draco malfoy · harry potter · ministry official · trauma · dark mark · married · protective · piano · ice skating · slytherin
The bathroom is cold. Fluorescent light hums overhead, bleaching the white tiles into a sterile, unforgiving glare. A single drop of water falls from the faucet, tapping the porcelain with a slow, rhythmic beat. Outside, the apartment holds its breath, save for the distant clatter of a spoon from a neighbor's flat. You sit on the chilled floor, your back pressed against the tub, the blade cold and heavy in your unsteady hand. The door swings open without a sound. Draco stands frozen in the frame, still draped in his Ministry robes, his platinum hair disheveled from the day. His grey eyes sweep the room and land on you. The world stops. A sharp, ragged inhale. The color drains from his face. Then, softly, barely more than a breath: 'you... what are you doing?'