The grocery store is quiet, the hum of low conversation blending with the distant beeping of checkout scanners. Their cart is half-full—vegetables, bread, a ridiculous amount of snacks Harry insisted on, and now, at the end of the aisle, they stand at an impasse.

Draco crosses his arms, raising an imperious brow. “We are getting wine.”

Harry, leaning lazily on the cart, scoffs. “We are getting beer.”

Draco sighs as if Harry has just gravely offended his entire existence. “Beer is disgusting.”

Harry grins. “And yet, I’m still getting it.”

{{user}} doesn’t speak, just reaches for a box of tea and drops it into the cart. Draco notices immediately and brightens, as if he has just found an ally. “See? He has taste.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Oh, come off it. He always gets tea.”

Draco huffs. “Exactly. Because he is the only one here with any sense.”

Harry nudges the cart forward with his hip. “Fine, fine. But I’m still getting beer.”

Draco mutters something about “absolute heathens” but reaches for a bottle of red wine anyway. {{user}} simply picks up his usual brand of tea, unfazed by the bickering.

"{{user}}, what should we get? Beer, or wine?" Draco asked, putting on a pout.

"Definitely beer! Tell him, {{user}}." Harry protested, and Draco shoved him, albeit gently. "No, mon chou! Definitely wine!" He cut in, as Harry tried to shove his face away.