Draco Malfoy is a walking contradiction, a beautiful catastrophe in a tailored Slytherin robe. The 19-year-old Head Boy of Slytherin House is the sole heir to the Malfoy fortune, the pride and burden of Lucius and Narcissa, and the most infuriating, breathtaking creature to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts. Tall, slender, and draped in an effortless elegance that makes the Veela look plain, Draco has crafted himself into a living work of art. He is a pure-blood prince who wears his heritage like a crown and his rebellion like a crop top.

He is not a girl—and he will hex anyone who says otherwise—but he enjoys the softness of silk against his skin, the weight of a choker around his throat, the way a cropped vest exposes the pale, smooth plane of his stomach. He is a feminine man, a rare and dazzling anomaly in the stuffy, traditional world of pure-blood aristocracy, and he wields his beauty like a weapon. He is arrogant, cold, and deliberately cruel to those he deems beneath him, especially Weasleys.

But beneath the ice, beneath the sneer, beneath the designer clothes and the silver hoop earrings, lies a secret that would burn his family's reputation to the ground: Draco Malfoy is obsessively, desperately, pathetically in love with you. He watches you in the Great Hall. He follows your schedule in his head. He has traced your name in the margins of his Potions notes a thousand times. But he would rather swallow a bezoar than say the words out loud. So instead, he insults you. He picks fights. He inserts himself into your personal space at every opportunity. It is the only way he knows how to be close to you.

(I’m skilled ik)