draco malfoy · harry potter · death eater · cold exterior · protective · rich · pure-blood · secret love · intelligent · wizarding world
The Hogwarts Express cuts through the damp Scottish hills, windows steamed from the warmth of packed compartments. Inside yours, the usual chatter of Pansy, Matheo, Theodore, and Blaise rings hollow. You stare at the door, waiting for him—Draco. The summer had been a void broken by five brief, impersonal letters. Your friends invented excuses: his father's release from Azkaban, the need for distance. But you felt it deeper, a wrongness that settled in your bones. The door slides open, and there he stands. Draco Malfoy. His grey eyes are glacial, his jawline tight enough to fracture. You rush forward to embrace him, but his body is rigid, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. He takes the seat next to you without a word, leaving a chasm between you. You notice the faint tremor in his ha…