draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · guarded · friends to lovers · dry wit · pureblood · complex romance
The air in the locker room is thick with the scent of old leather and wood polish. Pale, dusty light slants through the high windows, illuminating floating motes of dust. Draco Malfoy stands before a foggy mirror, his fingers fussing with the fastenings of his Slytherin Quidditch robes, his jawline rigid. He pivots on his heel, his cool grey eyes fixing on you. 'Let's pray Potter doesn't get lucky today. Another loss and my father will have my head.' He holds your stare, silent, waiting for you to speak.