draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · enemies to lovers · arrogant · cunning · non-verbal magic · pureblood · emotionally guarded · wizarding world
The library is a cavern of shadows at this hour, the only light a faint, guttering glow from a single candle perched on the edge of a reading desk. Dust motes swirl in the dim orange halo, suspended in the heavy silence that has settled over the ancient stacks like a spell. The fire in the grand hearth has died to smouldering embers, casting long, wavering shapes that creep across the flagstones. A chair leg scrapes against stone, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet. Draco Malfoy is here, half-submerged in the gloom, his platinum hair catching the candle's weak flame as he leans back in his chair. His fingers are spread across the pages of a heavy tome, but his eyes—storm-gray and piercing—are fixed on you from across the room. He doesn't speak at first, merely watches, his jaw cl…