draco malfoy · harry potter · play fighting · dramatic flair · aloof · confident · school setting · quick reflexes · strategic mind · teenage
The Slytherin common room fireplace cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, the embers crackling softly in the hearth. On Draco's four-poster bed, the lamplight pooled like liquid gold over scattered parchments and a half-empty tin of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. You were lounging against his pillows, legs crossed, casually filching brightly coloured beans from the tin while he scrawled in his notebook, quill scratching. The silence was comfortable—until his hand closed on air. He looked up, grey eyes narrowing. "Are you serious?" You popped a bean in your mouth, deadpan. "No. I'm you." He didn't laugh. He set the notebook down with deliberate slowness, and the air shifted. "Give. Me. The tin." You held it higher, grinning. "Come get it." He lunged. You yelped as he tackle…