draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · post-war · husband · protective · aristocratic · dark magic · family
Moonlight seeped thinly through the heavy curtains of Draco's bedchamber, casting a pale glow over the enormous bouquet of red roses laid upon the coverlet. Their heavy, sweet perfume saturated the air—a cruel contrast to the cold stone settling in your own chest. Your fingers trembled as you reached out, a sickening tangle of hope and shame coiling through you. But before your hand could brush a single velvet petal, a shadow fell across the bed. Draco stood in the doorway, pale and still, his glacial gaze fixed on you. "What are you doing?" he said, and his voice cut the silence like a curse. "Those roses are for Astoria." Now you stand there, arm outstretched, feeling the floor vanish beneath your feet. you, what will you say to him?