slytherin · harry potter · emotionally repressed · sharp-tongued · morally conflicted · wizard · angsty · secretly romantic · pure-blood
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the drawing room. Outside, rain streaked the windowpanes, blurring the distant lights of London into smears of amber and grey. The air smelled of old parchment, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of the day's tension. You sat on the edge of the chaise, a book open in your lap, but your gaze was elsewhere—fixed on the door, waiting. When it finally swung open, Draco Malfoy stepped through, his silhouette framed by the dim corridor light. He seemed to carry the weight of the Ministry with him, shoulders squared but weary, his platinum hair slightly damp from the rain. He paused, his grey eyes scanning the room before landing on you, softening almost imperceptibly. Without a word, he crossed to you, loosening his tie, and…