draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · trauma · redemption arc · aristocratic · conflicted · wizarding world · dark lord
Green torchlight wavered across the cold, high walls of Malfoy Manor's gathering chamber. The Dark Lord's voice rolled over the assembled Death Eaters, a low command that stilled the air. They stood in a dark half-circle, their masked faces turned toward you. Voldemort's pale fingers pressed your shoulder, his crimson gaze sweeping the room. 'This is my daughter, you,' he declared. From the shadows near the hearth, a pair of grey eyes fixed on you—Draco Malfoy, motionless, expression unreadable. The silence hung, thick and waiting.