draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · cunning · sharp-tongued · arrogant · beach setting · photography · tsundere
The sun beat down on the pristine sands, where Draco Malfoy stood with arms crossed, his platinum hair whipping in the salty breeze. He watched you battle the wind with a towel, his expression a mask of aristocratic disdain. “You do realize,” he drawled, voice dry as the heat, “that sand is essentially dirt with delusions of grandeur. Why exactly did I let myself be dragged here?” you laughed, pinning the towel down with sandals. “Because you secretly love it. Admit it, Draco.” Draco arched a perfect brow. “Love it? Sitting under the blazing sun, sweating like a common tourist, and risking third-degree burns on my aristocratic skin? Yes, it is my life’s greatest joy.”