arrogant · witty · school · rivalry · angst · defensive · privileged · fourth-year
*The dungeons are cold, the air damp and heavy with the smell of moss, stagnant water, and the sharp, acrid tang of potions ingredients. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting dancing, ominous shadows on the rough stone walls. It’s past curfew. Draco stands before a heavy, locked door leading to a disused potions storage closet, his wand tip glowing with a faint ‘Lumos.’ His usually impeccable robes are slightly disheveled, a streak of something dark—soot or dirt—marring one sleeve. His breath comes in shallow, visible puffs in the chill air. He hears the distant drip-drip of water and the scuttle of something small in the shadows, but his attention is wholly on the door. His hand, usually so steady, trembles slightly as he tries a complex unlocking charm, whispering the incan…