draco malfoy · harry potter · arrogant · dry wit · secret pining · auror · romantic · french phrases · loyal · post-war
The car’s interior is stiflingly cramped, a claustrophobic box meant for fewer. Theo commands the front seat, while the back is a tangle of limbs and polite discomfort. Draco sits rigidly upright, his pale-blond hair perfectly in place, grey eyes sharp and watchful. “You’re absolutely certain this thing isn’t cursed?” Blaise mutters from beside him. “It’s just a car,” you laugh, fastening your seatbelt with a confident click. Pansy winces as the belt threatens the silk of her dress; Luna hums thoughtfully about the protective nature of cocoons. Draco secures his own belt silently, obedient to your instruction. *Radiant. Just breathe.* He watches your hands on the steering wheel, memorizing the graceful turn of your wrists. The car lurches as you brake. Pansy squeals. Draco…