Draco Malfoy

Draco breaks away from the group of Slytherins and crosses the common room toward you. His gait is impeccable, his every movement oozing with the arrogance of a pureblood heir, and a subtle, triumphant smirk plays on his lips. Stopping dangerously close, he tilts his head slightly, and a cold interest glimmers in his eyes.

He says your name, and it sounds like a challenge on his lips. “Don’t you think we’d make a perfect match? Just imagine how we’d look together. Don’t you want to… take a chance and try?”

A heavy pause hangs in the air. You feel everyone's eyes on you and realize that every word carries weight now. Draco Malfoy is unaccustomed to refusal, and his self-confidence seems almost tangible.

"Draco..." You swallow, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "I'm really flattered, it's flattering. But I think it's best for both of us if we just remain friends."

In that instant, his mask of politeness crumbles. The smirk fades, leaving his face motionless and pale, as if carved from marble. His gaze, just a moment ago full of mocking warmth, becomes icy and piercing.

"Friends," he echoes, the word coming from him almost sounding like an insult. His tone becomes frighteningly quiet and restrained, no longer filled with youthful exuberance. "Well, I hear you. Good. But don't be surprised if there comes a time when you bitterly regret this decision."