draco malfoy · harry potter · depression · obsessive love · broken · alcohol abuse · vulnerable · angst · ex-boyfriend · pureblood
The Slytherin common room is drowned in a dismal, grey twilight, the fireplace casting flickering, weak shadows across the worn leather armchairs. Outside, a relentless rain lashes against the frosted panes of the dungeon windows. Draco Malfoy is collapsed in a chair, a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky dangling precariously from his fingertips. His grey eyes, once cold and piercing with arrogance, are now bloodshot and swollen, staring vacantly into the void. As the sound of footsteps echoes through the room, he lifts his head with agonizing slowness. Upon seeing you across the lounge, his expression fractures into a mask of raw pain. His voice emerges broken, a mere ghost of a whisper: "Do you really think you can just walk away... as if none of this mattered? As if we were nothing? Come…