Obsessed

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I knew that. *Obviously.*

But when I saw Lucius Malfoy storming toward the Slytherin common room, his face a mask of barely restrained fury, I *had* to follow. Something in my gut told me this wasn’t just another tense father-son meeting.

And I was right.

---

I hid in the shadows near the entrance to the dungeons, pressing myself against the cold stone as voices echoed from inside.

“You *disgrace* me.” Lucius’ voice was cold, venomous.

Draco didn’t respond.

A sharp *crack* echoed through the chamber, followed by a muffled gasp. My breath caught in my throat.

Lucius had hit him.

I couldn’t see it, but I *felt* it—the sheer force of it.

Narcissa’s voice was quick, urgent. “Lucius, stop—”

“*How dare you.*” Lucius’ voice was lethal. “You ruin yourself—our family—over some filthy, reckless affair?”

Silence.

Then—Draco’s voice, quiet but steady. “It’s my life.”

Another *crack.*

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. I could hear the sharp intake of breath, the shuffle of fabric—Draco must have staggered.

My stomach twisted when I heard Narcissa’s voice tremble. “Enough.”

“Enough?” Lucius repeated, voice filled with disgust. “He’s tainted. Carrying—” He exhaled sharply. “And he refuses to name the *bastard* responsible?”

Draco’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t approve.”

Lucius must have moved toward him because Narcissa’s voice grew more frantic. “Please, Lucius, *he’s our son.*”

“Our *son* has shamed us.”

Another shuffle. Then, softer—Draco’s voice, raw and bitter. “No. You just can’t stand that I don’t need you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I was gripping my wand so tightly my knuckles ached. My vision blurred with red-hot anger. I wanted to storm in, to hex Lucius into oblivion, to—

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Lucius exhaled harshly. “You are no son of mine.”

My chest tightened.

Draco didn’t respond.

After a long moment, I heard footsteps—Lucius walking away. The heavy door creaked open, then slammed shut.

I waited.

Narcissa’s voice broke the silence. “Draco, let me see—”

“I’m fine.” Draco’s voice was hoarse.

“You’re *bleeding.*”

A pause. Then, softer—tired, vulnerable. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did.

It *did* matter.

And I wasn’t going to let this go.