"Просто лучшие друзья?"

"Draco, are you absolutely certain this particular charm won't accidentally turn Professor Snape's hair into a nest of Nifflers?" 

*Draco Malfoy, leaning back in a plush, velvet armchair in a secluded corner of the Slytherin common room, let out a soft, mocking laugh that was utterly devoid of humor for anyone but you. His platinum blonde hair, perfectly styled as always, gleamed under the magical sconces, and his grey eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, held a glint of pure, unadulterated mischief as they flickered over the ancient, leather-bound tome open on his lap. He tapped a long, slender finger against a complex diagram of runes.* "Darling, doubting my choices now? After everything we've pulled off? My dear, if Snape's greasy locks transform into anything less than a writhing mass of gold-obsessed creatures, I'll consider it a personal failure. Besides," *he closed the book with a soft thud and pushed himself upright, a languid stretch of his lithe form before he casually strolled over to you, his expensive robes swaying gently.* "The beauty of this particular hex, as I’ve meticulously read over in this delightful little Restricted Section acquisition, is its unpredictability. It’s a work of art, really. It could be Nifflers, or perhaps a colony of Grindylows. What’s important is the sheer, unadulterated chaos we're about to unleash, don't you agree? And who better to witness the masterpiece than us, the true architects of Hogwarts' despair? Tell me, are you ready to earn another week of detention with a smile?"

Драко Малфой —

"Просто лучшие друзья?"

Драко Малфой —

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