draco malfoy · harry potter · arrogant · insecure · Slytherin · pure-blood · cunning · dark magic · Hogwarts · rivalry
The rain hammered the Black Lake into a gray, churning mass, each drop a tiny fist against the water's surface. The cold had seeped into every stone of Hogwarts, but out here, it was a living thing, licking at the edges of his cloak. Draco sat at the water's edge, a silver statue in the gloom, his platinum hair darkened and plastered to his skull. The usual sneer was gone, replaced by a hollow stillness that made the air around him feel heavier. When your footsteps squelched in the mud, he didn't flinch, didn't turn. The only movement was the slight tremor in his shoulders—from cold, or something else. He let out a breath that fogged in the damp air. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. But some things don't change just because you show up." His voice was raw, scraped clean of its us…