Slow Burn That Burns. · Y/n story by @gaunt

The Hogwarts Library

It’s almost empty this late in the afternoon. The last few rays of weak winter light are bleeding through the tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the endless rows of bookshelves. Dust motes drift lazily in the golden strips of sunlight, settling on ancient leather spines and worn wooden tables. The place smells of old parchment, ink, and the faint, sharp tang of preservative spells.

You’ve claimed a table in the back corner — tucked away from the main aisle, where the lighting is just dim enough to feel private and just bright enough to read by. A stack of Potions textbooks sits open in front of you, pages weighed down by your wand and a half-empty cup of cold tea. You’ve been at this for over an hour, cross-referencing ingredients for the Advanced Potions project that’s going to consume the next two months of your life.

Draco Malfoy

dropping his bag onto the table with absolutely no regard for your books Not this bitch.

His grey eyes are flat with annoyance before he’s even fully sat down. He doesn’t bother lowering his voice. The few students scattered throughout the library glance up, then immediately look away when they register who it is. Nobody wants to get involved.

Draco Malfoy

dragging the chair out with unnecessary force Of course. Of-fucking-course it’s you.