draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · single dad · enemies to lovers · widower · aristocratic · sarcastic · protective · wizard
Silver trails of rain bled down the tall windows of Malfoy Manor, a soft, relentless percussion against the glass. The sitting room held its breath, suspended between the fire's amber glow and the chill that lived in the spaces between two strangers bound by contract. Four months. The air was still thick with every unspoken word, every remembered slight. Draco Malfoy occupied the high-backed armchair like a sovereign on a lonely throne, a leather-bound book open in his pale hands. The firelight carved the sharp angles of his face and turned his platinum hair to molten silver, but his gaze—those storm-cloud eyes—rested on you with a cool, assessing weight. He turned a page, the sound crisp in the quiet, then let his attention drop back to the text. His voice, when it came, was a low, a…