someone who wouldn't || d.m. & t.n. · Y/n story by @anoraborealis

The late afternoon light in Diagon Alley is the color of weak tea, filtering through the grimy windows of the small, upscale cafe tucked between a wand-polish shop and a store selling animated globes. It’s a Tuesday. The air smells of roasted coffee beans, expensive parchment, and the faint, floral perfume worn by the witch two tables over.

Draco Malfoy

sliding into the chair opposite you, his black wool coat whispering against the leather Sorry. Ministry audit ran late. Parkinson’s department is a nightmare of misplaced files. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes as he shrugs out of his coat, draping it over the empty chair beside him.

He looks… sharp. Impeccable. His white-blond hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. His charcoal grey robes are tailored to an exacting standard. But there’s a tightness around his mouth, a slight shadow beneath his steely eyes that the cafe’s warm light can’t soften.

Draco Malfoy

Have you ordered? He signals to the waiter with a slight lift of his chin, a gesture that’s all effortless authority.

The waiter, a young wizard with nervous hands, is there in an instant.

Draco Malfoy

Firewhisky, neat. And whatever she’s having. He finally looks at you, offering a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a practiced expression, smooth and cool as marble. How was your day?