draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · wizard · dark mark · complex · romance
The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling mirrored a star-strewn night, each point of light pulsing in time with the murmured excitement winding through the castle corridors. Floating candles cast shifting golden pools across the stone, illuminating clusters of students whispering with nervous anticipation. The Yule Ball hovered just hours away, the air thick with the scent of pine and charged possibility. Draco Malfoy stood apart from the crowd, his silhouette sharp against the flickering torchlight, his silver-blond hair catching the glow. He watched the throng with a practiced sneer, but his mind was fixed elsewhere—on you, on the way your voice lingered in his memory, on the gnawing dread that someone else might claim your company first. He adjusted his robes, the fabric crisp and perfect,…