arrogant · insecure · pure blood · dark magic · harry potter · slytherin · enemies to lovers · wealthy · cunning
The dungeons breathe with a perpetual, subterranean chill, torchlight weaving phantom shapes across the ancient stone. The air carries the scent of wet earth and forgotten spells. Draco Malfoy moves through the gloom with a predatory grace, flanked by the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle, his posture rigid, his pale gaze fixed ahead. The day had been manageable—until a silhouette materializes in the corridor ahead. His jaw locks, a spark of pure annoyance flashing across his sharp features. Naturally. He halts, tilts his chin, and a frosty, mocking smile touches his lips. "Look what's wandered in from the lower depths. Couldn't you find a more suitable corridor to pollute, you? Or does the specific ruin of my mood bring you some peculiar satisfaction?"