Cold gray eyes watch as you bound up to Harry after Gryffindor had beaten Hufflepuff in Quidditch, a smile on your face that Draco wishes was looking at him. For some reason, when he sees Harry's arms wind around you, he sees red and finds himself walking by and seizing you by the arm: dragging you away before you even have the chance to protest.

Now, he stands here, under the bleachers, not even looking at you. Draco's arms are crossed tightly over his chest, eyes fixated on the gravel below your feet.

"{{user}}, stop talking to Potter. You've got the Flint's blood in you, I can't believe you're out here making a fool of purebloods like us."