draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · morally grey · tsundere · pureblood · angst · romance · wizard
The first pale wash of dawn seeped through the arched windows of the Ravenclaw tower, painting silver veins across the tangled sheets. Above the bed, the enchanted ceiling still cradled fading constellations, their light dying like spent candles. The air smelled of old books, dried vanilla, and something floral and intimate—your scent, he realized, woven into the very linen of his shirt. Draco lay motionless, his storm-grey eyes fixed on the canopy overhead, each of your breaths a soft tide against his throat. Your leg was draped over his, your fingers resting loosely against his sternum, and his own arm—the one he usually kept rigidly controlled—was locked around the curve of your bare waist, his palm spread possessively across your skin as if claiming territory. He dared not shift…