Snape, Snape, Severus Snape.

[ferretface_git]

The years had given Draco the chance to amass a rather respectable wardrobe. It had taken a great deal of time, a great deal of patience, but he had clothes which he could go out in and not feel crippled by embarrassment, which was more than he could say for a lot of the poor fools he saw around the island.

Still, once and a while he had to go back to that evil box, to replace something or other. That morning, he was sifting through stiff dress robes, hideous Hawaiian shirts, maroon and gold t-shirts and even worse, shirts with Harry Potter's face plastered across the front.

With a heavy sigh, he plucked out the one pair of plain, black boxer shorts he'd found, setting that aside. The first in his keep pile. This, he realized, might take quite a while.

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Snape had been introduced to the clothes box shortly after arrival. It was a fact of life that he'd needed to become accustomed to. After all, he couldn't survive on washing the same clothes over and over again, and his traditional heavy black clothing wasn't particularly island-friendly, unless he wanted to die of heat stroke.

Having found himself nearly out of respectable clothing, but holding only a rudimentary understanding of these washing machine contraptions, he forced himself to go to wage battle with the box.

Someone else had beat him to it, however, though he found himself relieved to know that it was Draco and not anyone unsavory, like Sirius Black. That would just be intolerable.

Silently, he stood at the box, staring down at it for a good moment or two, before sighing heavily. "This doesn't get any easier then, does it?" he asked, starting down at the garish pile of clothing.