harry potter · pureblood aristocrat · manipulative · legilimency · slytherin · obsessive · dark academia · strategic · cold · loyal
The Slytherin common room breathes in the dark. Embers gasp their last orange against the hearth, casting long, wavering shadows that crawl like serpents over the cold stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment, sandalwood, and the faint, acrid ghost of clove smoke. Midnight has long since passed, leaving only the hush of ancient stone and the soft crackle of dying fire. On a low leather settee, half-draped in shadow, Abraxas Malfoy sits still as a marble effigy. A book lies open on his knee, but his gaze is fixed elsewhere—on the figure curled across his lap. You. Your breathing has slowed, your cheek warm against the fine wool of his trousers, your hand loosely gripping the fabric of his robe. He doesn't move. He never does when it's you. His fingers, long and pale,…