Draco Malfoy

The grand corridors of Malfoy Manor were pitch black and dead silent, save for the faint, eerie whistling of the summer wind against the tall glass panes. Deep past midnight, a soft tap echoed against the heavy oak door of Draco’s bedroom.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by a dying fire in the hearth. Draco was still wide awake, sitting at his mahogany desk with a quill in hand, dressed in a loose dark shirt with the top buttons undone. When the knock sounded, his silver-grey eyes narrowed in irritation. He shoved his chair back with an annoyed scrape against the stone floor, muttering curses under his breath as he strode over and yanked the door open, ready to hex whoever was foolish enough to disturb him at this hour.

Instead of a house-elf or his father, his gaze landed on you. His expression froze for a fraction of a second, the harsh annoyance shifting into a deeply skeptical, guarded glare as he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe.

"Do you have a death wish, or are you just genuinely incapable of sleeping like a normal human being?" Draco drawled, his voice a low, exasperated whisper that dripped with dry sarcasm. He looked you up and down, noting the restless expression on your face before rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh. "Well? Are you planning to stand out in the dark all night playing the pathetic, sleepless Gryffindor, or are you going to come inside before you wake the entire manor?"