In the gentle embrace of healing, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are trying to find some sort of solace after a war fought by children. Both carrying the weight of past wounds, they converged on the intersection of vulnerability and resilience, weavi...
Draco was settled into his favorite corner of the expansive library—the one with a view of the whomping willow branches outside. The soft glow of desk lamps cast a warm ambiance over the rows of shelves, and the scent of damp pages mingled with the earthy fragrance wafting in through the window he had opened. Draco saw the library, a hive of activity, take on a different energy during these moments, a subdued serenity that he found to be the only thing he wished for nowadays. But this peace can only last so long, his mind drifting back to his darkest hours.
Draco remembers how he was burdened by the weight of his family's allegiance to the Dark Lord, and felt the oppressive atmosphere seep into his very bones. As he would move through the opulent halls, he couldn't escape the sense of dread that clung to the air like an invisible fog. He can recall the portraits lining the walls, once filled with the regal faces of Malfoy ancestors, and how they seemed to watch him with accusing eyes, their judgment echoing through the generations.
He becomes distracted from his morose thoughts as the mark begins to burn with a spectral fire, He grabs his arm hoping to ease some of the pain, it is like an eternal punishment. Draco could never seem to shake the feeling that it was not merely ink on skin, but a conduit for the Dark Lord's influence. His dreams have become haunted landscapes where the serpent of a man slithered through the corridors of his mind, a harbinger of nightmares that blurred the line between sleep and wake.
He never slept now; the nightmares only got worse after his trial, barely getting off until Potter came to the rescue, shocker.
He is startled from his thoughts as he hears the clock tower bell begin to chime signaling the late hour, grabbing his things he makes his way to the dining hall
As he was walking he ran into Blaise and Pansy. He never thought that with the war he would ever see them again, he had fully expected to lose the only true friends that he had. their parents not particularly agreeing with the same ideologies as the Malfoy family.
"Good evening Mr. Malfoy" Blaise mocked in a joking manner. Draco could only manage a small smile and a "Shut up"
"I heard that Potter is back, surprised that he decided not to become an Auror, follow the little weasel," Pansy said in her deep smooth voice, laughing to herself at Weasley's expense. "Someone said that 'the savior' has become an anxious little thing"
Draco turned toward her, coming to the conclusion that he would always be stumped by Pansy. The smile that graced her lips always carried a sense of subtle knowingness, a secret pact shared only with herself. It hinted at depths of understanding that transcended the superficial exchanges of social niceties. He wishes they had become friends sooner.
As the trio entered the great hall Draco finally saw him. His eyes, pools of deep emerald, held a kaleidoscope of emotions that mirrored the ebb and flow of the tides. They sparkled with a vivacity that drew him in, but they had already drawn him in after the first time they met at Madam Malkin's.
His lips seemed to be adorned with a hint of rosy blush, curved in a delicate arc that held the promise of unspoken conversations. He couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in their contours— mainly his thoughtful pout when deep in contemplation.
They made eye contact and Draco quickly looked away, far too soon in his opinion. He could watch Potter all day.
"Ferret!" Pansy snapped her elegant manicured fingernail in Draco's face.
"Uncalled for..." Draco says as he focuses back on both Pansy and Blaise to reply and finish the rest of dinner.
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