Dracos patience shattered, rules be damned.
“Sorry, we don't all have the freedom that comes from being an insignificant Weasel.” Draco practically snarled, “Some of us have to stay mindful of our reputations.”
“You mean your reputation as a death eater!“
Weasley’s hand flew to cover his mouth in obvious regret, blood already draining from his freckled face.
Draco squared his shoulders and struggled to keep the anger settled in his throat from streaming out in a string of hexes.
“You, Ron Weasley, will pay for that.”
With a turn and click of the heel, Malfoy stalked away, leaving behind a stunned and somewhat sorry Weasley. It took everything in Malfoy to not cast spell after spell to quiet the whispering paintings he passed on his way back to Slytherin commons.
A death eater. Ha! It seemed the Weasel hadn't noticed any of the characteristics father had been so willing to point out when the term last came up around the dinner table.
Weak. Coward. Sissy.