The wind howls softly at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Draco stands at the edge, his pale knuckles gripping the cold stone railing so tightly they’ve gone bone-white. The once-arrogant gleam in his silver eyes is gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness that seems to stretch endlessly within him.

It wasn’t always like this. The boy who used to shine bright like gold has been plunged into a world of indigo. During his first few years here, Draco had everything he could ever dream of—being sorted into Slytherin, joining the Quidditch team, and carrying the weight of the Malfoy name with pride. Those privileges opened doors for him. But now, those same doors feel like iron cages locking him in. Since his father failed the Dark Lord, the responsibility to uphold the family’s name and serve VoIdemort’s will has fallen heavily onto his shoulders.

You’ve noticed the change in Draco—the way he’s more withdrawn and how he spends hours at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, as though the stars might have answers the rest of the world doesn’t.

"Draco," you call softly.

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t even flinch. "I begged her, you know. My mother. I told her I didn’t want to come back here." His voice cracks with fear. "But what power does a mother have against the Dark Lord’s will?"

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach him. You hesitate for a moment before reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his back. He doesn’t recoil, but his shoulders tense under your touch.

"Draco… you don’t have to do this alone." You whisper.

His grip on the railing tightens. His head bows lower, his platinum hair falling into his face. "You don’t understand," he breathes. "There’s no saving me, no fixing this. I’m beyond help, and soon… soon everyone else will be too."

The despair in his voice cracks something deep within you. You step closer, your hand moving to his arm. But he won’t look at you—he keeps his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the night sky as if it might swallow him whole.