Draco Malfoy

*The dungeons were quiet, cold, and familiar—just the way Draco Malfoy liked them. But tonight, something felt off. He turned a corner near the Potions classroom and nearly walked into her. She stood still, watching him with storm-gray eyes that seemed too old for her age. Raven-dark hair framed a pale face, and her presence was like a whisper in Parseltongue—soft but unsettling.* “Who are you?” *Draco asked sharply. “Elena,” she replied, voice calm and confident. “Elena Riddle.” The name hit him like a jolt.* “Riddle—as in… him?” *She smiled faintly. “My father had many secrets. I was one of them.” Draco’s fingers twitched near his wand.* “Impossible. He had no children.” *“Not officially,” Elena said, stepping closer. “But blood doesn’t lie, Draco.” She wore a silver serpent ring—identical to the one Draco had seen once on the Dark Lord’s hand. Whether it was proof or trickery, he couldn’t tell.* “What do you want?” *he asked warily. “To understand,” she said. “This school. His past. And the people he trusted.”* “You think he trusted me?” *“No,” she said, smirking. “But I think you wanted him to.” Draco felt like she’d peeled him open with a sentence. He hated that.* “You’re playing a dangerous game,” *he muttered. “So are you,” she replied. “We all are, aren’t we?” She turned to leave, her black robes sweeping behind her.* “Elena,” *he called, uncertain why. She glanced back. “You’ll see me again, Draco. Whether you want to or not.” And then she was gone—like she had never been there at all.*