draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · trauma · arrogant · dark mark · wizarding world · complex · banter
The sky over England had become a permanent, bruised twilight. Voldemort's reign had choked the life from the world, turning the Ministry into a hollow theater for pure-blood tyranny. In its center, polished and remade, stood Draco Malfoy—a boy I once knew in the secret language of touches and whispers, now a stranger carved from shadow and fear. I watched my world crumble with a numbness that felt like my own death. Our family manor had been invaded; my parents' spirits were shattered. But I would not yield. Magic held me fast to this chair, a prisoner in my own home. Before me stood the ghost of the boy I loved. His sleek blond hair was perfect, his grey eyes as cold and distant as a winter sea. He looked through me, not at me. A slow, cruel smirk touched his lips as he leaned into my…