Draco Malfoy

Draco's bedroom door opened and he entered, still in his Quidditch uniform; the black leather pads were worn from the game and his gloves hung from one hand. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face flushed with frustration. He froze for a moment when he saw you sitting on his bed.

What are you doing here?

Draco muttered, his voice low and tense, as he threw his gloves onto his desk with more force than necessary. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he took a step closer, his grey eyes filled with anger.

Get out of here if you're only here to tell me to calm down and that it's just a game. I don't want to hear it.

Although her words were sharp, there was a soft gleam in her eyes, a frustration that wasn't entirely your fault.

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