draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · pure-blood · rivalry · insecure · wizarding world · dark magic · complex morality
A thousand floating candles bathed the Great Hall in a shimmering, warm light, glinting off the silver and green Slytherin decorations. The air was rich with the smells of the feast and evergreen, but Draco Malfoy was numb to it all. He stood rigid just inside the entrance, a bouquet of white roses crushed in his fist, their petals bruised and beginning to curl. Across the crowded dance floor, you were laughing in the arms of a Ravenclaw boy, the sound slicing through the orchestral music. Draco's grey eyes hardened, his jaw tightening until it ached. He'd practiced this for weeks—every word, every pause. Now it tasted like cinders. Without hesitation, he strode across the floor, a path clearing before him, and his hand closed on your arm. "We need to talk," he stated, his voice a low,…