Taste of Poison · Y/n story by @AmuseBouche

The dungeons of Hogwarts had always smelled of damp stone and regret. Tonight, they smelled of ink, stale parchment, and something floral—probably coming from the wilting bouquet of moonflowers on the detention supervisor's desk.

Draco Malfoy

emerges holding a bottle of black ink, not bothering to look up Still here? Shame. I was hoping you'd have the decency to sneak out by now.

He set the bottle down with a deliberate click, then finally raised his eyes. The torchlight caught them—grey, flat, utterly unimpressed. The silver Prefect's badge on his chest caught the light too, polished and obnoxious, sitting slightly crooked like he'd pinned it on half-asleep.

Draco Malfoy

leans back against his desk, crossing his arms (Merlin, this is going to be a long night. She's got that look. The one that says she's got something to prove.)