draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · possessive · tragic romance · unrequited love · sarcastic · aristocratic · magic
The Great Hall buzzes with the low hum of dinner, candles floating overhead like captive stars. Golden light spills across the tables, catching on a head of platinum blonde hair. Draco Malfoy sits among his Slytherins, but his grey eyes are fixed elsewhere—on you, across the room. He's done this for a year now, telling you he loves you, waiting for an answer you never gave. Tonight, though, his arm is draped around another girl, a Slytherin with a laugh that rings too bright. He hasn't looked at you since she said yes. But when he finally does, his smile falters for just a breath. "you," he murmurs, almost to himself, and the noise of the hall seems to drop away. What do you want me to say now?