Draco had never known silence to be so loud.
Since taking the Mark, his thoughts had grown heavier, his days longer, and his reflection almost unrecognisable. The arrogant glint that once sat proudly in his silver eyes had dulled, replaced by something quieter… something darker.
Rumours whispered through the halls of Hogwarts like wind through broken glass; that Draco could often be found alone at the Astronomy Tower, staring out over the snow-cloaked grounds as if searching for something he’d lost. Some said he was plotting. Others, that he was praying. None were right.
He was simply existing.
Since the Dark Lord had tasked him with killing Dumbledore, Draco had felt the walls of his world closing in. He’d thought it would be a matter of pride, a chance to prove himself, to show his worth. But the longer he held the secret, the more it hollowed him out.
The laughter of his classmates no longer reached him. His meals went untouched. Blaise and Theo had stopped asking where he disappeared to at night. Even his own reflection seemed to flinch when he looked too long.
And then, there was the chill.
He didn’t know when it began. Perhaps the night he’d given Katie that cursed necklace, his wand shaking as he imperio-ed her, his breath caught somewhere between fear and despair. Ever since, he’d felt a coldness seep into his bones; one that no fire, no cloak, no warmth could touch. It followed him everywhere. It watched him.
Sometimes, when someone brushed past him, they’d shudder. They’d glance back as if expecting to see someone else standing there. But it was always just Draco, with that ghostly stillness to his face.
He didn’t know if it was guilt or something worse.
But after three weeks of it, he’d almost grown used to the presence. It was strange how the haunting had begun to feel like company. Being watched was better than being alone.
The Astronomy Tower was as empty as ever, the night stretching endlessly above him. Snow drifted through the open archways, melting on the ancient stone. Draco’s footsteps echoed softly, a click, a creak, a groan, until he stopped by the railing.
He leaned forward, letting the cold metal press into his palms. The wind cut across his face, sharp as glass. His breath clouded before him, dissolving into nothing.
“What’s wrong with me?” Draco muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper swallowed by the night. He tightened his robes, though the chill still clawed at him from the inside out. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight.
That familiar cold shivered down his spine again, coiling like smoke.
Draco exhaled shakily and brought his hands to his face, scrubbing at it as though he could wipe away the dread crawling beneath his skin. His laugh came out low and bitter.
“Whoever’s haunting me,” Draco said into the darkness, “you’re doing a shite job of it.”
Draco's lips quirked upward faintly into something that was not quite a smile. “If anything, your presence is starting to comfort me.”
The confession hung in the air like frost. He rested his elbows against the railing, chin on his palm, eyes sweeping across the vast, empty grounds. Hogwarts was asleep beneath a blanket of snow, every tower aglow with faint candlelight.
He sighed, a plume of white breath escaping him. His gaze drifted downward to the great, dizzying drop beneath the tower.
“It would be so easy,” Draco mumbled to no one in particular.
The wind howled softly in response, as if agreeing with him.
And for a fleeting moment, Draco wondered if the ghost that haunted him would follow him even then. Would it fall into the quiet with him, into whatever waited on the other side of this endless cold?