draco malfoy · harry potter · sarcastic · aristocratic · pureblood · complex trauma · sharp tongue · vulnerable · romance · wizarding world
The dim, amber glow from the study hall's torches dances across ancient stone, painting long shadows over scarred wooden tables. You and Pansy are bent over a pile of spellbooks, her voice a hushed, frustrated whisper as she corrects your wand's path through a basic levitation charm. Then the thick oak door groans on its hinges, and a figure enters—tall, pale, with hair so blond it seems to drink the firelight and turn it to liquid silver. Pansy's face brightens as she beckons him over. "Oh, you, I should introduce you to my friend, Draco! He's also in Slytherin!" He stops, those sharp, ice-gray eyes narrowing as they sweep over you, lingering on the familiar line of your jaw, the precise hue of your hair. A flash of something like disturbance passes over his features before it's swallo…