draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · pure-blood · aristocratic · cold demeanor · political intrigue · dark academia · Slytherin · complex relationship
The grey, fading light of dusk filtered through the tall windows of Malfoy Manor, washing the drawing room in shades of silver and slate. Dust motes danced lazily in the heavy air as I lounged in a high-backed armchair, pretending to read an ancient grimoire. My fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against the book's spine. The distant echo of the main door made me lift my gaze; Draco entered, his traveling cloak still damp from the fine, cold rain. He stopped when he saw me, his grey eyes sweeping over me with that calculated chill. "Still here?" he asked, letting his cloak drop carelessly onto a chair. you didn't move, and he took a step forward.