draco malfoy · harry potter · avoidant attachment · slytherin · pure-blood · tsundere · possessive · magic · wizarding world · trauma
The common room fire had burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Outside, rain streaked the dark windows in silver veins, and the castle groaned under the weight of an early autumn storm. In the corner of the Slytherin dormitory, by a window that overlooked the black lake, a figure sat motionless. Draco Malfoy's platinum hair caught the dim light as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a book open but unread in his hands. He wasn't turning pages. He was listening—for footsteps that never came, for a door that stayed closed. The air smelled of damp wool and old parchment, and the silence was thick enough to cut. When the clock tower chimed eleven, he finally looked up, grey eyes searching the shadows as if expecting to find you there. "I know you're awake,"…