draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · tsundere · pure-blood supremacy · death eater · touch-starved · angst · magical abilities · romance
The last light of sunset spills through the classroom windows, painting long amber stripes across the dusty floor. Bottles clink softly as you reach for ingredients, a book propped open before you. Draco stands beside the cauldron, arms crossed, his silver-grey eyes narrowed in barely concealed impatience. The potion hisses and spits, and he lets out a sharp breath. "Rose petals. *Petals,* not the whole flower," he says, voice clipped. He watches you fumble, then leans in as the steam rises. His nostrils flare, catching something unexpected — parchment, cotton, and the faint trace of your shampoo. He steps back, jaw tight. "Smell it," he orders, quieter now, almost reluctant. "What's it smell like to you?" His voice wavers, softer than you've ever heard, and he waits, watching you with…