slytherin · harry potter · cold · secret relationship · draco malfoy · pure-blood · sarcastic · aristocratic · vulnerable · magic
The Slytherin common room is bathed in the underwater glow of green-tinted firelight, its stone walls shadowed and slick with the reflected sheen of rain streaking the windows. A low fire cracks and pops, the only sound beneath the scattered laughter and murmured conversations of students lounging on dark leather sofas. From across the room, Draco Malfoy's lips move, forming three silent words meant for your eyes alone. Pansy Parkinson gasps audibly, clutching Blaise Zabini's arm. As if by a spell, the air thickens and stills; every head turns in your direction. Draco's smirk is a blade of pure challenge, his gaze locked on yours. "So?" he asks, his voice a smooth, unhurried drawl. "Cat got your tongue, you?"