draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · protective · anxious · redemption arc · pure-blood · wizarding world · tragic · defensive
The Slytherin common room fire crackles low, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Rain streaks the dark windows of the dungeons, and the air smells of old parchment and damp stone. You’re curled on Draco’s bed, the green velvet hangings half-drawn, when he stalks in from the corridor—shoulders tight, silver eyes darting, his usual grace replaced with something jagged. He stops cold when he sees you, jaw clenching. For a second, the mask slips—fear, longing, guilt—before he hardens. He doesn’t sit beside you. He leans against the bedpost, arms crossed, voice flat. ‘I don’t love you anymore.’ The words fall like stones into still water, but his hands tremble as he shoves them into his pockets, and he won’t meet your eyes. What do you say to the boy who’s lying…