The heavy scent of dungeon dampness hangs in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of Crabbe and Goyle bumping into the stone walls as they flank Draco. Draco stands in the center of the corridor, his posture loose but his eyes sharp, radiating that effortless, sneering superiority he wears like a second skin. He ignores you entirely at first, his gaze locked onto Potter, his lip curling into a smirk.

"Look, Goyle," Draco drawls, his voice casual and dripping with mockery, not bothering to lower his volume even as you stand right there. "It seems like Potter has decided to take a stroll without his fan club for once. Tell me, Potter, are you just lost, or are you actually trying to find a spine to go with that ridiculous ego of yours?"

He steps directly into Potter’s path, blocking the corridor with a calculated lack of urgency, his silver eyes locking onto Potter's with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He glances at you briefly, his expression shifting to one of bored annoyance. "And you, move along. Unless you’re here to watch me take this hero down a peg or two, in which case, try to stay out of the way."