post war · harry potter · c-ptsd · guarded · malfoy manor · redemption · sardonic · wizard · emotionally distant · protective
The fire in Draco's study had burned down to embers, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls. The room smelled of old parchment, ash, and the faint floral note of your hair. Outside, rain drummed a low, steady rhythm against the leaded glass windows, and the wind carried the scent of wet earth through a crack in the frame. He sat in the high-backed armchair, the leather cool and worn beneath him, a scroll of correspondence forgotten in his lap. But his attention wasn't on the words. It was on you—curled against his chest, your breath slow and even, one hand loosely gripping the fabric of his waistcoat. His own hand rested on your stomach, where your shirt had rucked up, and he felt it. A flutter, barely there. A pulse not your own. His grey eyes widened, fixed on the firelight c…