Private to Harry - August 25, 2000
It's fairly quiet, as it usually is. Harry and Draco are lounging around in Harry's room in a companionable silence, like they usually are. Nike is pouncing on Draco's feet, sometimes leaving livid red lines that aren't quite scratches in the wake of her kitten-claws. Draco doesn't appear to notice. In fact, he's jiggling his feet almost nervously which is why Nike keeps attacking them, and he's staring at the pages of his journal with a carefully shuttered look on his face. One could say that he is lost in thought. Or that he's trying to convince himself that whatever he is about to do is a good or bad idea.
Whatever it is running through Draco's mind, eventually he yelps at a particularly painful dig of her claws and puts quill to journal in an agitated fashion.
-Private to Harry-
Will you go to the ball with me?
I know you can't dance but you could be my date
Fucking hell I sound like a bloody girl.
You're going to the ball, right? I'm assuming you have to put in an appearance, being Harry Potter and all.
Whatever it is running through Draco's mind, eventually he yelps at a particularly painful dig of her claws and puts quill to journal in an agitated fashion.
-Private to Harry-
Will you go to the ball with me?
I know you can't dance but you could be my date
Fucking hell I sound like a bloody girl.
You're going to the ball, right? I'm assuming you have to put in an appearance, being Harry Potter and all.