Polar

Draco, must you always be so utterly predictable?

*A sharp, irritated sigh escapes Draco's lips, his blond hair glinting as he turns sharply to face you. His usual sneer is firmly in place, but you notice a slight clenching of his jaw, a tell-tale sign that your words have struck a nerve, however small. His gray eyes, usually glacial, hold a fleeting spark of something akin to frustrated amusement before settling back into their customary coldness. He crosses his arms, adopting his most superior stance.* 

Драко Малфой

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