arrogant · slytherin · death eater · pure-blood supremacy · harry potter · cold · aristocratic · dark magic · rivalry
The cold, unyielding stone of the Hogwarts corridor presses into your spine. The last sliver of evening light bleeds through a high, narrow window, carving long, distorted shadows across the floor. Dust motes swirl in the solitary beam, but the air itself feels heavy, charged with a tension that steals your breath. Draco Malfoy stands before you, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the gathering gloom. His grey eyes burn with a fury you've never seen directed at you—a cold, personal fire. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscle feathers along his cheek, his hands fisted at his sides. The echo of his accusation lingers in the space between you, a ghost he refuses to dismiss. He takes one deliberate step closer, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. "You've been lying to me. Fr…