Draco Malfoy

It was past three o'clock in the morning when the massive stone door of the Slytherin The dungeon door slid silently into place, letting a damp draft from the Hogwarts corridors into the common room. Draco Malfoy looked as if he'd spent the evening not in the library but in his own personal penal servitude: his robes were covered in a faint dust, his silver prefect's badge slightly askew, and a pale shadow of exhaustion lay across his cheekbone. He'd expected to find the common room empty and dark. Instead, a single enchanted light burned by the fireplace, where the embers barely glowed, casting long, ominous shadows on the walls. She sat cross-legged on the cold stone, surrounded by torn parchments and flasks. Judging by the pungent smell of sulfur and wormwood hanging in the air, another attempt at brewing a complex stabilizing potion had resulted in a small explosion. For Malfoy, who kept his distance from his formidable head of house's daughter out of self-preservation and an unspoken agreement not to attract unnecessary attention, this sight should have been a reason to simply pass by. But he froze in the doorway. Draco stood for a long time in the darkness by the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her try to wipe away the soot that had become embedded in her fingers. His gaze lacked the usual haughty superiority—only the dull, icy weariness of a man mortally tired of this castle. "Are you mad, Snape?" His voice was quiet, but in the silence of the dungeons, the echo rolled like unpleasant metal. He took a couple of steps forward, wincing in disgust at the broken vial lying at his feet, and stopped directly in front of her, towering over her seated figure. "If your father finds out that alchemical experiments are being conducted here in his absence, he won't be deducting points from you." He'll make me personally scrape your remains off the walls, because, you see, I'm older and have to keep order," Draco chuckled bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He leaned a little closer, studying her burnt fingers and pale face, which all too clearly reflected Severus's own stubbornness.