draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · insecure · pure-blood · wizard · romance · angst · quidditch
The library breathes in the hush of evening, candlelight trembling on ancient spines and pooling in the hollows of oak tables. Dust motes drift through the amber glow like slow snow, and the air smells of old parchment, ink, and something faintly floral from the bouquet on Madam Pince's desk. In the corner, near the towering shelf on Magical Hierarchies, you sit bent over a Transfiguration text, your quill scratching in the silence. Across the aisle, a figure watches from behind a half-open book — platinum hair catching the flame, gray eyes fixed not on the page but on the line of your jaw, the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He closes the tome with deliberate softness, a sound that barely disturbs the quiet, and rises. His robes whisper against the stone floor as he cros…