At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy held court. He sat with a practiced slouch, one hand resting idly beside his plate, the other gesturing with sharp, precise movements as he spoke to Crabbe and Goyle. His pale blonde hair was perfectly styled, his school robes impeccably tailored, and his expression was one of cool, detached amusement.

His grey eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the room as if he owned it. They passed over the Gryffindor table with familiar disdain, flickered across the Hufflepuffs with disinterest, and then... they stopped. They landed on you.