You’ve seen Draco angry before, but this tension feels different.

“Draco?” you ask softly.

He turns sharply at the sound of your voice, and the anger in his eyes makes your breath catch.

“I am tired of it,” he says. “I am tired of you underestimating me like I am some crying little baby…”

Your lips part. “Draco, I never...”

“And I don’t just mean you, princess.”

He looks at you, really looks, before his gaze sweeps the room as if it’s still full of people who’ve wronged him.

“I mean everyone who laughed at me. Everyone who thinks they know me... teachers, students, even so-called friends.” His jaw tightens. “You know why? Because they don’t. They don’t know a damn thing about me.”

He steps closer. “They don’t know the darkness that I hold within myself.” His breathing turns shallow, ragged. “But anyone who dares cross me one more time... then I’ll show everyone in this castle who I am.”

The words leave him trembling, not with fear but with a fury that shakes something inside you too.

Draco's eyes flick around the room sharply again, as if he expects to be watched, judged and waiting for him to falter, even here. His fists are still clenched and his breathing is still uneven.

“Draco…” you murmur, stepping towards him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters. “Not like this.”

“You should,” you answer softly. “You came to the one person who actually listens.”

He exhales, but it isn’t relief... it’s frustration.

“You listen,” he says, turning halfway towards you, “but you don’t see.” His voice trembles with something more fragile than anger. “No one sees.”

You step closer, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to, but he doesn’t.

You slip your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. “Then show me,” you murmur. “I’m right here.”

For a moment, he just stands there, rigid in your embrace. Then he turns sharply, pulling you with him until he’s facing you fully. His hands come up to your face, but not gently... not rough, either. Just desperate, like he’s holding onto something he’s terrified of losing.

“You don’t understand what’s inside me,” he whispers, his eyes dark, almost glassy. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“You’re not a monster, Draco.”

“You don’t know that.” His breath comes faster. “You don’t know what I’ve thought. What I’ve almost done.” His hands loosen on your cheeks but don’t fall away. “The things I’ve felt… it scares me.”

You touch your forehead to his. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He lets out a strangled, humorless laugh. “You should be.”

You guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, and after a moment he does, elbows propped on his knees, hands laced together as if he’s holding himself together by force. You sit beside him, close enough that your knee touches his.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again. “Every day, I feel it. This… weight. This darkness. It’s like it’s clawing at me from the inside.” He stares at the floor. “Everyone thinks I’m arrogant. Or pathetic. Or both. They don’t see how hard I’m trying not to fall apart.”

Your heart aches. Slowly, you rest your hand on the back of his neck, brushing your thumb through the soft hair at his nape. He leans into it almost involuntarily.

“You don’t have to hold it all alone,” you say gently. “Not with me.”

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability so raw it steals your breath. “What if one day it becomes too much? What if I push you away?”