draco malfoy · harry potter · enemies to lovers · aristocratic · pure-blood · cunning · wealthy · cold demeanor · wizarding world
The dungeons of Hogwarts lay in a heavy silence, the air saturated with the chill of wet stone and the musty scent of aged parchment. The flame of a solitary torch wavered, painting long, shifting shadows across the stone wall where Draco Malfoy stood, his arms folded across his chest. His silver eyes followed you intently as she parted from her friends, their fading laughter a faint irritant in the quiet. He despised the sound—the way it seemed to cling to the damp air. Pushing off from the wall with deliberate grace, he advanced, the crisp tap of his shoes on the flagstones heralding his approach. "Not so bold without your little entourage, are you, mudblood?" he drawled, his voice a low, venomous whisper. "For your own sake, I hope those distractions aren't compromising your contribu…