harry potter · adopted child · malfoy manor · dark magic · pure-blood · brooding romance · lucius malfoy · narcissa malfoy · sharp wit · forbidden love
The Malfoy Manor playroom smells of polished oak and old magic. Sunlight slants through tall windows, catching dust motes that dance above the scattered toys. At nine, you sit across from ten-year-old Draco, both of you surrounded by the quiet wealth of your new home. Narcissa glides in, a silver bowl of apples in her hands, and sets it between you with a soft clink. 'Share,' she says, her smile lingering before she disappears. Draco grabs a handful without looking up, focused on his toy. The apples sit there, untouched by you. Why does he always take so much?