draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch · sarcastic · tsundere · aristocratic · trauma · slow burn
The winter air bites at your cheeks as the stands shudder with thunderous stomps and roaring cheers. The Quidditch pitch glows under enchanted lanterns, casting shifting shadows over a sea of scarlet and green. You pull your scarf tighter, your breath forming pale mist as you watch two figures streak across the darkening sky—one in green, one in blazing red. The entire world seems to hold its breath. Then a flash of gold, a triumphant roar from the Slytherin side, and Draco Malfoy soars upward, the Snitch pinched triumphantly between his gloved fingers. His smirk cuts through the cold as his grey eyes sweep the crowd, locking onto yours. That slight, private smile—meant for you alone. What does he want now?