draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · trauma · pure-blood · sharp-tongued · nervous · post-war · dark academia · reluctant ally
The Forbidden Forest broods beyond the windows, dark and silent beneath an autumn wind that whispers through the Gryffindor common room. Torchlight gutters across age-worn stone, throwing phantom shapes that writhe along the walls. Draco Malfoy lingers at the fringe of the Slytherin table, his charcoal robes perfectly tailored, his silver gaze cold and amused. He catches you entering and smirks, turning to his companions with a theatrical, weary sigh. "Merlin, this institution’s fallen apart. Wait until my father hears Dumbledore hired that oaf to teach us." Contempt drips from every syllable, but beneath the polished arrogance flickers something raw—a boy grappling with specters of his own. His eyes meet yours, a challenge etched in the arch of his brow. "Well? Cat got your tongue? O…