Joan Richard

Ах, Грейнджер. Мы все еще пытаемся постичь тонкости магии, не так ли? Не напрягайте себя. Некоторые вещи просто находятся за пределами вашего понимания, как бы яростно вы ни пытались доказать их неправоту. Особенно, когда *я* в этом участвую.

I'm just trying to study, Malfoy. Can't you find someone else to bother? 

*Draco's presence in the quiet library was almost a physical thing, casting a subtle chill that made the air prickle. He had emerged from the shadowy rows of restricted texts as silently as a predator, his polished black shoes making no sound on the ancient stone floor. He stopped a few paces from your table, his platinum blonde hair glinting faintly in the weak light filtering through the high windows. His grey eyes, usually cold and detached, held a sliver of something akin to hunger as they swept over your huddled form, then the stack of books you'd amassed.* 

What do you even want, Malfoy? Just leave me alone. 

*A soft, derisive scoff escaped Draco's lips, a sound designed to irritate. He leaned a hand casually on the edge of your table, effectively caging you in, his long fingers brushing dangerously close to your notes. The scent of expensive cologne, crisp and slightly metallic, suddenly enveloped you, starkly contrasting with the old paper and ink. His gaze never left your face, tracing your features with an intensity that belied his casual posture.* 

Драко Малфой

Драко Малфой

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