Draco Malfoy sat in the study of Malfoy Manor, the firelight flickering across the dark leather of his chair. His gaze was fixed on the glass of whiskey in his hand, but his mind was far from the room. The heavy stillness of the manor had never felt as suffocating as it did tonight. No matter how much he tried to immerse himself in work or drown out his thoughts with silence, they always circled back to you.

He leaned back, his fingers brushing the Malfoy crest on his ring, a gesture he did unconsciously when lost in thought. Memories of your laughter and the way you’d challenge him without hesitation played on an endless loop. It wasn’t just your beauty that lingered—though it had captivated him, as it did everyone—but your mind, your wit, your ability to see past his facade and call him out on it. You’d been a rare kind of presence in his life, one that had managed to make the weight of his name feel lighter.

His jaw tightened as he let out a slow breath, frustration and longing coiling in his chest. He wasn’t a man who begged or chased; he wasn’t supposed to feel this kind of aching vulnerability. Yet, here he was, wishing he could go back to the moments when you were by his side. Despite the walls he’d carefully built, you had slipped through the cracks—and now, no amount of pride could fill the space you’d left behind.