Haven't I given enough?

Haven't I given enough?

MGA BUMASA 4,914
Mga Boto 176
Mga Parte 9

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Huling na-publish Sat, Jan 3, 2026

abuseddraco aggresiveharry angst cursing dark

Draco Malfoy had always been the epitome of pureblood arrogance, but after the fall of Voldemort, the weight of his choices crushed him. His father, once the towering figure of fear and control , now became more worse in abusing him as he unleashed his frustrations on Draco behind closed doors. Lucius Malfoy's cold cruelty spared no emotion, reminding Draco daily of his perceived failures-of how he hadn't been the perfect heir or loyal servant to the Dark Lord. School offered no good. The students at Hogwarts, from the war, looked at Draco with scorn and contempt. Whispers followed him in the hallways, hands shoved him against walls, and even professors offered no help, silently allowing his torment. The guilt devoured him, feeding himself the belief that he deserved every ounce of hatred and more. The war might have ended, but for Draco, the battle raged on inside. He began retreating to the dungeons, late at night, where no one could see the marks he escape from the numbness consuming him. one day he decided to end it for good... (Alive Dumbledore and Snape because I don't know what the names of the other Proffesor's) Note: This is my first published story and I don't know how to warn things so I deeply apologize. The cover photo wasn't mine and also the characters but the story is mine. The characters are from the series or movie called harry Potter. Trigger Warning : this will have some topic's of rape, selfharm, depression, suicidal thoughts, bullying, abuse, death, etc .please Read with caution.... S.W.L. : B

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One Time Thing | Draco Malfoy

The Malfoy name had always been synonymous with power, with wealth, with an unshakable sense of superiority. Love, romance-those were trivial distractions. Draco had been raised to believe that emotions were a weakness, that attachments were dangerous, that desire was meant to be controlled, not surrendered to. And yet, here he was. The air in the dimly lit room was thick with the scent of whiskey and something floral-her perfume, lingering on his skin like a ghost. The silk sheets beneath him were still warm from where she had laid, her absence now a space that made his chest tighten in a way he didn't want to name. His fingers curled into the fabric, a desperate attempt to anchor himself, to pretend like this was no different than the countless other nights, with countless other women. But it was. He had told himself that being with her-for one night and one night only-would be just like all the others. A brief way to silence the war inside his mind, to drown in something other than regret and expectation. An escape from the weight of his name, from the legacy that bound him in chains. But Ophelia Evans was not like the others. She was a poison, seeping into his veins with every breath, every whispered word, every touch that lingered too long. A drug, intoxicating and lethal, something he knew he should resist but couldn't bring himself to. He had told himself it was a game, that he was in control. That he could have her once and walk away unscathed. He had been wrong. Now, she was everywhere-burned into his skin, embedded in his thoughts, a quiet ache he could not rid himself of. And it was too late. His body tensed, his mind scrambling to suppress the unwelcome emotions clawing at his ribs. He was a Malfoy. He was supposed to be untouchable. But as he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his disheveled hair, he realized the truth. She had undone him. And he wasn't sure he wanted to be put back together.

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