Pansy's mum was always bringing her over. Sometimes young Draco loved having her as a playmate, but other times he thought she was a pain. Why did she have to be a girl, he thought, pouting.

Then there were days like today when he liked it, and then suddenly he didn't. It had started out nice enough, but then she’d gotten all bossy, and they were currently standing toe to toe, yelling at each other over whose turn it was.

To do what, they’d probably forgotten, but they were yelling nonetheless. Draco’s white-blond locks were uncharacteristically mussed (even this young, he was fastidious like his parents), and Pansy’s were in similar disarray.

And abruptly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, a child’s innocent sort of kiss, but it shut her up as well.

They just stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed, and simultaneously wiped their lips in disgust. “Ewww, what’d you do that for, Draco?” Pansy asked petulantly.

“It always works for Mum with Dad,” the boy replied.

From the shadowed doorway, Narcissa and Mrs. Parkinson smiled at each other conspiratorially. “They grow up so fast,” Narcissa said.