Kings and Their Castles
Draco
Draco Malfoy’s mornings began the same way every day: with the deliberate precision of a man who liked to pretend he didn't thrive on chaos, lies and the occasional bloodshed—one had to let off steam somehow after all.
The alarm on his antique brass clock chimed at exactly 6:30 a.m., a sound both melodic and insistent. Draco’s eyes opened immediately. He did not linger in bed. Lingering, after all, was a gateway to inefficiency, boredom and the restless itch to do something stupid. Boredom was a dangerous thing. And stillness? Even worse.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet landing on the cool parquet floor with practiced ease. The room was still dim, the heavy curtains drawn tightly over the tall windows, but Draco didn’t fumble for the light. He’d lived in this room for three years; he could navigate it blindfolded. He—on occasion—actually did. Besides, the early morning shadows were preferable to the glaring overhead lights. Living in shadows, he had learned, was way less painful on the eyes.
His dorm—if one could call it that—was an exercise in understated luxury. The walls were paneled in dark oak, the furniture bespoke and carefully curated. There was no clutter, no sign that anyone actually lived there. It looked more like a magazine spread than a space meant for human habitation, which was precisely the point. Draco’s world was one of appearances, and he saw no reason why his living quarters should deviate from that rule. Thank the gods of privileges, his status around campus meant he never had to share his space, at the very least.
He padded across the room to the en suite bathroom, flicking on the soft, recessed lighting. The mirror above the marble sink reflected his face back at him: sharp cheekbones, pale skin that was marred by inked line the further down he looked, and the faint shadow of stubble that would be gone within the next ten minutes. He stared at his reflection for a moment longer than necessary, as if expecting it to blink first.
It didn’t.
The bathroom ritual was methodical. Shave. Shower. Hair—not too perfect, but carefully tousled to suggest he didn’t care as much as he did. He dressed with the same attention to detail, choosing a crisp white shirt he would—quite obviously—not button up nearly high enough and a blazer that had been tailored to fit him with almost surgical precision. His tie was a deep emerald green, which he chose to see as a stylistic choice to complement his eyes, instead of the nod to his family legacy it really was.
By the time he stepped back into his room, the sunlight had begun to seep through the edges of the curtains. Draco crossed to the windows and pulled them open with a single, fluid motion and squinted at the sharp intrusion. The light flooded the room, casting long, golden streaks across the floor. Outside, the campus was waking up. Students milled about on the paths below, their laughter and chatter drifting up faintly through the crisp autumn air.
Draco watched them for a moment, his expression unreadable. He knew how they saw him—untouchable, enviable, a force to be reckoned with and never to be crossed. It was a role he played well, but sometimes he wondered if any of them realized it was a role. Probably not. Most people were content to believe what they were shown. And he, for his part, was content to show them exactly that in return.
The thought lingered as he moved to the small cabinet near his desk and pulled out a silver lighter and a slim cigarette case. Smoking before breakfast wasn’t a habit, strictly speaking, but it wasn’t not a habit either. It was a ritual—one of the few moments in his day that felt like his own, before the peacock parades.
He lit the cigarette with practiced ease, the faint flicker of the lighter’s flame briefly illuminating his face. As he exhaled, the smoke curled upward, catching the morning light in a way that was almost beautiful. Almost.
Draco leaned against the windowsill, the cigarette dangling between his fingers, and surveyed the campus—his kingdom or his playground, for all intent and purposes—once more. His gaze lingered on the central courtyard, where a group of first-years huddled together, their excitement practically radiating off them. He smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. They had no idea what they were in for. This school was scantly for the faint of hearts. Although, he assumed most didn't get the chance to step in its deeper shadows the way his circle did.
He took another drag, exhaling slowly as the smoke unfurled lazily into the cool air. The morning was crisp, the kind of autumn day that looked picturesque in brochures but felt brittle and biting in reality, like nature already staking its claim on the approaching winter. Draco liked days like this. They mirrored his mood—calm on the surface, sharp underneath.
The sound of distant laughter floated up, mingling with the faint hum of activity below. He could already hear snippets of conversations he wasn’t meant to catch, voices carried on the wind: petty gossip, exaggerated boasts, and the occasional flirtation that made him roll his eyes. It was all so predictable, so painfully ordinary. Yet here they all were, living their tiny lives as if the world revolved around their inconsequential dramas.
Draco snubbed the cigarette in a marble ashtray on the windowsill, the faint hiss of extinguished embers breaking the stillness. He straightened his blazer, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. He couldn’t linger here, not when the day’s performance—and his mostly adoring crowd— was waiting. There was always someone to impress, someone to intimidate, someone to outmaneuver. And, of course, the unspoken truth beneath it all: someone to remind that Draco Malfoy was still untouchable.
As he turned from the window, the sunlight caught the edge of his tie, casting a faint green glow onto the dark wood of his desk. He paused, his hand resting briefly on the polished surface, glancing at the fleeting beauty of it. Then, with a practiced inhale, he let the quiet moment pass, and with it, any lingering thoughts of what the day might bring. Draco Malfoy didn’t dwell. He moved.
Draco arrived at the dining hall precisely fifteen minutes after it opened. Timing was everything—late enough to avoid the crush of early risers but early enough to claim a prime spot by the tall, arched windows. It wasn’t just vanity; it was strategy. Almost everything here boiled down to it at the end of the day. The table was his—theirs— the best spot in the room and taking his sweet time to occupy it served as a silent reminder that Draco Malfoy didn't need to fight for his place at the top. He simply occupied it unhurriedly—and would destroy anyone in the way quite as effortlessly, might he add.
Theo and Blaise were already there, seated at their usual table near the center of the room. The dining hall was a sprawling, ostentatious space, its vaulted ceilings adorned with grotesque carvings that seemed to glare down at the students below. A calculated move on the architects part, no doubt. Long rows of dark wooden tables stretched across the room, their polished surfaces reflecting the flickering light of the chandeliers overhead. It was the kind of setting designed to make you feel small unless, of course, you were Draco Malfoy.
“Fashionably late, as always.” Blaise drawled as Draco approached. He was lounging in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of black coffee cradled in his hand. His blazer was undone, the tie askew, but somehow the disheveled look only added to his charm. Blaise Zabini could wear a sackcloth and still look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. It was infuriating, really.
Draco smirked, sliding into the seat across from him. “Punctuality is for people with something to prove.”
Theo, seated to Blaise’s right, didn’t look up from the deck of cards he was shuffling. His movements were methodical, almost hypnotic, the soft snick of the cards breaking through the low hum of conversation around them. Theo Nott didn’t bother with small talk; he let his presence speak for itself. Quiet, sharp, and utterly unapproachable—he was the kind of person people feared instinctively, though they couldn’t quite articulate why. They were right, of course.
“And yet,” Theo murmured, finally glancing up, “here you are, proving yourself anyway.”
Blaise chuckled, lifting his coffee in a mock toast. “He’s got you there, mate.”
Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding. It was too early for verbal sparring, and Theo always had a knack for cutting straight to the point. Arguing with him took quite a few more braincells than he was willing to engage yet. Instead, he reached for the pot of coffee in the center of the table, pouring himself a cup with the kind of precision that came naturally to someone who’d spent his entire life perfecting appearances.
As he stirred in a splash of cream, his gaze flicked around the room. The dining hall was filling up, the steady stream of students creating a low-level buzz that was both grating and oddly comforting. Familiar faces dotted the crowd, their laughter and chatter blending into the background. A few glanced in their direction, their eyes lingering just a moment too long before quickly looking away. It was always the same dance every day: admiration laced with fear, envy tinged with caution. Draco didn’t need to turn around to know that people were whispering about them. The Viper Court, they called them— snakes, if they were feeling particularly pesky. A ridiculous name, really, but one that had stuck nonetheless.
“So,” Blaise said, his tone light but pointed. “What’s on the agenda today, oh fearless leader?”
Draco took a slow sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter heat. “Surviving, as always.”
“How ambitious.” Theo said dryly, his fingers still shuffling the cards. “And here I thought you were aiming for world domination this time.”
“Give it time.” Draco replied, setting his cup down with a faint clink, the bitter taste coating his tongue in an uncomfortable way he had learned to tolerate. “The semester’s young.”
Blaise smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Speaking of domination, have you heard about the new scholarship girl?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Should I have?”
“Probably not,” Blaise admitted, “but I heard she’s… interesting.”
Theo snorted softly, his gaze fixed on the cards in his hands. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Interesting how?” Draco asked, though his tone suggested mild disinterest. He had no patience for Blaise’s latest fascination—the man seemed to find a new pair of legs to fawn over every week—but it was easier to humor him than to ignore him outright.
Blaise’s grin widened. “You’ll see.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he let it drop. Blaise had a tendency to dramatize things, and he wasn’t about to waste energy on someone who likely wouldn’t matter in the long run. He turned his attention back to his coffee, the conversation shifting to safer, more familiar topics: upcoming assignments, a lecture Theo was planning to skip, and Blaise’s ongoing feud with a professor who had dared to dock him points for tardiness, which he was still intent on arguing was 'methodical time-saving'.
Through it all, Draco remained half-listening, his mind elsewhere. The dining hall was too loud, the sunlight too bright, and the too-familiar weight of boredom lingering on the edges of his mind too heavy. It wasn’t that he disliked this life—he thrived in it, really—but there were moments, fleeting and infrequent, when he wondered what it might feel like to simply disappear. To be ordinary. The thought was as absurd as it was fleeting, and he dismissed it as quickly as it came. Draco Malfoy was meant to be exactly who he had become.
“You’re brooding.” Blaise said suddenly, pulling Draco from his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired of us.”
Draco smirked, the expression carefully calculated. “Tired of you? Always. But I endure.”
Blaise laughed, the sound light and genuine. Theo merely raised an eyebrow, his cards snapping into place as he finished shuffling.
“Endurance is overrated.” Theo said, cutting the deck with practiced precision.
Draco leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting once more to the windows. The sunlight was blinding now, its rays spilling across the room like liquid gold, leaving him wondering if wearing sunglasses at breakfast would hurt his reputation or fan the rumor mill further in his favor. He could see his reflection faintly in the glass, sharp and polished, an image crafted with care. He looked every bit the part of the untouchable king, the unflinching force at the center of the room.
But reflections were just that: images. And images, as Draco well knew, were only skin deep.
Draco’s day unfolded in predictable precision, a symphony he conducted with calculated indifference for the last three years straight. Classes were a performance he played flawlessly, the role of the aloof genius coming as naturally to him as breathing. Professors rarely called on him, either too intimidated or too enamored to question his presence. He participated when it suited him, dropping the occasional incisive comment that silenced the room and left everyone—from the overeager first years to the smug upperclassmen—hanging on his every word.
It wasn’t arrogance, exactly. Or perhaps it was, but if so, it was well-earned. Draco had long since accepted that the world was his stage, and he performed with the confidence of someone who knew no one else could play his part.
The lecture hall was bathed in muted sunlight, the high, arched windows casting geometric patterns across the polished wooden floors. Draco sat near the back, as was his custom, flanked by Theo and Blaise. Theo was slouched in his chair, one leg draped lazily over the armrest as he shuffled his ever-present deck of cards. Blaise, by contrast, sat upright, his posture deceptively casual as he scrolled through his phone with one hand, keeping a pen in perpetual twirling motion between his fingers with the other, his expression one of perpetual amusement.
Draco’s attention drifted, his eyes scanning the room with the practiced ease of someone who’d memorized its layout long ago. The students below were arranged in neat rows, their heads bent over notebooks or laptops, the faint hush of conversations, clicking of keys and scratching of pens on papers floating in the room The professor’s voice droned on, a low monotone that Draco had tuned out entirely.
It wasn’t boredom, exactly. He found the subject—a particularly dry exploration of Enlightenment philosophy—mildly interesting in the way one might find a well-executed painting interesting: something to admire from a distance but not something to lose oneself in. His mind wandered instead to the patterns of light on the floor, the rhythmic shuffle of Theo’s cards, the way Blaise’s thumb scrolled in a steady, hypnotic motion.
"You’re staring again." Blaise said, his voice low enough that only Draco and Theo could hear. He didn’t look up from his phone, his tone laced with amusement.
Draco didn’t bother responding. Blaise had a knack for pointing out things that didn’t matter, his observational skills wasted on trivialities. Instead, Draco’s gaze shifted to Theo, who had just fanned out his cards in a flourish that would’ve made a magician envious.
“Do you ever stop?” Draco asked, his tone more curious than annoyed, although he knew the answer.
Theo looked up, his expression as blank as ever. “Do you?”
Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair. It wasn’t an answer, but then, Theo rarely gave those. Or, if he did, they were wrapped in an enigma only he was smart enough to solve. It was part of his charm, Draco supposed, though “charm” might’ve been too generous a word. Theo was more like a black hole—dark, enigmatic, and with a gravitational pull near impossible to ignore.
The professor called for a short break, and the lecture hall stirred as students stretched and chatted. Blaise slipped his phone into his pocket, his attention shifting to Draco with a grin that Draco didn’t trust in the slightest.
“So,” Blaise began, “what’s the plan for tonight?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I have a plan?”
Blaise’s grin widened. “You always have a plan.”
“Maybe my plan is to do nothing.”
“Unlikely.” Theo said without looking up from his cards.
Draco rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. They weren’t wrong. He hated idle time, hated the thought of sitting still while the rest of the world moved around him. If there was no chaos to command, he would create his own. He had become quite a master in the art of it, after all.
“Fine.” Draco said, his tone as smooth as the surface of a frozen lake. “Drinks at the usual place. But only if Blaise promises not to flirt with the bartender this time.”
“She likes me.” Blaise protested, the picture of wounded pride.
“She tolerates you.” Theo corrected, cutting the deck with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Blaise shrugged, unbothered. “Same thing, really.”
The conversation shifted as the break ended, and the professor resumed his lecture. Draco returned his attention to the front of the room, though his thoughts remained elsewhere. He considered the evening ahead, the familiar rhythm of their nights out: the dimly lit bar, the low thrum of music, the way the world seemed to blur at the edges after a few drinks. It was predictable, perhaps, but predictable in the way a well-worn path was comforting.
After class, he found himself drawn to the library. Not for any particular purpose—his coursework was already meticulously planned and accounted for—but because it was quiet. Or at least, quieter than the suffocating buzz of the dining hall or the constant chatter and whispers left in his wake in the common areas.
As he strode through the towering stacks, his attention caught on a figure seated near the far end of the room, half-hidden by a cluster of books. He almost didn’t notice her at first; she was unassuming, dressed plainly, her hair a riot of curls pulled back haphazardly. But there was something about her posture—the rigid line of her back, the way her hand moved furiously across the page—that made him pause for a reason he couldn't quite articulate.
She was writing, utterly absorbed in whatever thoughts had taken hold of her, oblivious to the world around her. It wasn’t her appearance that stood out, though he noted she lacked the polished veneer of most students here. No, it was the tension radiating from her, even as she poured herself into her work. She looked like someone trying to outrun something—or someone trying to hold herself together with sheer force of will.
Draco lingered for a moment longer than he intended, his gaze narrowing slightly. She was new, an unknown face in a sea of people he had gazed at too many times to count. There was something… familiar about her kind of focus, that desperate determination. It wasn’t a quality he often saw in others, especially not here, among the privileged and self-assured. He dismissed the thought quickly, annoyed at himself for noticing.
With a slight shake of his head, he turned on his heel and left the library, the soft thud of his footsteps swallowed by the heavy silence of the room. The image of her hunched over her notebook lingered, though, like a smudge on a polished surface that demanded to be scrubbed clean. He pushed it aside, as he always did. It was nothing. She was nothing. Just another student, another face in the crowd that would soon blend with so many like it.
And yet, the thought gnawed at him as he rejoined Theo and Blaise, who were already waiting for him outside. They always moved as a unit, an unspoken understanding binding them together in a way that no one else could replicate. It wasn’t loyalty, exactly—loyalty required trust, and trust was a currency none of them dealt in—but it was close enough.
Draco slung his bag over his shoulder, his stride measured and deliberate as he joined them. The day wasn’t over yet, but as far as he was concerned, it was already his to own.
Draco’s dorm was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn tight over his window once more, hiding the shadows that came from the encroaching night. A single desk lamp cast its golden glow over a meticulously organized surface, exaggerating the sharp angles of books stacked in perfect alignment and a fountain pen resting at an exact ninety-degree angle to the edge of the desk. Order. Precision. Control. Or at least that’s what he told himself as he stumbled in, his blazer slightly askew and the faint, unmistakable burn of whiskey lingering at the back of his throat.
The night out with Theo and Blaise had been the usual mix of calculated recklessness and indulgent excess, ending, as it always did, with Draco maintaining just enough clarity to keep his well curated composure. Theo had left early, citing a meeting or some other nonsense they all knew to be false, while Blaise had stayed behind, likely flirting his way into some stranger’s bed with nothing but his smirk and an unhealthy dose of confidence. Draco, restless as ever, had walked back alone, the cool night air doing little to clear the edges of the alcohol from his system.
He sat in his chair, the backrest leaning slightly as he tilted his head to stare at the ceiling. The faint hum of music played from a speaker—classical, naturally, because anything else grated against his carefully constructed atmosphere. Outside his door, the usual murmur of voices and laughter from the hall felt distant, like the buzzing of insects. Irritating but ignorable.
His day had been… uneventful, at least by his standards. Classes had gone as expected. Theo and Blaise had been their usual selves, oscillating between irritating and entertaining. And then there was…
Draco frowned, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. He’d forgotten her name. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t learned it yet. The girl from the library. It was absurd to even think about her now, but the image of her hunched over that notebook, her hand moving furiously across the page, lingered like an echo in his mind. A particularly irritating echo.
“Ridiculous” he muttered to himself, his voice, though slightly slurred, cutting through the quiet. He didn’t have time for distractions, especially ones that didn’t concern him. Yet somehow, she—or rather, the tension she exuded—had wormed its way into his thoughts. It was annoying. It was unacceptable.
Standing abruptly, Draco crossed the room in a few long strides. He grabbed the silver lighter from his desk and a cigarette from the case beside it. The ritual wasn't one he liked to practice in excess but more so one he indulged in sparingly but with purpose. The act gave him something to focus on, a way to ground himself when his mind refused to cooperate.
The flick of the lighter echoed in the quiet room, the small flame illuminating his face for a brief moment before the cigarette caught in a familiar crackle of light and smoke. He inhaled deeply, the familiar burn settling in his lungs, and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward in lazy spirals.
“You’re overthinking.” he told himself, though the words lacked conviction. He forced himself up despite the slow spiraling of the room around him and leaned against the windowsill, pushing the curtain to the side to stare out at the darkened campus below. Lights from the library glimmered faintly in the distance, their warm glow a stark contrast to the cold, sterile edges of his room.
It wasn’t about her. Not really. She was just… unexpected. A deviation from the usual patterns that surrounded him. Draco thrived on patterns, on predictability. This—whatever this was—had no place in his world.
And yet.
The cigarette burned down to its filter, and Draco stubbed it out in the ashtray with more force than necessary. Enough. He pushed away from the window, straightened his blazer—even now, he refused to look anything less than impeccable—and returned to his desk. There was work to be done, plans to be made, and Draco Malfoy had no intention of letting a nameless girl disrupt any of it.
But as he picked up his pen, his thoughts betrayed him. The memory of her lingered, uninvited and insistent, as if daring him to let it grow.
Draco tightened his grip on the pen and began to write. Control, he reminded himself. Control was everything.