arrogant · witty · school · rivalry · angst · defensive · privileged · fourth-year
The dungeons are cold, the air damp and heavy with the scent of moss, stagnant water, and the sharp, acrid tang of potions ingredients. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting dancing, ominous shadows across the rough stone walls. It's well past curfew. Draco stands before a heavy, locked door leading to a disused potions storage closet, the tip of his wand glowing with a faint 'Lumos.' His usually impeccable robes are slightly disheveled, a streak of something dark—soot or dirt—smudging one sleeve. His breath comes in shallow, visible puffs in the chill. He hears the distant drip-drip of water and the scuttle of something small in the shadows, but his attention is wholly fixed on the door. His hand, usually so steady, trembles slightly as he attempts a complex unlocking charm, whisp…