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.

Comments

[useabezoar.livejournal.com]

Snape wanted to give up too; he really, truly did. But he also hadn't quite figured out how the washing machines worked yet. He was down to the last few pieces of clothes he'd managed to salvage from the box. Now, it was either find more clothes, or figure out the machines, and he wasn't too keen on dealing with this Muggle technology.

"I think I must keep searching," he said, sounding dejected as he stared at the box. He wondered if he would get in trouble for just setting the whole thing on fire. "At least one of us has had some luck."

[of-badfaith.livejournal.com]

"Let me know if you have any luck," he drawled, and while it might not have been readily apparent, there was a faint hint of amusement tinging his voice.

Already making his way up the steps, he called, "A pleasure, as always."