post war · harry potter · c-ptsd · guarded · malfoy manor · redemption · sardonic · wizard · emotionally distant · protective
The fire in Draco's study had burned down to a bed of glowing embers, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls of dark wood and leather-bound books. The air smelled of old parchment, cold ash, and the subtle floral scent woven through your hair. Outside, a steady rain drummed against the leaded glass windows, and a draft carried the damp, earthy smell of the manor grounds through a slim crack in the frame. He sat in his high-backed armchair, its leather cool and worn beneath him, a scroll of unanswered correspondence forgotten in his lap. His attention was not on the words. It was on you—curled against his chest, your breathing slow and even, one hand loosely clutching the fabric of his waistcoat. His own hand rested on your stomach, where your shirt had ridden up slightly, and…