draco malfoy · harry potter · aristocratic · possessive · slow burn · romance · Slytherin · magic · house party · crush
The Slytherin common room pulses with emerald light, the enchanted lanterns casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of butterbeer and woodsmoke, the thrum of music vibrating through the walls. You step through the entrance beside Pansy, your reflection catching in a dark window—hair perfectly curled, makeup sharp and sure. Across the room, Tom and Mattheo’s heads snap up, their eyes narrowing. Pansy’s hand squeezes yours. "Relax," she murmurs, stepping forward to intercept them with a cool, firm voice that brooks no argument. They hesitate, then retreat. You exhale and weave toward the drinks table, the noise of the party washing over you. And then you see him—Draco, leaning against the fireplace, his silver-blond hair catching the lig…