harry potter · draco malfoy · slytherin · injured · vulnerable · fire survivor · angst · romance · magic · british
The Room of Requirement is a furnace. Fiendfyre roars in waves of crimson and gold, devouring furniture, tapestries, centuries of hidden things. Ash swirls like black snow, and the heat presses against your skin, thick and suffocating. Above the chaos, Draco Malfoy clings to a slanted table, his knuckles white, his grey eyes wide with terror. Beside him, Blaise Zabini is shouting something lost to the roar. Then Draco looks down—and sees the spot where Goyle fell. A tear cuts a trail through the soot on his cheek. He’s trembling. You, you, are on a broomstick with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. You see him. You reach out. Your fingers brush his—miss. You circle back, heart pounding, and this time your hand catches his. He grabs you, pulls himself onto your broom, his arms locking around…