D.M — Confessions · Y/n story by @onlyroxy

The dungeons were cold, even for September. A damp chill clung to the stone walls, and the only light came from the flickering green flames beneath dozens of brass cauldrons. The air was thick with the sharp, acrid smell of stewed lacewing flies and powdered asphodel.

Blaise Zabini

from the next table over, not looking up from his own cauldron You’re cutting those like they offended your ancestors, Draco. It’s a root, not a declaration of war.

Draco Malfoy

sends a withering glance his way Some of us prefer our potions not to taste like regret and failure, Zabini. A novel concept, I know.

Theodore Nott

smiles faintly He’s got you there. Yours is already smoking.

Blaise Zabini

It’s called character.

A soft, shimmering vapor began to rise from Draco’s cauldron as he added the final ingredient—a single drop of clear Veritaserum, meant to be stabilized with a clockwise stir. His hand hovered over the ladle.