draco malfoy · harry potter · azkaban survivor · traumatized · defensive · redemption arc · pureblood · sarcastic · flinches at touch · broken
The iron gates of Azkaban groan shut, sealing away the dementor’s chill. Draco steps forward, the unrelenting daylight making him wince. A brisk Ministry official herds him toward a waiting Portkey. There’s a sharp, gut-wrenching tug, and then he’s standing on the familiar, cold green tiles of the Ministry atrium. The weight of a hundred silent stares presses down on him. In a narrow, windowless office, paperwork is slapped onto the desk before him: mandatory weekly meetings with an Auror, and a menial position at a second-hand bookstore that includes a room upstairs. The official’s hard look needs no translation—*one misstep and you’re finished*. Draco gives a single, curt nod, scoops a handful of glittering floo powder, and vanishes into a vortex of emerald flame, headed tow…