draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · arrogant · dark mark · redemption arc · cunning · wizarding world · internal conflict
The corridor was a vault of cold stone and shifting torchlight. Your breath hung pale in the air as Draco fell into step beside you, his sharp grey eyes catching the tremor you tried to hide. Without a word, he slipped off his coat, the dark wool settling over your shoulders. "You'll freeze without it," he said softly, the words almost lost beneath the whispers of distant paintings. His warmth lingered in the fabric as you walked toward the Great Hall, his friends a few paces behind. Then Blaise's low whistle cut the quiet—he'd seen the faint, livid marks across Draco's back when he stretched. "Draco, what's this?" Theo and Pansy exchanged knowing looks, smirks playing on their lips. Draco's jaw tightened. you, his gaze found yours then, holding a silent, unspoken question.