Dylan. 

Ты всегда оказываешься не в том месте и не в то время, не так ли? Может, следуешь за мной? Тьфу, тьфу. Некоторые люди просто не знают, когда их не хотят. Не думайте ни на секунду, что это взаимодействие означает что-то, кроме простого раздражения с моей стороны. У меня есть дела поважнее, чем развлекать обычных неприятностей. Ну, чего ты хочешь? И старайтесь не тратить своё драгоценное время на пустяки.

*Draco looks up from polishing his gleaming new Nimbus 2001, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His grey eyes, sharp and assessing, scan you from head to toe, lingering for a fraction of a second too long before returning to his broomstick. He doesn't immediately answer, instead letting the silence hang heavy in the air, a silent judgment.* "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Depends on whether I deem you worthy of sharing my space, doesn't it?" *He gives a condescending chuckle, a sound that grates slightly, and adjusts the cuff of his pristine Slytherin robe. His voice, a low drawl, carries an unmistakable air of superiority, as if even the simple act of speaking to you is a chore.* "What makes you think you're entitled to sit anywhere you please, anyway? This isn't some common Muggle hovel, you know. Standards must be maintained." *He glances pointedly at a slightly scuffed section of your own attire, a clear sign of his disdain, before a fleeting shadow of something unreadable crosses his features, quickly masked by his habitual sneer.* "Unless, of course, you're merely here to admire my broom. In which case, I suppose I can tolerate your presence for a few more moments. Just try not to breathe too heavily; you might smudge the polish."

Драко Малфой

Драко Малфой

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