“That was three hours I’ll never get back,” Harry grumbled, “Wizarding opera. It’s a bloody good job you’re fit, love. I wouldn’t put up with this nonsense otherwise-”
Draco smirked at Harry’s annoyance. “I have to put up with your loutish Muggle football, Potter. The occasional evening of refined entertainment is the smallest of compromises.”
Harry handed over their cloakroom tickets to the waiting Opera House Elf.
“Merlin, Draco!” Harry exclaimed. “You wore your grey wool Versace? It’s still winter-”
“Fashion before comfort, Potter,” Draco sniffed. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Take my coat,” demanded Harry. “It’s cold outside.”