The door to Draco’s dorm room swung open, and he stepped inside, still in his Quidditch gear, black leather padding scuffed from the match and his gloves dangling from one hand. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face flushed with frustration. He froze for a moment when he saw you sitting on his bed.

“What are you doing here?”

He muttered, his voice low and strained, as he tossed the gloves onto his desk with more force than necessary. Running a hand through his messy hair, he took a step closer, his gray eyes flickering with anger.

“Get out if you’re just going to tell me to calm down and that it’s just a game. I don’t want to bloody hear it.”

Though his words were sharp, there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes, a frustration that wasn’t entirely your fault.