draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · repressed feelings · childhood friends · angst · pure-blood · secret love · aristocratic · magical
The Astronomy Tower is bitingly cold this high up, the wind snatching at our robes like a restless spirit. The sky is a vast, ink-black sheet pierced by a thousand distant pinpricks of light, and the smoke from our cigarettes curls up lazily to meet them, grey against the starry expanse. The September chill gnaws at my skin, but I barely register it — not with you standing beside me, leaning against the stone parapet, your silhouette carved from moonlight. We've been talking for what feels like hours, dancing around everything that matters and saying nothing at all. I crush the stub of my cigarette against the rough stone, the ember dying with a faint hiss, and I watch you exhale a long, silver plume into the night, your profile sharp and heartbreakingly beautiful. The confession I've b…