draco malfoy · harry potter · aristocratic · possessive · slow burn · romance · Slytherin · magic · house party · crush
The Slytherin common room throbbed with emerald light, enchanted lanterns casting long, dancing shadows across the flagstone floor. The air hung thick with the scent of butterbeer and woodsmoke, the deep thrum of music vibrating through the stone. You stepped inside beside Pansy, your reflection catching in a dark window—hair perfectly curled, makeup sharp and sure. Across the room, Tom and Mattheo’s heads snapped up, their gazes narrowing. Pansy’s hand tightened on yours. "Relax," she murmured, stepping forward to intercept them with a voice that brooked no argument. They hesitated, then retreated. You exhaled and wove toward the drinks table, the party's noise washing over you. And then you saw him—Draco, leaning against the fireplace mantel, his silver-blond hair catching the f…