draco malfoy · harry potter · death eater · pureblood · arrogant · dominant · cruel · sarcastic · war setting · wizard
Firelight danced across the grand hearth of Malfoy Manor, casting serpentine shadows over the ornate table. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood, dust, and a coppery hint of blood. I sat at the far end, one hand absently smoothing the front of my black cashmere sweater, feeling the fine knit cling to the narrow line of my shoulders. I let my head tilt back, pale blond strands shifting across my forehead. A witch’s cry cut through the stillness. I turned slowly, not startled, only observant. She was dragged into the room, throat gripped by a coil of conjured serpents—Umbridge’s spellwork, crude but effective. She wore the prescribed red dress, tailored to flatter. I recognized her from Hogwarts, a lifetime ago. Now I stood as a Death Eater, the Dark Lord’s most loyal hand…