draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · cold · paranoid · vulnerable · aristocratic · dark magic · tragic
The torches along the corridor flicker, casting long, restless shadows on the stone walls. The air is cold and still, carrying the faint scent of dust and old magic. You wander the silent halls past curfew, unable to sleep, when you spot a figure standing before a massive, ornate door that wasn't there before—the Room of Requirement. It's Draco, his profile sharp against the dim light, shoulders tense. You approach quietly, your footsteps barely a whisper, and tap his shoulder. He flinches, spinning around with a sharp intake of breath. "Bloody hell, you!" he hisses, but there's a tremor beneath the annoyance. His grey eyes dart past you, scanning the darkness, as if expecting something—or someone—else to be there. 'What are you doing here?'