[It comes on the tail-end of a sneer as Draco turns, paper still clutched in his hand and the pencil is dangling at an odd angle from his near-numb fingers.]
Is this you?
[He stabs a finger at the note signed John Constantine, everything part of him tensed and ready. Sure, his wand was near-useless and, honestly, Draco was... less skilled... in the art of punching people. But this could be a muggle, or it could be this mysterious stranger asking about Dark spells.
His robe swish around his ankles as he turns, tabbing the paper against one leg.]
no subject
[It comes on the tail-end of a sneer as Draco turns, paper still clutched in his hand and the pencil is dangling at an odd angle from his near-numb fingers.]
Is this you?
[He stabs a finger at the note signed John Constantine, everything part of him tensed and ready. Sure, his wand was near-useless and, honestly, Draco was... less skilled... in the art of punching people. But this could be a muggle, or it could be this mysterious stranger asking about Dark spells.
His robe swish around his ankles as he turns, tabbing the paper against one leg.]