believe they’re making you participate. And I honestly hope you don’t die.”
Potter watched him in confusion, “You don’t think I put my name in?”
Draco laughed and kept looking ahead, “You would rather eat slugs.”
Or: Draco Malfoy grew up during the summer of '94 and Harry Potter is a sucker for forgiving people.