You’re Draco

The alley is slick with rain, the cobblestones gleaming under the dull shimmer of lamplight. You walk two paces behind your father, as always. His cane taps with precision, each strike a warning. You breathe wrong.

He stops.

“Don’t snivel,” Lucius mutters, voice like ice. Then the cane swings.

It catches your fingers—sharp, deliberate. You hiss, pulling your hand to your chest. Blood beads along your knuckles. You don’t cry out. You never do.

Lucius walks on, indifferent.

You think you’re alone.

But just around the bend, the Weasleys have paused mid-step. Molly’s arms are full of shopping bags. Arthur’s hand is on Ron’s shoulder. Ginny’s laughter dies in her throat.

They saw.

But they don’t speak to you.

Instead, Molly leans in, voice hushed. “Arthur… did you see—?”

“I saw,” he says quietly, eyes still on your retreating figure.

Ron’s brow furrows. “Was that blood?”

Ginny nods, her voice barely audible. “He looked… scared.”

“Don’t stare,” Molly whispers. “He’ll know we saw.”

Ron shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t think Malfoy could look like that.”

Arthur’s voice is low, steady. “No child should be treated that way. Not even him..”