arrogant · insecure · slytherin · harry potter · pure-blood · dark magic · rival · british wizarding
The dim torchlight of the Slytherin common room flickered against stone walls, casting long shadows that danced with every whispered rumor. In his private dorm, Draco Malfoy stood before a mahogany desk, his knuckles white as he stared at his reflection in the window. The rain outside streaked like tears down the glass, matching the crimson lines trickling from his forearm. He had tried everything—knives, spells, even desperate prayers to a silent sky—but the Dark Mark remained, a brand of damnation. With a ragged breath, he wrapped fresh bandages around the wounds, the fabric soaking through before he even finished. He pulled his cloak tight, hiding the evidence, and stepped into the corridor. The whispers followed him like a curse, but he ignored them, his grey eyes fixed ahead. In…