draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · cold · arrogant · broken · violent · hurt · Slytherin
The Great Hall hums with the clatter of plates and the indistinct murmur of a hundred conversations. At the Slytherin table, Draco sits with a spine of rigid steel, his gaze locked on the untouched food before him. Two months of this—a marriage forced upon him, a secret festering within the castle's ancient walls. He feels you take the seat beside him, a shift in the air he resents instinctively. He turns, a scowl already twisting his features, and his voice drops to a low, venomous pitch. "Don't imagine this is some joyous occasion. Nothing has changed."