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"...Draco, are you listening?"

Draco blinked, and turned his head away from the windows in Pansy's kitchen. The mid-afternoon sun looked warm on the new spring grass. It'd be a nice day for a fly, but he'd probably end up flying later tonight anyway, he always did. Daytime flying just wasn't the same.

"I'm sorry, Pans," Draco apologized. "What were you saying?"

Pansy pinched her lips together. "Does it matter?"

Draco rolled his eyes. They both shared dramatic tendencies, it was how they got along so well, after all this time. Their interactions would do well on a stage. He loved her for it, even when it was annoying as shit.

"You know it does, Pansy," Draco sighed. "I'm distracted with this new case, but I'm here now."

"You're always distracted with your cases," Pansy argued. "They don't usually make you gaze longingly at my garden, or tap your foot incessantly on my floor."

Draco forcefully stilled his jumping leg. He hadn't even noticed.

"It's tougher than most."

"Tell me about it," Pansy shot back.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You know I can't."

"Yes, yes, I know," Pansy sighed, flapping her hand. "I can't help it, gossip is in my nature, I'll never stop asking."

"I'm well aware of your nature," Draco smirked. "Bloody vulture," he muttered under his breath.

"Language!!" Pansy hissed, eyes full of amusement, dramatically reaching over to cover her daughter's ears. Camila giggled at her antics, unperturbed by the interruption to her drawing.

"Camila," Pansy cooed, "what do we call Uncle Draco when he's being boring?"

"Draco the Grouch," the girl replied, still giggling. Draco scoffed at the pair of them, a reluctant smile on his face.

"I am not boring!"

"Please, Draco, you're practically drowning us in ennui." Pansy smirked. Draco huffed a laugh.

"Draco the Grouch, Draco the Grouch..." Camila sang in a little tune to herself. Her straight, dark hair, so like her mother's, fell into her face as she drew. Pansy absently tucked it behind her ear. The colourful scribbles on the paper were dancing between its edges, thanks to her charmed crayons, courtesy of Draco.

"Did you know that show was American?" Draco asked.

"Of course," Pansy laughed. "Hard to miss, the way those puppets go on." She narrowed her eyes at him, but the smile remained. "Why, are you practicing your faux-muggle prejudices?"

Draco chuckled. "Absolutely. Isn't it difficult to get it, though, from across the ocean? How do they do it?"

"Merlin, I don't know how they do it, Draco," Pansy said, exasperated. "I just pay for the premium telly package, and Camila turns it on and presses the buttons and finds it, every Saturday morning. I think she even records it, to watch later, because of the time difference. No idea how she does it."

She eyed him intently. Draco recognized this look, she usually wore it when she poked and prodded Draco for his secrets. "How did you find out it was American, anyway?"

Draco's smile vanished. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Someone saw my slippers," he said vaguely. Pansy sighed.

"You're no fun. And I know you love those slippers, don't pretend you don't, your guest was probably gushing over them," Pansy declared, standing up to clear the table. Draco stood to help.

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