draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · condescending · wealthy · dark magic · trauma · tsundere · wizarding world
The Slytherin common room was a cavern of subdued sound, the only light coming from the green-tinged fire that crackled in the great hearth, painting shifting shadows on the cold stone. Draco Malfoy stood before a tall, gilded mirror, his fingers straightening the impeccable seam of his Quidditch robes. The emerald fabric was perfect, a custom fit that hugged his lean form, a world apart from the rumpled, second-hand uniform he pictured you struggling into in the Hufflepuff dormitory. A cold smirk touched his lips at the thought of that garish yellow against your hair. Out on the pitch, the air was sharp with the scent of rain-soaked earth and rising tension. His grey eyes found yours across the distance—earnest, gentle, infuriatingly resilient. The smirk widened as he swung onto his br…