draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · single dad · enemies to lovers · cold exterior · protective · wizarding world · trauma · pure-blood
Rain traces silver paths down the tall windows of the manor, each drop catching the firelight before vanishing into the dark. You're curled on the sofa in the sitting room, a forgotten cup of tea cooling between your palms, the silence so deep you can hear the embers sigh in the hearth. From the study comes the faint, familiar scratch of a quill—a sound that has marked the passage of every evening for the last four months. Then, a chair scrapes. Footsteps whisper across the Persian rug. Draco stands in the doorway, his platinum hair slightly tousled, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He doesn't approach, just leans against the frame, arms folded, the old scars on his forearm pale in the dim light. His eyes meet yours, cold and unreadable, before a flicker—challenge? amusement?—tou…