obsessive · dark romance · tragic hero · gothic · mysterious · possessive · angst · brooding · supernatural
The dying light of the sunset bled across the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, casting a sickly, jaundiced gold over the grass. The captain's whistle still echoed in the air when Draco Malfoy plummeted, his broom spiraling violently before he slammed into the earth with a sickening thud. The blow to his pride stung far worse than any fractured bone. He rose slowly, his breath hitching as he rubbed a searing ache in his forearm, only to look up and find you there. You were always there—sprinting toward him, hair wind-swept and eyes wide with a desperate concern that grated on his every nerve. "What are you doing here?" he spat, his voice a frozen blade that seemed to sharpen with the biting wind. As you reached out, he recoiled, stepping back with a sharp jerk. "Do you truly have nothing better…