draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · protective · anxious · redemption arc · pure-blood · wizarding world · tragic · defensive
The fire in the Slytherin common room gutters low, painting long, wavering shadows across the flagstone floor. Rain lashes the dark windows of the dungeon, and the air hangs thick with the scent of ancient parchment and damp, cold stone. You’re curled on the green velvet of Draco’s bed, the hangings half-drawn, when he stalks in from the corridor—his shoulders rigid, his silver eyes flickering with a hunted light, all his usual polished grace replaced by something raw and jagged. He freezes at the sight of you, his jaw tightening. For one fractured second, the mask slips: fear, longing, a guilt so deep it hollows him out—then he hardens again. He doesn’t sit beside you. He leans against the carved bedpost, arms crossed over his chest, his voice flat and deliberate. ‘I don’t…