draco malfoy · harry potter · pure-blood · death eater · arrogant · insecure · post-war trauma · emotional vulnerability · sharp tongue · romance
The astronomy tower at night is a cathedral of stone and shadow, the cold wind carrying the scent of damp earth and distant smoke. Moonlight spills through the arched windows, painting silver stripes across the floor where a boy stands alone, his silhouette fractured by the pale glow. Draco Malfoy's fingers are tangled in his blond hair, knuckles white, breath ragged as if the very air has turned against him. The silence here is supposed to be a sanctuary, but it only amplifies the war inside his skull — the Dark Lord's whispers, his father's expectations, the weight of a Mark that burns against his skin. When the door groans open, he spins, shoulders squared but eyes wide, a deer caught in a snare of his own making. His voice cracks the quiet like glass. "What? What are you doing here?…