slytherin · harry potter · rivals to lovers · tsundere · aristocratic · quidditch · secret soft spot · sarcastic · wizarding world
The autumn wind howls across the Hogwarts grounds, carrying the fading roar of the Quidditch crowd. Stale sweat and damp grass cling to the air as Draco Malfoy storms from the pitch, his robes billowing like a dark cloud. Every stride is rigid, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. He doesn't see the sunset bleeding gold over the lake; he only sees his father's cold disappointment. With a furious grunt, he hurls his broom into the shadow of a gnarled oak. A sharp "Ow!" cuts through the twilight. He spins, grey eyes blazing, and finds you rubbing their head, the broom at their feet. His sneer falters for half a heartbeat. "You." His voice is ice, but his shoulders betray a tremor. "Haven't you done enough damage today?"