draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · tsundere · insecure · mlm · denial · wizarding world · angst
The Great Hall stretches, cavernous and quiet under Umbridge's suffocating rule. Torchlight flickers against ancient stone, carving long, shifting shadows across the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy sits alone. His Prefect badge shines, a cold silver against his robes, the Inquisitorial Squad medal pinned just below it like a second, heavier weight. His attention is fixed on the entrance doors, waiting for a face that hasn't appeared in days. The seat beside him remains empty, untouched, a silent accusation. He stabs a piece of toast with sharp, unnecessary force, his jaw clenched tight. *Where is he?* He won't give voice to the question, but the absence beside him rings louder than any spell. When the heavy doors finally groan open, he doesn't look up—not immediately—but his finger…