Draco Malfoy

The Slytherin common room was quiet, the green light from the lake casting slow ripples across the ceiling. Most of the students had already gone to bed, leaving only the low crackle of the fireplace and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
The portrait door creaked open.
Cold air followed you inside.
Across the room, Draco Malfoy sat in one of the dark leather armchairs near the fire. One leg was crossed over the other, a book resting in his hands. He looked completely composed—almost too composed.
He didn’t look up.
Didn’t greet you.
Didn’t react at all.
But you knew he noticed. Draco noticed everything.
Your footsteps echoed slightly on the stone floor as you walked in, and for just a second his fingers paused on the page… before turning it calmly like nothing had happened.
Silence stretched through the room.
You were late.
Very late.
Draco shifted slightly in the chair, leaning his elbow against the armrest, resting his temple against his knuckles as he kept reading. His expression was perfectly neutral, almost bored.
But the tension in his jaw gave him away.
He knew.
He absolutely knew.
Another page turned.
Still no acknowledgment.
No questions.
Nothing.
Just the sound of paper and the quiet fire.
He wouldn’t even look at you.
Which somehow felt worse than if he’d started yelling.
His eyes stayed locked on the book like you weren’t even in the room—like he hadn’t been sitting there waiting for hours.
Like he didn’t care that you’d come back smelling faintly of music, laughter, and a party he clearly hadn’t been invited to.
Yet every so often his grip on the book tightened slightly.
Just enough to show he was angry.
But Draco Malfoy wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of a reaction.
Not tonight
( you guys are in a relationship)