#reader comforts draco

You heard him before he knocked.

It was the way the castle shifted — the whisper of footsteps in the corridor, the pause outside your door, the way the air felt heavy all of a sudden. Your heart beat faster, like it knew.

And then: one soft knock.

You were already at the door.

Draco stood just outside, his shoulders hunched, fists jammed deep into his robes. His hair was a mess — not windswept or charmingly tousled, just messy, like he’d been pacing for hours, running his hands through it without realizing.

He didn’t look at you.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“You are.”

That was all it took. His chest rose with a shaky breath, and he stepped inside, brushing past you like it hurt to be seen.

He stood in the middle of your room like a boy lost in the wrong memory.

You watched him carefully. He didn’t sit. Didn’t speak. Just pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose like it might hold back the weight behind his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

You waited. Let him come to you in his own time.

“I kept hearing it,” he said. “The screaming. The silence after.”

Your chest ached.

“They made me watch.” His voice cracked. “They told me not to move. That it was better that way.”

“Draco—”

“I stood there like I was made of stone,” he said, sharper now. “Like I wasn’t shaking. Like I didn’t want to scream and tear it all down just to make it stop.”

He turned to you. Finally.

And his eyes— gods, his eyes.

There was so much there: guilt, fear, fury — but beneath it, grief. That aching, helpless kind that never really leaves.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate that they think I’m like them. That I’m meant to be like them.”

You crossed the room slowly, carefully — like approaching something fragile. Your arms went around him before he could pull away. Before he could tell you he was fine.

Because he wasn’t.

And you knew.

Draco didn’t move at first. Didn’t breathe. Then slowly, slowly, his arms wrapped around your back, squeezing you like you were the only thing keeping him from coming undone.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he said. “I don’t know how to be who you think I am.”

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You’re enough. Even when you’re breaking.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy now, rimmed in red.

“You see something in me I can’t.”

“I see you,” you said. “Even when you’re hiding from yourself.”

He leaned his forehead against yours, voice raw.

“I can’t breathe without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco kissed you like he was scared to fall apart mid-way through. His lips were trembling, soft, more desperate than demanding. His hands curled into your jumper, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

When he kissed you again, slower this time, something cracked in his chest — a sound like a breath breaking in half.

You guided him gently down onto your bed, not because he asked — but because he didn’t have to. You held him as he lay beside you, curled toward your warmth, arms tangled with yours, face buried in the hollow of your throat like he could hide there forever.

You felt it when the tears came.

Silent, slow. He didn’t make a sound. But you held him tighter anyway. Ran your fingers through his hair. Whispered his name into the dark like a vow.

And when he finally slept — breath evening, grip on your waist loosening just slightly — you stayed awake a little longer. Just to be sure.

Because he only let himself fall apart when no one was watching.

And tonight, he let it be you.