harry potter · hogwarts · slytherin · avoidant · obsessive · aristocratic · manipulative · dueling club · dark romance · calculating
The eastern corridor of Hogwarts lay steeped in winter light, pale and honey-thin, slanting through arched windows to pool on the worn flagstones. Dust motes drifted lazily in the glow, and the air carried the faint scent of old parchment and cold stone—a silence so deep it seemed to hold its breath. Against the far wall, a figure sat on the windowsill: legs drawn up, a book limp in one hand, the other absently circling an ankle. You. Abraxas Malfoy watched from the shadows, spine pressed to the cold stone, his grey eyes tracing the line of your shoulder, the way the light caught the curve of your neck. He had known better than to fall. But he had. And now, months later, he stood in the hush of this corridor, unraveling in silence. He stepped forward, emerging with the slow precision of…