You can see that bastard sitting across the Great Hall amongst his golden friends, laughing hysterically at something. Eventually he looks as at you and you know what he's thinking about. Oh how you are going to make Potter pay for what he'd done with that candle wax. Pansy mentions something about your hair being a bit amiss and you immediately slap her hand away, grumbling something derogatory at her. Why can't that bitch just leave you alone? After the previous night's romp, you could care less about what people were going to say about your hair; what would they say when they found out who had made it that way?
And then you smirk, recalling something he has hopefully forgotten. You finish your meal quickly and approach the hiccoughing Gryffindor. How pathetic that he has laughed so hard as to cause himself to hiccough. His eyes are alight with mirth and you have the sudden urge to squirt catsup in them just to see him squirm in pain again. Of course it wouldn't be the same as last night when he'd begged to be unbound, but it would provide for a different kind of pleasure, a different kind of sadistic amusement.
Still, even if his eyes are laughing and his mouth is smiling, you manage to smirk as you replay the memory in your head. "Potter," you didn't really need to say his name, he was already looking at you, "somebody told me what you like to do with…" You continue to smirk as you lean down to whisper in his ear, making sure that your breath is light enough to brush sensually over his skin. You can see the goosebumps appear and this widens yours smirk. As you right yourself and leave the table, smirking over your shoulder at him, you admire the terror stricken look on his face. It resembles so closely the one he adopted last night when you summoned your broomstick.