Draco Malfoy was now twenty-five years old. Old. Old. The word kept running through his head. He was a quarter century old, for Merlin's sake! The notion was ridiculous - how could he be twenty-five already?! How could life go by so incredibly fast and yet so damnably slow at the same time
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[ooc: hopefully better late than never!]
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Even with the teenager attitude, Jace would be missed.
"No idea," he said and licked at the frosting. "They're creepy, and yet so tasty."
[Always!]
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"Oh dear. I'm not sure I love you enough to be able to tolerate an invasion like that."
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"You'd have so many industrious waiters and janitors that you wouldn't know what to do." He grinned. "What you'd do with me over at The Sin, well, you'd have to decide."
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"Of course, if you'd rather have a fine cart pulled by a team of Cedrics, that's your choice."
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Money wasn't Draco's choice of currency in the village as it was only a superficial necessity.
He smirked. "A cart pulled by a team of Cedric's would be a fine thing indeed. You're not opposed to riding crops, are you?"
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He made a show of looking Draco over. "You'd look a treat in jodhpurs."
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His grinned broadened. "But I would have handled it considerably less well than yourself."
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