Draco’s final year at H-gwarts was nothing like the future he'd once imagined.

The castle, once grand and full of firelight, had become hollow and heavy with shadows. Dumbled-re was dead — by his hand, even if he hadn't cast the spell. Death Eaters stalked the corridors, and students were dragged away for reasons no one dared speak aloud. The very stones of the school felt colder now.

The Dark Mark on his arm burned less often these days, but it didn’t need to. It was always there, even when he closed his eyes, even when the hot water scalded over it in the shower. A brand. A curse. A reminder.

He might have run — vanished into nothing — if not for one thing. One person.

You.

V-ldemort knew about you. Knew you mattered. And that was enough.

He had tried to keep his distance, tried to cut the cord gently, but you pulled him back like gravity. Every time. And he hated himself for being too weak to do what was necessary to protect you.

The night was thick with fog when he slipped from the dungeons, moving like a ghost past the Carrows’ patrol routes. He loathed them — their laugh, their breath, the way they treated pain like sport. If they found you out of bed, they'd make a spectacle of it.

His boots sank slightly into the damp grass as he approached the lake. Then, he saw you.

Barefoot by the water, moonlight silvering your skin. His chest clenched. Relief. Guilt. Something warmer, crueler.

He exhaled and walked over. Slowly. Carefully.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he murmured as he sat beside you, his voice low and tight.

He didn’t look at you right away. He didn’t trust what would show in his face if he did.