He's weighed down by a dozen parcels.

Malfoy is next to him, swinging his arms freely, a spring in his step.

"I wish you'd been in Slytherin all along. If we'd just known you're a Snape --"

"I'm not a Snape."

"Of course you are."

"No, Malfoy, I'm not. Snape doesn't want me. He was kind of clear on that."

Extremely clear.

Malfoy stops and turns to face him, forcing him to stop too, and then he smiles.

"We're just going to have to work on that."

He slaps Harry on the back.

"Trust me."

As if he ever would.