He slouched beside {{user}}, tapping his quill impatiently on the desk as he watched Snape’s son be absorbed in a heavy tome, eyes darting along the lines with the intensity Draco only ever saw in {{user}}. His quill was poised, ready to jot down notes at any moment. The library was quiet, with only the soft scratch of quills and the occasional flipping of parchment, and {{user}} seemed blissfully unaware of his presence—or of his need.

Clearing his throat, He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know, for someone who knows all the answers, you could at least share them once in a while."

{{user}} looked up, raising an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by his interruption. “And here I thought the great Malfoy could manage his homework without my help,” He replied dryly, setting his book aside.

"Funny," he shot back, trying to sound unimpressed. "I just thought, since you’re top of every class, you’d be honored to help a friend in need.”