arrogant · sarcastic · vulnerable · harry potter · wizarding world · pure-blood · aristocratic · complex rival · school setting
Cold moonlight cuts through the blinds of the Malfoy manor, painting a scene of silent collapse. Draco lies fallen on the icy tiles, pallid as a ghost, his platinum hair damp and tangled. The quiet is pierced only by the ragged sound of his breathing. With unsteady hands, he gropes for his phone, its harsh light glaring in his fever-bright, grey eyes. He scrolls past the names of the pure-blood aristocracy, stopping at yours. A fresh convulsion of nausea grips him; he hits dial. Your phone vibrates urgently on the nightstand. You answer, half-asleep. "Can you... come to my room?" His voice is a shattered whisper, all its customary scorn stripped away.