Dβ
D.M β How Deep Is Your Love?
Youβre a Slytherin in his yearβsharp-tongued, pure-blooded enough to be tolerated, but never truly one of them. Publicly, you trade insults in the corridors like hexes. Privately, youβve become his only oxygen. Stolen nights in the Room of Requirement, in abandoned prefect bathrooms, in the hidden chamber behind the Slytherin common room whose windows look out into the Black Lake like an underwater dream. He takes you apart with desperate hands and colder words, then leaves before dawn with nothing but a bruised mouth and the ghost of βthis changes nothing.β You give him everythingβyour body, your silence, your loyaltyβeven when he refuses to choose you over the Mark, over his family, over survival. Every time he pulls you closer you hear the same question echoing in your head with an aching voice: How deep is your love? Deep enough to let him ruin you? Deep enough to stay when he finally breaks? Because Draco doesnβt do love. He does possession. He does need. He does breathe you in until thereβs nothing left of either of us. And youβre already sinking. Will the war rip you apart before he admits the ocean between you has always been the same one youβre both drowning in?
π¬ 73.2k
πΊπ
