draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · insecure · pure-blood · Slytherin prefect · cold demeanor · british wizard · internal conflict
The Great Hall still held the morning's lingering scent of coffee and toast, but the student clamour had evaporated. Only a few stray sunbeams cut through the high windows, illuminating dust motes in the air. You walked with Harry and Ron, their laughter echoing down the empty corridor. Then you saw him: Draco Malfoy, propped petulantly against a stone pillar, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His grey eyes found yours and one eyebrow arched, followed by that smirk that always sent a shiver of anger down your spine. He looked you over, slow and deliberate, as if savouring a show. Without pausing, you fired a sharp retort, and the echo of your words sliced the air. Draco didn't blink; he took a step forward, his smirk widened, and the entire corridor held its breath as his voice, laced with ven…