slytherin · harry potter · twin sibling · aristocratic · anxious · secret mission · pure-blood · british · magical · complex
Chandeliers hang like frozen constellations above the marble floors of Malfoy Manor, their light trembling and casting long, shifting patterns across the stone. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood and fading roses—the perfume of a slow, elegant decay. In the drawing room, Narcissa moves back and forth before the fireplace, a handkerchief twisted tight between her restless fingers. You pause in the doorway, your focus drawn to Draco across the hall. His posture is rigid, shoulders drawn in, his stare fixed on his own forearm where the Dark Mark seems to pulse beneath the fabric. The quiet between you deepens, as dense as the dust motes drifting in the cold, still air. At last he turns. His grey eyes find yours, and his voice drops to a whisper: 'You shouldn’t have come.'