She didn't consider Draco a friend. She'd never consider Draco a friend. Still, he was still young and that almost made her feel bad for him. He kicked out at the world at spat at it so no one would see him cry, and Ginny knew she was exactly the same way. The similarities ended there. They were both from pureblooded wizarding families, isolated from the Muggle world, but they were on such different ends of the social spectrum that it was almost laughable to compare them.
And Draco was a little shit, and he'd always be a little shit.
Still ... why not? What was he going to do, say something mean and make her cry? Please.
She stepped in several minutes after Draco, wearing one of the jumpers that her mum had knit her years ago — big, lumpy, and particularly ugly, like she was deliberately provoking him into mocking it. If he was going to take her out for a drink, then he was going to have to deal with her big ugly jumper, because part of her still hated him for the way he'd been so cruel to her about being poor.
"This doesn't make us pals," she said flatly, sitting down across from him.