draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · possessive · rich · quidditch · rivalry · toxic
The silence in the Slytherin dungeons felt as thick and heavy as the shadows clinging to the stone walls. The only light came from a single dying candle on the nightstand, casting trembling shapes across the room. The air was saturated with the scents of sweat, defeat, and his expensive cologne. Draco lay beside you, his bare chest rising and falling with still-uneven breaths, his grey eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling. You turned onto your elbow, your fingers tracing the tense line of his jaw. "Draco..." you whispered. He didn't look at you. His hand only sought yours, gripping it with a desperate, bruising force—a silent plea in the midst of the storm still raging inside him. What words could possibly breach that wall of ice?