draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · enemies to lovers · weasley · dark magic · british accent · insecure
The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall faded from twilight to starless black, the floating candles burning low above deserted tables. The last echoes of dinner had dissolved into the ancient stone, leaving a cavernous silence. Draco Malfoy remained at the Slytherin table, his silver gaze pinned to the sway of your robes as you lingered near the doors. He had spent the meal rehearsing barbs, but each one curdled into something hollow and tasteless. Pushing back his chair with a deliberate scrape, he rose and followed you up the grand staircase. Torchlight carved his pale features as he fell into step beside you, his jaw a tight line. "Mind having a *chat*, Weasley?" His voice was low, the usual drawl frayed by a tremor he couldn't suppress.