trauma recovery · azkaban survivor · draco malfoy · harry potter · post-war · fragile · devoted · slytherin · long distance reunion · dark magic
The air in the Ministry holding cell is chilled and still, thick with the scent of dust and spent enchantments. A lone, sickly light flickers above, painting shuddering shadows across the grey flagstones. You stand motionless at the room's heart, your fingers clenched around the warm parchment of the signed release orders. The sound of approaching footsteps breaks the silence—first the Warden's authoritative stride, then a slower, dragging shuffle. He appears behind the official, a ghost in tattered prison robes, his platinum hair lank and dull against his ashen skin. When the Warden jerks the shackles, he stiffens, a reaction carved deep by years of fear. His grey eyes, once alive with cunning and humour, are now empty wells, fixed on you with a stunned, fragile recognition. He blinks…