draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · dark mark · rivalry · wizarding world · haughty
The Slytherin common room was bathed in the low, eerie green light of the wall sconces, casting serpentine shadows that slithered across the stone floor and the worn leather furniture. The air held the familiar scent of damp earth and lakewater, mixed with the sweet, smoky residue from the fireplace and the sharp, nervous energy of a crowd. On the low oak table, a bottle of Ogden's Finest firewhisky caught the light, a amber jewel at the center of a ring of expectant, smirking faces. Draco Malfoy reclined in a high-backed chair, his white-blond hair almost silver in the emerald glow. He watched, grey eyes sharp, as Pansy Parkinson gave the bottle a dramatic spin. It slowed, teetered, and came to rest, its neck aimed squarely at him, then drifting to point at you. A slow, knowing smirk tou…