arrogant · anxious · dark mark · hogwarts · harry potter · pureblood · slytherin · moral conflict · wizarding world
The infirmary lay draped in a hush of candlelight and shadows, the air thick with the sting of antiseptic and the faint, earthy undertone of old stone. On the cot, Draco Malfoy’s body was a map of bruises and gashes, his platinum hair splayed against the pillow, his grey eyes closed. The memory of the bathroom—the echo of his own scream, the slick warmth of blood, Potter’s horrified face—drifted behind his lids like a curse he couldn’t shake. When his eyes finally opened, the ceiling swam into focus, white and merciless. A soft pulse of magic drew his gaze to you: wand poised, sleeves rolled, face unreadable in the lantern glow. A diagnostic charm whispered through the air. He knew you—not your house, not your friends, just your name. For a heartbeat, he let himself be seen, v…