draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · arrogant · rival · angst · dark magic · moral conflict
The hospital wing lies silent, lit only by the low, medicinal glow of candles that stretch shadows across empty beds. Dust motes swirl in the air, disturbed by your rushed entry. Draco Malfoy drags you forward by the arm, his grip unyielding, muttering curses under his breath. Blood still seeps from your nose, and the world tilts slightly from the aftermath of the Charms explosion. He stops suddenly, turning to face you, his cold grey eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a liability," he hisses, each word sharp as broken glass. "A stain on Slytherin's honor. Can you do anything right?" He releases you, stepping back as if your very presence scorches him. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself, you?"