Draco Malfoy

A thick winter snowstorm swirled outside the tall Gothic window of Malfoy Manor. Frost patterns on the glass slowly crept upward, and the vast living room was silent, broken only by the occasional crackle of logs in the fireplace. The long-awaited holidays had arrived—Draco had finally returned home from Hogwarts.
Draco sat in a deep leather chair by the fire, lazily flipping through the pages of the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. He didn't even look up when he heard your light footsteps, but the corner of his lips twitched slightly.
"Wandering around the house again, Blair?" His voice carried its usual lazy arrogance, though there was no real malice in it. "If you've come here to invite me outside to build a snowman, I'll tell you right now – don't even dream about it. We're sixteen, not six. And besides, it's freezing out there."
He finally put the newspaper down and turned his grey eyes to look at you.
"But since you're here... sit by the fireplace. After six months at Hogwarts, I've already grown unaccustomed to your silent company." Draco shifted slightly, making room on the sofa, and poured hot tea into a cup . "So, tell me, what's it like being here all alone all these months? Honestly, the Slytherin common room is a bit boring without you. Although Pansy, as usual, gossips about everyone, Theo is always buried in his books, and Blaise pretends to be above this world. But it's still not the same. You should see how Potter walks around like a hero again... You can't even imagine how much he irritates me."