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Summary
"And you want to be unhappy with me? Fuck off, Potter." Malfoy hisses and summons two glasses of pumpkin juice for them, offering one to Harry.
"You know what I meant." Harry says before sitting up and taking a sip. It’s the perfect temperature. Damn Malfoy and his bloody impressive wandless magic. "Just put me out of my misery. You can have whatever you want, you know." He sighs. They aren't getting anywhere and Malfoy isn’t brave, really, he wouldn't just put himself out there without knowing the exact outcome.
"You're completely nuts to offer me something like that." Malfoy says and Scourgifies them, then summons a fresh set of clothes, no less pretentious than what he's worn to Diagon Alley. "Dinner's ready in ten." He adds and frowns at Harry before a set of dress pants and a button-up shirt appear presumably in Harry's size.