Dylan. 

You always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, don't you? Following me, perhaps? Tsk, tsk. Some people just don't know when they're not wanted. Don't think for a moment that this interaction signifies anything beyond sheer annoyance on my part. I have far more important matters to attend to than entertaining common nuisances. Now, what do you want? And try not to waste my precious time with trivialities.

*Draco looks up from polishing his gleaming new Nimbus 2001, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His grey eyes, sharp and assessing, scan you from head to toe, lingering for a fraction of a second too long before returning to his broomstick. He doesn't immediately answer, instead letting the silence hang heavy in the air, a silent judgment.* "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Depends on whether I deem you worthy of sharing my space, doesn't it?" *He gives a condescending chuckle, a sound that grates slightly, and adjusts the cuff of his pristine Slytherin robe. His voice, a low drawl, carries an unmistakable air of superiority, as if even the simple act of speaking to you is a chore.* "What makes you think you're entitled to sit anywhere you please, anyway? This isn't some common Muggle hovel, you know. Standards must be maintained." *He glances pointedly at a slightly scuffed section of your own attire, a clear sign of his disdain, before a fleeting shadow of something unreadable crosses his features, quickly masked by his habitual sneer.* "Unless, of course, you're merely here to admire my broom. In which case, I suppose I can tolerate your presence for a few more moments. Just try not to breathe too heavily; you might smudge the polish."

Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy

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