Professor Malfoy.

𝑰'𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

* ★ ♡ ☾ *

𝔉amiliarity. That's all I can say about him.

A silhouette of a tall man held the door open. I couldn't see anything on his face as it was too dark and a faint light shone from the outside. The moonlight shone its brightness through the window pane and towards a patch on the floor as I narrowed my eyes at the dark mysterious figure.

Should I run out of here? He's scaring me.

His stance was deadly enough.

But he hasn't said anything. I should say something, to break the silence.

"Uh--"

"--What are you doing here, in my classroom?" His dark tone demanded, causing me to jump.

I looked around, desperate to find an excuse. I could only find his shoes to look at.

A shadow revealed his hands were now on his hips. By this, I could easily tell he was a short-tempered, slightly egotistical person.

"Damn students," he muttered under his breath, "What are you doing here?" He repeated.

"I-I had to blow the candle out," I started, "It's a fire hazard. And I'm not a student, I'm a teacher," I said, standing my ground.

He sighed deeply and moved to his desk, his face still unrecognisable in the dark. "You know you shouldn't teach if you don't know that there are spells which do that automatically."

The force of his words hit me, to where I almost tumbled backwards.

"Well, in that case, you shouldn't really be a teacher if you don't know grammar," I added, smirking behind my stern face. I hope his sentence had a grammatical error in it because that's the only thing I could think of.

I followed his invisible features. Of his body language, he didn't seem angry. Just boring I guess.

And a little intimidating.

Hell, very intimidating.

He picked his wand off the desk where a small tap was cast from. He leaned over to where I was and lightly tapped three candles next to me.

The darkness of his jacket revealed his broad shoulders, despite how dark it was. There was another scent of his cologne.

The light immediately filled the darkness. About half the room was so big. But I was no longer focusing on the room.

The first thing I noticed was his face. His image. His attractive features seemed like he was carved by an angel. He was stunning.  No. Is that the right word?

Beautiful? Alluring? Like a fucking prince?

Our eyes joined and stared at each other. Like adjusting to something new.

The light left imprints on his stern face, which softened as he saw mine. His furrowed eyebrows and the small crease between them vanished: much alike my anxious thoughts about him.

Our eyes both took each other in. I could feel mine tracing every part of him. And so did he, for a second.

His clothes, his beautiful blonde hair. The body I could imagine under those clothes. His dark eyebrows surprisingly seemed to compliment his hair. His hair was smoothed back but some parts failed to stay there as they fell in front of his eyes.

He was well-trimmed and clean-shaven looking, but the suit? That was the whole look, I must say.

Bolts of lightning and flashes of heat sharpened through our eye contact. But in his piercing, cruel, blue eyes, he blinked - which broke the stare like a shattered mirror.