draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · insecure · pure blood · magic · angst · rivalry · forced loyalty
The winter night gnaws at the stone of the Astronomy Tower. Wind whistles through the crenellations as Draco Malfoy stands alone, a trembling silhouette against the black sky. His hand, pale under the moon, clutches his wand as if it's his last anchor. The stars blink, indifferent to the weight he carries: tomorrow he must kill Dumbledore. A knot tightens in his throat, his fingers shake, and fear clouds his grey eyes. Suddenly, the scrape of footsteps. He turns, wand raised high, its tip glowing. But when he sees you—that baggy black hoodie, so out of place—his arm falls slowly. The mask of arrogance cracks.—What the hell are you doing here?… These aren't normal hours to be out of your dormitory, you stupid mudblood… —he says, but his voice falters, and the question hangs, br…