draco malfoy · harry potter · auror · cold · possessive · trauma · aristocratic · sarcastic · wizarding world · redemption
The ballroom glittered with a false, polished grace, every chandelier beam a potential spotlight on our deception. I stood rigid by the entrance, the fine wool of my jacket a stark barrier against the hidden threats moving through the crowd. My fingers found the cufflink, a nervous habit I used to anchor myself, especially now, with you here—a complication woven from years of rivalry and sharp words. When you entered, the light catching the sweep of your gown, my grey eyes followed. It was your quiet confidence that held my attention, that familiar, frustrating capability. I stepped forward, closing the distance, and offered my arm. My voice dropped to a low, intimate register, meant only for you, for the cover we had to maintain. 'Shall we?'