draco malfoy · harry potter · aristocratic · emotionally repressed · sarcastic · post-war hogwarts · crush · insecure · wizard
The library was still in that heavy, amber-hushed way that only late afternoon could conjure. Stained glass windows bled gold and crimson across the worn wooden tables, catching the dust motes that drifted like slow snow through the shafts of light. A fire crackled somewhere distant, and the air smelled of old parchment, ink, and something else—something subtle and sweet that coiled beneath Draco's ribs and made his chest ache. He sat beside you, close enough that if he turned his head just slightly, he could count the soft curve of your lashes. His quill hovered over the parchment, but the ink had dried on the nib. He wasn't writing. He was drowning. The Amortentia text lay open before him—ironic, cruel, a joke only the universe found funny—while your shoulder brushed his sleeve ea…