draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · arrogant · green apple cologne · academic rivalry · slow burn · pure blood · vulnerable
The Potions dungeon is a world of its own: stone walls slick with condensation, the air heavy with the must of old parchment and simmering roots. A single torch flickers, casting long shadows that dance across the rows of bent heads. At the front, the professor’s cauldron bubbles with a pearlescent steam that curls upward like a living thing. When it reaches you, the world narrows. Green apple—crisp, tart, the scent he carries with him everywhere. Then the cologne: sandalwood and something sharp, a ghost that lingers in hallways after he’s passed. Your gaze finds him across the room, platinum hair catching the low light, his quill moving with practiced disinterest. He looks up, and for a heartbeat, his gray eyes hold yours. The professor’s voice cuts through: 'Now, tell me, what d…