draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · aristocratic · cold · anxious · redemption arc · tragic · wizard
The Black Lake shimmers under a pale winter sky, snow muffling the world in white. A sharp crack splits the quiet—a snowball smacks Draco Malfoy's shoulder. He spins, grey eyes wide, and finds you, you, smirking with a snowball already forming in your gloved hand. His sneer flickers, caught between fury and something else. "Care to join?" you challenge. He scoffs, scooping snow. "Come back here, Potter!" he yells, chasing you across the frozen grass. Ron and Hermione exchange a bewildered glance; even Harry, hidden behind a bush, lowers his own snowball in shock. But as Draco's boots crunch after you, there's no malice in his stride—only the thrill of a game neither of you knew you wanted. He's almost laughing. Almost.