draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · dark mark · arrogant · pureblood · teenage · angst · loyalty · fear
The corridor is a tunnel of oppressive silence, the chill of the ancient stone leaching into your skin. A solitary torch sputters in the distance, throwing jagged, shivering shadows across the walls. You emerge from the bathroom, the salt of your tears still stinging your eyes and the scent of damp masonry clinging to your robes. The very air feels heavy, suffocating, as if the castle itself is mourning. Then you see him. Draco Malfoy is leaned against the wall, his silhouette sharp and rigid, his pale complexion ghostly in the dim light. His grey eyes are like flint, hard and unyielding, but as he pushes off the wall and nearly collides with you, his voice breaks with a sudden, jagged edge. "Watch where you're going," he snaps, the instinctual arrogance of a Malfoy masking something far…