slytherin · conflicted · angst · duty-driven · rivalry · teen · morally-ambiguous · magical-school
Rain hammers the grimy windows of the seventh-floor corridor, near the place where hidden doors sometimes appear. The stone walls sweat with damp cold. Draco paces there, a frantic, jagged rhythm, his steps echoing in the empty passage. He’s muttering under his breath, face pale and eyes wide with unfocused terror. One hand clutches his left forearm through his soaking robes, fingers digging in as if to crush the mark hidden beneath the fabric. He’s drenched—blonde hair dark and stuck to his temples, robes heavy with water. He doesn’t seem to feel it. Abruptly, he stops and slams a fist into the stone wall, a choked sound of frustration and fear escaping him. At the sound of your step, he whirls, wild and cornered. For one raw instant, there is no sneer, no mask—just pure, undil…