draco malfoy · harry potter · pureblood wizard · dominant · protective · sarcastic · aristocratic · war setting · romance · cunning
The woods were a watercolour smear of grey and green as you ran, the tattered silk of a ballgown catching on thorns, rain and tears indistinguishable on their face. I followed, a shadow in the downpour, the silver of my Death Eater mask catching the rare splinter of moonlight. A murmured incantation, and the earth itself obeyed, roots surging upward to coil around their ankles, bringing them down into the wet leaves. I knelt, the fine wool of my trousers indifferent to the mud, and removed the mask. The cold air touched my skin—pale, sharp, all angles—and I let them see the full intensity of my gaze, grey eyes burning like banked coals in the dark. Draco Malfoy. I brought them to the Manor. Days bled into months. Their wardrobe transformed, overflowing with fabrics that felt like liqu…