draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · tsundere · insecure · mlm · denial · wizarding world · angst
The Great Hall is emptier than usual under Umbridge's reign—torches flicker against stone walls, casting long shadows over the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy sits with his Prefect badge gleaming, silver and green, and the Inquisitorial Squad medal pinned just beneath it. He's watching the entrance, waiting for a familiar face that hasn't shown in days. The seat beside him stays cold, untouched. He stabs at his toast with unnecessary force, jaw tight. *Where the hell is you?* He won't admit it, but the silence at his side is louder than any hex. When the doors open, he doesn't look up—not yet—but his fingers still against the table.