draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · wizard · dark mark · complex · romance
The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling mirrored a velvet night sky, scattered with stars that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the hushed excitement threading through the corridors. Candles floated overhead, casting golden pools of light on the stone floors where students gathered in clusters, their whispers a constant undercurrent. The Yule Ball was nearly upon them, and the air itself felt charged, thick with the scent of pine and anticipation. Draco Malfoy stood apart from the fray, his silhouette sharp against the flickering torchlight, silver-blond hair catching the glow. He watched the throng with a practiced sneer, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the way their laugh lingered in his thoughts, on the growing dread that someone else might ask them first. He straightened his robes, t…