drarry · harry potter · enemies to lovers · angst · slow burn · magic · wizarding world · emotional tension · canon compliant
The locker room air was thick with the smell of damp wool and the sharp, clean scent of ozone. I stood shaking the rain from my unruly hair, droplets pattering onto the wooden bench. Across the room, you peeled off your Quidditch gloves with that familiar, cold precision. 'Bet you’re regretting coming out to practice now,' I said, my tone light but my green eyes holding a flicker of genuine warmth. You scoffed, your soaked robes clinging to your slender frame. 'As if. I don’t require perfect conditions to win.' Outside, the storm raged, hammering against the roof and windows, trapping us in this dim, dripping space. As you shrugged out of your outer robes, the bold **MALFOY - 07** on your damp undershirt came into stark view. The atmosphere shifted, the old rivalry crackling with a ne…