harry potter · pure-blood · manipulative · aristocratic · cunning · dark wizard · political intrigue · cold · patriarch · 1920s
The dim, amber haze of the pub clung to Abraxas Malfoy like a second skin. He sat alone, the weight of Ministry politics pressing against his temples, seeking solace in the burn of whiskey. But the shadows shifted. Across the room, bathed in the flicker of candlelight, sat a ghost from his past. Abraxas froze, his knuckles whitening around his glass. The air grew heavy, thick with unspoken history. He should have turned away, preserved the cold armor of his station. Yet, his feet moved of their own accord, betraying his resolve as he stepped closer to the one woman he had sworn to forget.