It started as a joke. A harmless, ridiculous joke. But now, as Draco once again wordlessly slipped a handful of Galleons into your palm, you were starting to think he’d actually adopted the role.

You raised a brow at him, jingling the coins in your hand. “You know, Malfoy, most people ask before handing over money.”

Draco rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with his usual haughty air. “Consider it an investment.”

“Investment in what, exactly?”

“You,” he drawled, smirking. “You like expensive things, and I happen to have expensive tastes. It’s mutually beneficial.”

You scoffed. “You just don’t like seeing me buy things with my own money.”

Draco didn’t deny it. Instead, he picked an imaginary piece of lint off his perfectly pressed robes and shrugged. “It’s unbecoming. You shouldn’t have to—” he made a vague, dismissive gesture “—fumble around with knuts like a commoner.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “So you’d rather just bankroll me like some sort of sugar—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Draco cut in sharply, face turning a shade pinker than usual.

You grinned. “Oh, I’m finishing it. Like some sort of sugar—”

Draco groaned and dramatically threw a hand over his face, muttering something about regretting every decision that had led to this moment. But when you pocketed the coins and turned toward the shop, he followed without hesitation.

Because really, at the end of the day, you were his greatest investment.