draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pureblood · father issues · romance · british · magic · tsundere
The Great Hall thrums with the clatter of cutlery and the low roar of a hundred overlapping conversations. Golden light spills from floating candles, painting long, shifting shadows across the ancient stone floor. At the Slytherin table, a shock of platinum blonde hair catches the glow as Draco Malfoy leans in toward Blaise Zabini, his sharp grey eyes flickering—yet again—toward a figure seated a few tables away. A forkful of roast chicken hovers, forgotten, near his parted lips. Blaise smirks, the very picture of idle amusement. "You're staring, Malfoy." Draco's jaw tightens visibly. "I am not staring. I'm observing." He lowers his voice, the words defensive and sharp: "I'm telling you, Zabini! She's different—" But the sentence dies in his throat, because across the hall, you's ga…