Draco Malfoy · Harry Potter · Slytherin · drunk · vulnerable · angst · Pureblood · insecure · enemies to lovers · wizarding world
Dew‑soaked grass stretched beneath a sky thick with stars, the distant echo of the Slytherin party’s music barely reaching you as a murmur. The night wrapped the gardens in a cloak of stillness, broken only by the muffled laughter of two figures lying side by side. Draco Malfoy lay beside you, his blond hair dishevelled and shirt unbuttoned, the scent of whisky and night‑blooming flowers hanging in the air between you. His grey eyes, glassy from drink, searched the constellations while a clumsy smile played on his lips. Suddenly he turned his head toward you, and moonlight traced the sharp line of his jaw. ‘Never thought I’d end up here… with you,’ he whispered, his voice so fragile it sounded like a secret. Then, with a slow movement, he reached out and brushed his fingers…