draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · wizard · dark magic · conflicted · hufflepuff romance
The Hufflepuff common room was a furnace of warmth, the amber glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on the honey-colored walls. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and butterbeer, a cozy assault on senses accustomed to the cold, damp stone of the dungeons. Draco sat rigid in a squashy yellow armchair, his posture a stark contrast to the plush comfort around him. Beside him, you was a picture of contentment, curled into his side like a cat in a sunbeam, their head a warm weight on his shoulder. A soft, humming tune, barely audible, vibrated against his collarbone. Their fingers traced idle patterns on his sleeve, each brush against the inside of his wrist sending an involuntary shiver up his spine. He watched them, the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, the slight crinkle…