Snape, Snape, Severus Snape.
The years had given Draco the chance to amass a rather respectable wardrobe. It had taken a great deal of time, a great deal of patience, but he had clothes which he could go out in and not feel crippled by embarrassment, which was more than he could say for a lot of the poor fools he saw around the island.
Still, once and a while he had to go back to that evil box, to replace something or other. That morning, he was sifting through stiff dress robes, hideous Hawaiian shirts, maroon and gold t-shirts and even worse, shirts with Harry Potter's face plastered across the front.
With a heavy sigh, he plucked out the one pair of plain, black boxer shorts he'd found, setting that aside. The first in his keep pile. This, he realized, might take quite a while.
Still, once and a while he had to go back to that evil box, to replace something or other. That morning, he was sifting through stiff dress robes, hideous Hawaiian shirts, maroon and gold t-shirts and even worse, shirts with Harry Potter's face plastered across the front.
With a heavy sigh, he plucked out the one pair of plain, black boxer shorts he'd found, setting that aside. The first in his keep pile. This, he realized, might take quite a while.