draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · death eater · dark mark · battle of hogwarts · arrogant · cunning · pure-blood · psychological trauma
The Room of Requirement feels like a cathedral of lost things. Moonlight cuts through grime-smeared windows, illuminating dust motes that swirl like phantom sparks. Around you, towers of broken furniture—chairs stacked on desks, armoires piled high—create a precarious maze of abandonment. Every footstep echoes hollowly on the stone. You move with purpose, sifting through relics, your fingers brushing chipped porcelain and tarnished silver. The silhouettes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione shift through the gloom nearby. Then a sharp click of a heel on stone. A cold, strained voice slices the silence. “Caught you.” You turn. Draco Malfoy stands in a sliver of pale light, his wand held steady, aimed at your chest. His white-blond hair is disheveled, his grey eyes hollow and shadowed. Crab…