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Harry finds him instantly, of course. He always does.
“Potter!” Draco snaps, or tries to, hard to sound intimidating when he’s currently fun-sized. “How do you always manage to find me? Picking up your old stalking habits again?”
Harry just grins down at him, entirely too pleased with himself. “Not my fault you’re so easy to spot, Malfoy. Besides, not many ferrets glare at me the way you do.”
“I do not glare.”
“You do,” Harry says, and his voice goes annoyingly fond. “In fact, you’re doing it right now. Though I have to admit it’s kind of adorable when you’re this small.”
Draco bristles, quite literally, which is mortifying. “Keep talking like that and I’ll bite.”
“Not sure that counts as a threat anymore,” Harry murmurs, lifting him with both hands like Draco weighs nothing at all, “when you fit so perfectly in my hands like this.”
“Shut up, Potter! Now put me down!”
Harry just shakes his head, as he looks at Draco like he’s something precious. “Not a chance. You’ll just run off again, and I’m starting to think” his smile softens “you enjoy being caught by me.”
And the worst part is that Draco does. But he’ll hex Potter before he ever admits it.
