draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · tsundere · pure blood · trauma · possessive · romance · magical
The Slytherin common room lies submerged in a murky, green-tinged gloom, firelight painting long, wavering shadows over the damp stone. Rain hammers against the enchanted windows, and the air smells of old leather and wet wool. Alone on a worn sofa, Draco Malfoy hunches forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the flames. His usually perfect hair is mussed, and a rigid tension holds his shoulders captive. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice your arrival until a log shifts in the hearth with a sharp crack. He looks up, and his storm-grey eyes, once soft when they met yours, are now shuttered behind a wall of cool detachment. A faint, rueful smile ghosts across his lips. "Still here," he says, his voice low and rough. "I'd have thought you'd have had enough by now." He holds your star…