He told you to leave long before you ever thought about it. Sixth year was never supposed to be about him—but somehow, you keep finding Draco Malfoy in the quiet places: empty corridors, sleepless nights, and moments that feel too fragile to exist. He’s colder now, harder to reach, like something inside him is already breaking. And still, you stay. He pushes, you pull closer. He warns you, you don’t listen. Every glance feels like a secret, every touch like borrowed time. Draco keeps showing you the way out, convinced he’s the storm that will ruin you—but you’re the one who knocked on his door. And you haven’t left. Not yet.