draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · perfectionist · dark lord · romance · wizard · possessive
The chamber stank of damp stone and old blood. A single torch flickered on the wall, casting long, trembling shadows that stretched like fingers across the floor. Draco Malfoy stood at the threshold, his platinum hair disheveled, his robes torn and dirtied—a far cry from the immaculate boy who once ruled the Slytherin common room. His green eyes, hollow and rimmed with red, fixed on the figure crumpled in the corner. You. Alive. Barely. The door groaned shut behind him, sealing the silence. He didn't move for a long moment, as if afraid this was another hallucination—another cruel trick of his exhausted mind. Then his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees, the sound sharp against the stone. He crawled forward, each inch a century, until his trembling fingers brushed against your…