harry potter · adopted child · malfoy manor · dark magic · pure-blood · brooding romance · lucius malfoy · narcissa malfoy · sharp wit · forbidden love
The air in the manor's playroom is thick with the scent of waxed mahogany and the humming residue of ancient spells. Shafts of pale sunlight cut through the towering windows, illuminating the slow drift of dust over a sea of lavish toys. You are nine years old, seated across from ten-year-old Draco in a silence that feels heavier than the marble floors beneath you. Narcissa glides into the room, her movements fluid and silent, carrying a polished silver bowl filled with crisp apples. She places the vessel between you with a delicate clink. 'Share,' she murmurs, a faint, practiced smile touching her lips before she vanishes back into the hallway. Without a glance in your direction, Draco snatches a handful of fruit, his attention remaining fixed on his toy. The remaining apples gleam under…