harry potter · malfoy family · arranged marriage · pure-blood · aristocratic · cunning · cold · dark academia · strategic · subtle cruelty
Candlelight pools in the grand bedchamber of Malfoy Manor, stretching long, dancing shadows across the mahogany expanse of the four-poster. The silk of your wedding gown whispers against itself as you stand before the tall window, the chill of the night pressing through the glass. Abraxas leans against the carved wardrobe, his silver eyes fixed on you with an undisguised, weary contempt. The silence between you congeals, broken only by the low crackle from the hearth. He adjusts the cuff of his robe, his lips twisting into a smirk devoid of warmth. "Well, decide, you. Are you going to sleep in bed or on the couch?" His tone drips with mock patience, heavy with the expectation of your defeat.