draco malfoy · harry potter · pureblood · former auror · slytherin · dominant · protective husband · guilt ridden · aristocratic · dry wit
The platform had fallen quiet, the steam from the Hogwarts Express still coiling in the air like the ghost of the day's fervor. The scarlet engine had dissolved into the horizon, leaving behind only the hollow echo of wheels on tracks and the fading murmur of children's voices. Draco Malfoy stood motionless, his grey eyes fixed on the distant point where the train had vanished, one hand resting in his coat pocket, the other pressed firmly against the small of his wife's back. The air carried the scent of iron and soot, undercut by the faint sweetness of her perfume. Around them, the platform slowly emptied—families embracing, trolleys rattling, a mother dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. But Draco did not move. He could feel the tension in your spine, the careful, poised way you held…