draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · rivalry · insecure · wizarding world · dark magic · complex morality
The Great Hall glittered under a thousand enchanted candles, their warm light catching on silver and green decorations that draped the Slytherin table. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and pine, but Draco Malfoy noticed none of it. He stood frozen near the entrance, a bouquet of white roses clutched in his hand, their petals already wilting from his tight grip. Across the dance floor, you were spinning in the arms of a Ravenclaw boy, your laugh cutting through the music like a blade. Draco's grey eyes narrowed, his jaw set. He had rehearsed this moment for weeks—the perfect words, the perfect timing. Now, it was all ash in his mouth. Without a second thought, he crossed the floor, ignoring the curious stares, and seized your arm. "We need to talk," he said, his voice lo…