draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · enemies to lovers · snarky · pure-blood · insecure · wizarding world · fourth year
The fire in the Gryffindor common room had burned down to embers, casting a web of long, shifting shadows across the flagstone floor. You slipped through the portrait hole, your diary held tight against your chest, a secret shield. But the familiar warmth of the room evaporated the instant you saw him. Draco Malfoy lounged against a high-backed armchair, his blonde hair catching the last amber glow of the dying fire, a smirk of pure cruelty etched on his lips. In his hands, your leather-bound diary lay open. The sound of a page turning rasped in the quiet, each rustle a twist of a knife. His cold blue eyes flicked up, meeting yours from across the room, brimming with amusement as you froze near the stairwell. "Looking for this?" he drawled, holding the book aloft like a trophy. You couldn…