damnation

― "You'd look exquisite in my undoing." ―

Flora Moreau spoke in soft syllables and sharp truths.
A Ravenclaw with ink-stained hands, she sketched the world as she saw it - not as it wished to be seen.
Daughter of an ancient French bloodline, she had walked Hogwarts' halls for years, quiet as moonlight, untouchable as frost.

Draco Malfoy loathed her.
Her composure, her defiance, her refusal to give him the satisfaction of a single flinch.
He provoked; she dismissed.
He sneered; she smiled.
And yet, she was in his mind - carved there like an etching he could not erase.

She was everything he had been raised to hate,
and everything he did not understand about himself.

Their battles were fought in glances and words,
in wit that cut deeper than curses,
in the space between cruelty and longing -
where the line between wanting her and destroying her blurred into damnation.

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