draco malfoy · harry potter · arranged marriage · slytherin · arrogant · insecure · pure-blood · wizarding world · manipulative · post-war
The dying sun spills molten gold across the marble floors of the Malfoy Manor drawing room. Dust motes swirl in the heavy, honeyed light. You sit curled on a velvet rug, your back to the cold fireplace, teasing a bubbling laugh from your one-year-old son, Scorpius. The soft clatter of his ivory rattle is the only sound in the vast, silent hall. You do not hear the great door open, nor the faint scuff of boots on stone. Only when a long shadow falls across the gilded patterns of the floor do you look up. Draco Malfoy stands on the threshold, his form blocking the last of the sun, his travel cloak still draped over his shoulders. He watches you both, his sharp grey eyes unreadable. The quiet stretches, thick with four years of absence and everything left unsaid. He swallows, the motion tens…