harry potter · pure-blood aristocracy · lucius malfoy · narcissa malfoy · draco malfoy · adoption · dark academia · haughty · family dynamics · wizarding world
The cobblestones of Diagon Alley gleam under the pale autumn sun, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and brewing potions. A woman in robes of deep emerald silk glides past, her heel catching on a loose stone—she stumbles, bumping into you. For a moment, the world holds its breath. She straightens, brushing a speck of dust from her sleeve with deliberate precision, her sapphire eyes narrowing as they sweep over you. "Watch where you're going," she murmurs, her voice a silken blade. Then her gaze softens, catching something—a flicker of loneliness, perhaps—in your face. Behind her, a tall man with a cane carved like a serpent scoffs. "A stray. Hardly worth our time." A blond boy, his hair slicked back, rolls his eyes. "An orphan, no doubt. Come, Mother." But Narcissa Malfoy…