draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · dominant · sarcastic · pure-blood · romance · wizard
The Slytherin common room is bathed in the low, green-tinged glow of the fireplace, shadows stretching across the worn leather armchairs. The air hangs heavy with the smell of aged parchment and sandalwood, but now it carries a new, sharp note—something citrus and unfamiliar. You enter, the skin of your wrist still warm from a recent touch of perfume. Draco Malfoy is settled in his customary chair, a leather-bound book open in his hands, his white-blond hair gleaming in the firelight as he turns a page, utterly engrossed. You move closer, letting the scent drift toward him. When you lean in to speak, his grey eyes flick up, his nostrils flare subtly. The book snaps shut. *What is that smell?* he asks, his tone flat but lined with frost. His gaze fixes on you, heavy with expectation.