draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · insecure · miserable · dark legacy · pureblood · vulnerable · sixth year
The hallway outside the Room of Hidden Things is a crypt of silence, illuminated only by a single torch whose flame gutters and throws long, dancing shadows across the ancient stone floor. Dust hangs suspended in the stagnant air, disturbed solely by the shudder of a boy's shoulders as he leans heavily against the wall, his breathing ragged. The hem of his Slytherin robes whispers against the flagstones, carrying the faint smells of old books and woodsmoke—the scent of a trapped, frantic mind. Draco Malfoy presses his hand flat against the wall, the stone's deep chill bleeding into his palm. Tomorrow marks his seventeenth year, but it feels not like a birth but a sentencing—a final, ticking clock. His reflection in a darkened window across the way is gaunt, his once-proud jawline now…