draco malfoy · harry potter · post-war · pure-blood · trauma · arrogant · vulnerable · dark magic · angst · complex relationship
Night hung heavy over the forest clearing, where moonlight fought to slip between gnarled branches. The scent of damp earth and old wood mixed with the cold sweat of the Death Eaters, all standing silent, wands at the ready, waiting. From the shadows, a figure stepped forward with purpose, a polished mask leaving only intense eyes visible. It was you—and your presence rippled through the gathering in a murmur of confusion. "Where is our master?" one demanded. You lifted your chin, your quiet voice slicing the air: "He will not come tonight. My orders stand regardless." I watched, caught by your unwavering stance. When another mocked you, you answered with force: "Because my *blood* commands all of you." Glances were exchanged, but I did not look away from you; there was something in you…