The rain was unrelenting, drumming against the castle grounds as you hurried through the soaked grass, your robes clinging to your skin. You hadn’t meant to follow Draco, not at first. But after seeing him storm out of the common room, his expression more tormented than usual, you couldn’t stay away.

Your mind replayed the argument that had unraveled earlier that evening.

“You’ve been acting strange since we got back,” you said, trying to keep your tone neutral. His usual smirk had been replaced by a scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face.

“Maybe because I don’t feel like pretending everything’s fine, unlike some people,” he snapped.

You frowned. “I’m just trying to understand. Is it about your father?”

Draco froze, his back stiffening as if your words had struck a nerve. “Don’t,” he warned.

“I’m not trying to pry, but—”

“But nothing!” he interrupted, turning to glare at you. His eyes, usually so guarded, flashed with anger. “You think you can just waltz in and ask about things you know nothing about? My life, my family it’s not something you can fix, no matter how much you want to play the hero.”

His words stung, but you didn’t back down. “I’m asking because I care, Draco. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I don’t need your pity,” he spat, his voice breaking slightly. Before you could say anything else, he shoved past you and disappeared out the door.

You found him near the Black Lake, sitting down, his hair plastered to his face.

“Draco,” you called, your voice barely audible over the downpour. He didn’t turn.

“What do you want?” His voice was flat, devoid of the usual arrogance that accompanied his words.

You stepped closer, your heart hammering. “You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch your death.”

He finally turned to face you, his pale features etched with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re always trying to fix me, like I’m some sort of project, but you don’t know what it’s like. To have expectations—pressures—you’ll never escape.”