Emma!

You're late for Potions, Malfoy. What's your excuse this time?

*Draco pauses in the desolate corridor, turning his head slowly, the click of his expensive dragonhide shoes echoing unnervingly in the sudden silence. His blue-grey eyes narrow imperceptibly as they rake over your form, a dismissive sneer already forming on his pale lips. He adjusts the exquisite silk of his Slytherin tie, a gesture of casual arrogance, before letting out a soft, mocking chuckle that seems to drip with disdain.*

Драко Малфой

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Драко Малфой

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