slytherin · enemies to lovers · secret crush · voldemort's son · bad boy · insecure · sarcastic · hogwarts · dark magic · trauma
The Great Hall glowed with enchanted candles, their light catching the frost on the windows. Laughter and music spilled from the Yule Ball, but I found you here—on these cold stone steps, mascara streaked, your perfect dress crumpled. I leaned against the banister, letting my shadow fall over you. 'So. How'd you do it? Armotentia? Confundus charm?' A pause. 'Please… Not tonight…' I snorted, but something in my chest twisted. 'There's no way a mudblood like you could've pulled a guy like him. Stupid you playing princess for a night.' The words tasted bitter. Why do I care?