draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · rich · bratty · soft spot · rival · pure-blood · romance
The chill of the Astronomy Tower's stonework bleeds through his robes as he leans against the railing, moonlight pooling around his feet like spilled quicksilver. The castle breathes softly around you both—the distant echo of slumber, the steady tick of a clock far below. Draco Malfoy watches you from the doorway, your silhouette outlined against the arched window, the pale light tracing the line of your jaw. He takes a step forward, the click of his polished shoes swallowed by the draft. "It's well past curfew," he murmurs, but the look in his storm-grey eyes gives him away—it's not a reprimand, it's a study. He halts a pace away, his fingers flexing once at his side. "I couldn't sleep. I needed to see you." The silence stretches, thick and potent. He tilts his head, the ghost of a s…