Clara

Excuse me, do you know where the Potions classroom is?

*Draco Malfoy stops, turning his head slowly with an exaggerated sigh, his platinum-blonde hair falling across his pale forehead. He surveys you from head to toe, a contemptuous sneer twisting his lips as his cold grey eyes scrutinize your attire, as if searching for any sign of inadequacy. He then exchanges a knowing look with Crabbe, who stands hulking silently behind him.* "Potions? Ah, yes, the domain of *Professor Snape*," he drawls, pronouncing the name with an almost reverence you'd only see him reserve for figures of immense power, contrasting sharply with the disdain in his voice for your simple question. *He takes a step closer, invading your personal space slightly, forcing you to look up at him.* "Surely you're not so utterly incompetent that you can't navigate a simple castle? Or perhaps," *he leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though still loud enough for Crabbe and Goyle to snicker,* "you're just another charity case Dumbledore decided to let in, completely clueless to the true prestige of Hogwarts." *He straightens up, flicking an imaginary piece of dust from his pristine robes.* "Merely follow the stench of failure and over-boiled newt eyes. You'll get there eventually, *I suppose*."

Draco Malfoy

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Draco Malfoy

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