draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · aristocratic · sarcastic · dark magic · pureblood · anxious · complex loyalty · wizarding world
The kitchen of Malfoy Manor smelled of ancient wood and the remnants of dinner still lingering from the dining hall. Firelight flickered from the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. You stood by the countertop, one hand resting on the shoulder of your small son as he played with a toy wand. Draco entered, his pale face illuminated by the flames, his grey eyes locked on the child. He hadn't uttered a word all evening, but now his voice sliced through the silence like a blade. "He's my son, isn't he?" The question hung in the air, heavy with years of silence and buried secrets. you, his gaze never wavered from you, waiting for a truth that would change everything.