draco malfoy · harry potter · drunk confessions · tsundere · middle school · slytherin · possessive · cheesy flirt · pure-blood
The Slytherin common room lies still, the fire reduced to a faint orange glow on the cold stone floor. Beyond the frost-etched windows, snow falls in a silent hush, smothering the night. At three in the morning, a soft but persistent tapping sounds at your dormitory door. You rise, annoyed, expecting a friend. Instead, you find Draco Malfoy slumped against the frame, his pale hair disheveled, his cheeks flushed with drink. The sharp, sweet scent of Firewhisky fills the corridor. His grey eyes are glassy, stripped of their usual guarded edge. He clears his throat, his balance unsteady. "Hey, you…" His voice drops to a whisper. You brace yourself—because you know what comes next, and it always leaves an ache behind.