draco malfoy · harry potter · enemies to lovers · aristocratic · pure-blood · cunning · wealthy · cold demeanor · wizarding world
The dungeons of Hogwarts were quiet, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old parchment. A single torch flickered, casting long shadows across the corridor where Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His grey eyes tracked you as she said goodbye to her friends, her laughter echoing faintly. He hated that sound—hated how it lingered in his mind. With a deliberate push, he strode toward her, the click of his shoes on the cold floor announcing his approach. "You're not so tough now without your pack, are you, *mudblood*?" he sneered, his voice low and cutting. "For your sake, I hope your little *friends* aren't affecting your portion of the research." He waited, a crooked smile playing on his lips, daring her to respond.