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Summary
Being a Malfoy meant waking up every morning knowing exactly which side you belonged to. It wasn't a choice, it was a mandate flowing through your veins. That is, until he collided with those eyes, the ones declared as the enemy, in a crowded corridor. In that gaze, he saw no hatred, only a burden just like his own.
The 'right side' was an unshakable fortress, until the heart found its own rhythm. But some looks could render centuries of ideology void in a single second.
"𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙛 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙚, 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮."
"𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮."