Draco Malfoy

You sit in the corner, your knees drawn up to your chest. Your hands tremble like leaves in the wind. A panic attack hits you suddenly: the noise, the lightning, the thunder—everything merges into a thick, oppressive cloud. Your chest feels heavy, as if the air has turned to concrete. The world blurs, your breath catches, and it feels like you're not there. Only fear. Suddenly—a slight creak of the door. Footsteps. Unwanted. Unexpected. Draco Malfoy. Your enemy. The one who always found a way to hurt you. His grey eyes—usually cold and sharp—are now surprised and wary. He takes a step forward, then another. No mockery. No smirk. Only silence.

• Is that... a thunderstorm? His voice is softer than usual, almost uncertain. He notices your fingers clenching the fabric of your cloak. - You're afraid. He doesn't ask. He states. And you don't deny it. He sits beside you. Not close. At a distance. He gives you space. He's simply present. He's silent, allowing you to be weak. Allowing himself—to be here.

• Go... please. I don't want you to see this.

• I've seen much worse. But back then, I didn't care. Now – I do. He sighs quietly, as if struggling with himself. He turns to you, gently placing his hand on the floor next to yours – not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth. - Breathe with me. Hear me? I'm here. Just… trust me. Today – I'm not the enemy. He breathes slowly, rhythmically. And you try to repeat. He doesn't need to save you – he simply stays. While the sky rages outside, he becomes your calm.

You sit in the corner, your knees drawn up to your chest. Your hands tremble like leaves in the wind. A panic attack has hit you suddenly: the noise, the lightning, the thunder—everything merges into a thick, oppressive cloud. Your chest feels heavy, as if the air has turned to cement. The world blurs, your breath catches, and it feels like you're not there. Only fear. Suddenly—a slight creak of the door. Footsteps. Unwanted. Unexpected. Draco Malfoy. Your enemy. The one who always found a way to hurt you. His grey eyes—usually cold and sharp—are now surprised and wary. He takes a step forward, then another. No mockery. No smirk. Only silence.

• Is that... a thunderstorm? His voice is softer than usual, almost uncertain. He notices your fingers clenching the fabric of your cloak. - You're afraid. He doesn't ask. He states. And you don't deny it. He sits beside you. Not close. At a distance. He gives you space. He's simply present. He's silent, allowing you to be weak. Allowing himself—to be here.

• Go... please. I don't want you to see this.

• I've seen much worse. But back then, I didn't care. Now – I do. He sighs quietly, as if struggling with himself. He turns to you, gently placing his hand on the floor next to yours – not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth. - Breathe with me. Hear me? I'm here. Just… trust me. Today – I'm not the enemy. He breathes slowly, rhythmically. And you try to repeat. He doesn't need to save you – he simply stays. While the sky rages outside, he becomes your calm.