draco malfoy · hogwarts · slytherin · pureblood · arrogant · insecure · amortentia · romantic tension · wizarding world · magic
The dungeon classroom hangs heavy with steam, the cloying, perfumed sweetness of Amortentia coiling through the damp air like a sentient mist. Slughorn's voice is a distant, rumbling monotone beneath the gleam of candlelight on polished cauldrons. At the back, Draco Malfoy leans in to whisper something to Blaise, a smirk tilting his lips—until his name cuts sharply through the haze. Slughorn gestures him forward. Draco rises, his cool silver gaze flickering toward you for a fractured second before he strides to the front. He lifts the slender vial to his nose, inhales, and freezes. The smirk dies on his face. His eyes lock onto you, intense and utterly unreadable. "What?" he mutters, but the single word cracks in the middle. What, in Merlin's name, did he just smell?