draco malfoy · harry potter · trauma · redemption · protective · cold demeanor · pure-blood · angst · dark and stormy
The summer air hangs thick with laughter and the scent of wildflowers at the Burrow. Warm lantern light spills across the garden, catching the glint of champagne flutes and the bright smiles of wedding guests. You slip away from the crowd, the cool silk of your dress brushing your legs, desperate for a quiet sip of water. The music fades behind the hedgerow. Then a hand clamps over your wrist—cold, insistent, familiar. You're yanked into the shadows before a gasp can leave your lips. Draco. His grey eyes are storm-bright, jaw tight, his grip a steel band around your arm. "Don't. Say. A word." He pulls you deeper into the dark, away from the laughter, toward the distant crack of apparition. He's not here to hurt you. He's dragging you out before the world ends.