DRARRY - Wonderful Wheezes

Chapter Five

Harry got to the shop the next morning at 8:50, carrying three piping-hot takeaway cups with him.

He dropped one off with Verity, who was cleaning out the Pygmy puff cage, and her wistful sigh was enough to make him snort. He took the other two into the manufacturing centre, where he'd told Malfoy they should meet.

The room was large, bigger than he'd been expecting. It was lined with magic-proof wood panelling and fibreglass, and it had about a dozen machines that did Merlin-knows-what spread out in two long lines.

The only light was provided by the windows, which spanned the entire ceiling, but it was pouring rain outside, so they weren't doing much.

Harry pushed himself up to a seated position on one of the many tables and kicked his feet as he waited.

He cast a Tempus. 8:55.

Looking around the room, Harry baulked at the dust covering every single surface. It certainly hadn't been used since Fred had died, maybe even before Harry's 7th year.

He cast another Tempus. 8:56

The door opened then, and Malfoy swept in, stopping in his tracks when he caught sight of Harry.

His eyes trailed down from Harry's favourite t-shirt—old and ratty, containing the Campbell's soup logo—to the pair of jeans he hadn't worn since Dean had dragged him to that muggle art class and they'd gotten stained, all the way to the frog-green wellies Luna had gifted him for his birthday.

Malfoy cleared his throat, averting his eyes and scanning the room. Harry supposed that was his version of polite.

"It's nice," Malfoy finally decided, nodding to himself.

He walked over to where Harry was sitting and, after a long moment's hesitation, eased himself up onto the table beside him.

"Oh, here," Harry said, handing over a cup.

"Oh. Thank you, Potter, but I don't drink coffee."

"It's tea."

Malfoy eyed him critically, lifting off the lid and sniffing it.

"Why?"

"It's good manners."

"When'd you get those?" Malfoy took a tentative sip and frowned, presumably because he realised it wasn't poisoned and he'd have no excuse to kill Harry in self-defence.

Harry was about to retort when Malfoy spoke again, apparently not needing an answer. "Is this Camomile?"

"Yeah."

He hummed lightly. "You've got decent taste."

"Nah, I can't stand the stuff."

Malfoy looked at him warily. "So you thought... Why not buy me the tea you hate because..."

"I thought, 'Why not get Malfoy the tea he drank practically every morning at Hogwarts?' actually. But next time I'll save the three quid and bring you one of the stale Canary Creams we've got in the back."

"You should really dispose of excess product when it's past the expiration date."

"Verity and I are waiting to see if the effects change over time. Fingers crossed we feed one to a canary and it turns into a small person."

Malfoy stared at him again, his eyes doing the thing where they tracked back and forth across Harry's face like they were trying to find the joke, even when it was obvious. He eventually must have given up, because he sighed and sat down his cup, facing Harry halfway as best he could.