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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"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."