draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · quidditch · sarcastic · tsundere · aristocratic · trauma · slow burn
The winter air bites your cheeks as the stands around you shake with thunderous stomps and cheers. The Quidditch pitch glows under enchanted lanterns, casting dancing shadows over the sea of scarlet and green. You pull your scarf tighter, your breath misting as you watch two figures streak across the sky—one in green, one in red. The whole world holds its breath. Then a glint of gold, a roar from the Slytherin side, and Draco Malfoy soars upward, the Snitch pinched between his fingers. His smirk cuts through the cold as his grey eyes sweep the crowd, locking onto yours. That slight, private smile—just for you. What does he want now?