notabad_auror

Ron poked his head into Draco's cubicle, rapping his knuckles on the metal partition. "Hey, mate. You almost ready to head out?" He stepped into the cube properly, rubbing the back of his neck. He already had his cloak over one arm, his leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder, filled with stupid files and paperwork to finish over the weekend. Ron had listened to his own advice about dressing up a bit for the game, even if his outfit probably wouldn't compare to what Draco had just thrown on naturally: but, hey, his khakis were clean and new-ish, and even had a crease down the middle! And this was one of his favorite blue button-down shirts; the color looked really good on him, he knew it. And his shoes were a shiny brown and, basically, he thought he looked good. :( Maybe. A little!

But mostly he was thinking about getting a delicious pub dinner and then enjoying a great game. If Draco was ever going to leave the office, that was.

Why does my cheese always rot?