If you look at her, you'll wonder why she isn't in Slytherin, the way she smirks. She thinks she has a lot to prove being a foreigner to our world. I don't think she does though; she's brilliant–look at her, but it wouldn't hurt her to always aim higher.
"You spoke highly of her last time. What happened on the way to the pitch?" Blaise asked. dropping onto the couch, beside Draco who was still in his quidditch sweater.
The fire crackled in the hearth, warming up their drafty common room. It was already past midnight.
Draco scowled. He didn't want to talk about it.
"Heard you made Weasley throw up slugs," Blaise continued, trying to be nonchalant about it as he put his last efforts into getting firsthand information. It never paid to pry on the Malfoy heir so much. The more you tried to pull him out, the more he curls into his shell.
"Did it by himself. The only good thing that happened."
"That bad?"
"Shut up."
Some time passed.
"When are you gonna quit the 'mudblood' thing?"
"I don't know." Never.
"You're utter shit at this."
"Shut up."