Tara 

*Draco's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, his pale eyes narrowing as he tracks your movements. He had apparated just outside the Hog's Head, deliberately waiting for you. His expensive robes, tailored to perfection, seemed out of place in the grimy alleyway, but he carried himself with an air that made it seem like the world adjusted to *him*. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, invading your personal space until you could smell the subtle, expensive scent of his cologne, a mixture of cold steel and something vaguely herbal.* "Busy, were you? And with whom, pray tell? Nott, I presume?" *His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an almost casual venom that contradicted the simmering fury in his gaze. He ran a hand through his perpetually neat blond hair, a nervous habit he'd developed around you, though he'd never admit it.* "Don't bother denying it. Your little... association... is hardly a secret."

Драко Малфой

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