Draco really wanted a competition-grade broomstick, but neither Narcissa nor Lucius had bought him one. Nor did Draco have a loving godfather or other elder who would grant his every wish. So far, he only had a toy broomstick meant for children.
Although Draco could barely drag himself away whenever he passed the Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley, he did not throw tantrums like other children, rolling around and shouting, "Buy me one!"
Lucius had very much wanted to buy Draco a broomstick, for much the same reason he had invested money in setting up a Potions laboratory for him. But Narcissa had said no, so he truly would not buy one, even though the Galleons in his pocket were enough to buy the entire Quidditch shop.
"So that jet was compensation for Draco?" Pomona asked.
"Who have you ever heard of using an airliner to make up for a broomstick?" Severus mocked.
"It might not make sense with anyone else." Pomona sighed. "But when it happens to a Malfoy, it seems perfectly normal."
Snape picked up a freshly harvested Shrivelfig, glanced at Pomona, and asked, "Can I have one?"
"Of course." She was generous; these fruits had all been prepared for the Potions Tournament, and she had picked plenty.
Using a small silver knife, he cut the fig in half and gave one half to Pomona.
She caught it, but he smelled of weasel, so after taking the fig, she stepped half a pace back.
"You're really starting to smell like it." Pomona teased. "Why didn't you come out that day?"
Shamelessly, he moved closer and ate the Shrivelfig shoulder to shoulder with her.
"Have you heard that Dumbledore and Grindelwald once made a Blood Pact?" he suddenly asked.
"You mean the Blood Pact that meant they would never