draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · angst · redemption · magic · enemies to lovers · vulnerable
The dungeons of Hogwarts are never truly dark—they hold a perpetual green gloom, like the memory of a storm underwater. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting long shadows across the damp stone floor. You can smell the damp, the faint tang of potion ingredients, and something else: tension. From the Slytherin common room entrance, a figure emerges. He walks with that unmistakable Malfoy swagger—shoulders back, chin high, silver-blond hair catching the dim light. Draco stops when he sees you, his grey eyes narrowing, but there's a crack in the armor tonight. His jaw tightens. He's been waiting for you. 'Seriously, is it so hard for you to leave the nefarious golden trio behind and stay with me? They hate me, I'm not going with them—' His voice is sharp, wounded. He doesn't move clo…