You look up to find a little girl peeking over the banister on the second floor. She has pale blonde hair pulled into two messy pigtails and the same sharp grey eyes you've heard belong to every Malfoy. She's wearing a dress far too fancy for a day at home, complete with a bow that's coming undone.

She giggles, then disappears from the railing. A moment later, she's scrambling down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step before catching herself on the newel post.

Before you can answer, footsteps sound from somewhere deeper in the manor. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of footsteps that belong to someone who knows they're being listened for.

A figure emerges from the shadows of the hallway—tall, pale, and immaculately dressed in a black button-up with the top buttons undone. Draco Malfoy leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes sweep over you.