The Auror Chronicles

Pixies' Hideaway

The shelves of Bumble & Hoots were endlessly dusty. It didn't seem to matter how often Draco went over them with the Fussy-Duster-Dust-Buster, the bloody dust bunnies would always crawl back out of the nooks and crannies he couldn't reach, just to tease him. Along with all the other cleaning supplies, the Fussy-Duster-Dust-Buster had been made unenchantable by the store's owner, Mrs Houch, to stop staff from slacking off.

An enchanted duster would do a significantly better job than a disenchanted employee, Draco noted sullenly.

The store's door chime rang, indicating someone had entered. Draco's natural response was to hide behind the shelving, in case it was someone he knew from Voldemort's army, or worse, from Hogwarts. From his poor vantage point, Draco couldn't see who it was, but he quickly became distracted by a hoard of overconfident dust bunny tails being shaken right in his face.

"You're a bunch of dirty twits, the lot of you!" Draco whispered viciously to the dust bunnies as he dusted them off the shelves in one fell swoop, each one poofing out of existence as it hit the floor.

"Some things never change," said a voice behind him.

"Egotistical, pompous, downright stupid... where have I heard that voice before?" said Draco, standing as tall as he could and spinning around. "Ah, Potter, it's you!"

"I mean, clearly, a lot has changed," Harry continued, gesturing between them to make a point that he was dressed smartly in a voluminous green velvet cloak, while Draco was wearing the same shirt he'd worn the last three days in a row. "But you're still a bully. Big surprise."

"Here to defend the constitutional rights of dust bunnies, are you? Got Granger making god awful pins under that tent of a cloak?" Draco asked, pushing past Harry to stow the Fussy-Duster-Dust-Buster beneath the counter.

Harry pulled at the sleeve of the cloak and Draco smirked, knowing he'd hit a nerve.

"Oh, I see, like-mother-like-daughter, eh? You've been cursed by the Weasley women to dress horribly for the rest of your days."

"Watch it, Malfoy," Harry said with an agitated tone.

"What would you call yourselves... let's see..." Draco snapped his fingers, amused. "How about the DIMWITs? The Dust-bunny Institution of Malpractice, Welfare and Inequitable Treatment."

"Been thinking of that one for a while?" Harry snarked.

"No, actually, it's called having a quick-wit. You have one of your own, you know, her name's Granger. Must hurt to try to come up with ideas without her."

"Still looking for any excuse to bring up Hermione, I see," Harry shot back.

"Nice, so she has to be of romantic interest for me to hate her. That's sexist." Draco rolled his eyes mockingly, enjoying the opportunity to once again ruffle perfect Potter's delicate feathers.

"I never said that," Harry said, pointedly. Draco decided to pivot from that particular conversation.

"Are you going to buy anything, Potter? No? Then I have no interest in anything you have to say."

Harry looked around and reached for a small, porcelain cat painted vibrantly in a rather obnoxious pattern. He placed it on the counter between Draco and himself.

"Wonderful choice, sir. Interesting thing about this cat is that it's actually a moneybox. Unfortunately, you need money to both purchase it and use it. Keep that dream alive, though. It's refreshing to see."

Harry's eyes widened with incredulity. "Are we really going to pretend that you're not working as a store clerk because you obviously can't access your trust fund while mummy and daddy are on the run?"