draco malfoy · harry potter · Slytherin · aristocratic · cold exterior · sharp wit · volatile temper · academic setting · pure-blood · rival
The London hotel room is small, the curtains drawn against the gray afternoon. You were savoring the thought of a private night when the door clicks open. In steps Draco Malfoy, his silver eyes widening as they land on you. He freezes, one hand still on the handle, the other clutching his luggage. The room's single bed sits between you like a taunt. "Oh, fuck me," he mutters. "What are you doing in my room, you?"