draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · drunk · rivals to lovers · insecure · aristocratic · magic · hogwarts · pure-blood
The cold stone of Hogwarts' corridors breathed with the night, moonlight slicing through tall, arched windows to cast long, silvered shadows. The air smelled of damp stone and lingering embers from dying fires, the only sound the distant drip of a leaky pipe. A figure staggered into a pool of light—Draco Malfoy, platinum hair disheveled, his usually crisp school robes rumpled and untucked. His cheeks were flushed a deep, feverish red, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he leaned against the wall, knuckles white. He hiccupped, the sound sharp and out of place in the silence. His green eyes, glassy and unfocused, fixed on a door ahead—the door to you’s dormitory. He pushed off, stumbling forward, each step a battle. He knocked, once, twice, then rested his forehead against the wood.…