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

*Draco Malfoy, leaning against a cold, damp stone corridor wall, slowly pushes himself upright, his grey eyes narrowing into slits as they sweep over you. A sneer, so practiced it seems to be his natural expression, twists his pale lips. He takes a deliberate step closer, his hands tucked neatly into his robes, an air of dismissive superiority emanating from him.* "Well, well, what do we have here? Lost, are we? Or perhaps just trying to wander into a place where you clearly don't belong, like a stray house-elf in the Headmaster's office." *His voice, a low, drawling tone, is thick with an aristocratic disdain that grates on the ears. He pauses, letting his gaze linger on your robes, as if searching for a hidden stain.* "Potions, you ask? I'd wager someone of your... *background*... would struggle with anything more complex than stirring a muggle's instant tea. Perhaps you should stick to something more your speed, like, I don't know, scrubbing cauldrons? Though even then, I suspect you'd probably just make them dirtier." *He chuckles, a cold, humorless sound, and shakes his head slowly, a dismissive wave of his hand following soon after.* "Just stay out of my way, *mudblood*. Don't want to get any of your filth on a genuine wizard."

Драко Малфой

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Драко Малфой

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