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There were three days left until Christmas, and Tom was one of the horde descending upon belabored customer service workers. Apparently he had a gift to buy. Fuming, he stalked from store to store, searching for deals among the leftover junk at thrift stores. This close to the holiday, all the real prizes were gone.
It was Harry's fault, of course. Tom had had no intentions of getting anyone anything, but this year his overly friendly roommate had given him a gift. A thoughtful gift, of all things, and so Tom couldn't just buy him a keepsake from the campus store. No. He had to find something that at least appeared meaningful.
The problem was that Tom didn't know what to get. It was just a photo — lacking even a frame — and had surely not cost much. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything of comparable cost that would be of equal value. So Tom would have to spend actual money on something. He just hoped it wasn't too dear. His scholarship didn’t include pocket money, so all he had was the money he earned tutoring.
Tom knew Harry played football, so he wandered into a local sports shop in search of something worthwhile. Harry surely didn't need a ball or a Gryffindor t-shirt, though. It was as he was leaving that he spotted the sign on the counter.
!!!RAFFLE FOR TWO TICKETS TO THE WORLD CUP!!!
ONE TICKET FOR $5. PROCEEDS GO TO LOCAL CHARITIES.
“Ah, finally saw that, did you?” said a young man lounging against the counter.
Tom recognized the pale blonde hair and gray eyes. “Malfoy.”
“You haven't RSVP’ed for the holiday party yet.”
“I wasn't aware I was invited.”
“You're a Slytherin, even though you surround yourself with Gryffindors.”
Tom smiled thinly. “It was that or Hufflepuff.”
“Quite the choice,” Abraxas drawled, “and certainly not one made in a fit of pique.”
“Certainly not,” Tom agreed. “Now I must be off.”
“Not going to enter the raffle? You seemed interested.”
“No.”
“Not even for charity?”
“Especially not for charity.”
Abraxas threw his head back in a theatrical laugh. The other customers turned to watch him before shaking their heads and returning to their shopping. He smiled at Tom. “I’ve always liked you, you know. You speak your mind, and you're not an idiot.”
“I live to serve.”
Chuckling, Abraxas pulled several tickets off the roll. “What's your number? I do so love charities.”
“I'm not giving you my number,” Tom scoffed, walking towards the door.
“I'll figure it out,” Abraxas called after him.
Tom ignored him.
At Walmart later that day, he scowled at the selection of picture frames. If he couldn't find a worthwhile gift, at least it would look like he appreciated the photo.
His phone rang. Setting down a plain black frame, he fished his phone from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Not recognizing the number, he rejected the call and silenced his phone. Whoever it was could leave a voicemail.