Draco Malfoy Drawings Novels & Stories

He looked at the man. “What?” Draco raised his brows. “Produce children like a dog, you're such a sick bastard!” he growled, looking away. King Draco had never been disrespected in that manner in his entire existence. Anger boiled in him, he looked at Draven who stood with an indifferent attitude. “You are a bastard!” then Draco threw him the puzzle box that he had already placed on the table side. Draven’s eyes moved to the puzzle box as it came in the air and almost immediately Draven looked at it, it froze and dangled in the air gently.

Draco asked as he arrived at the house, charging for the stairs. He had arrived no sooner than five minutes ago and was already bossing everyone around. He had the men he brought pack up the bodies. As far as Elliot knew the body would be probably burnt beyond recognition or buried in someplace nobody would ever be able to find it. Elliot rushed towards him and stopped him, blocking his path. Draco glared at him like he was a piece of dirt beneath his shoe. His side made him all the more intimidating. He looked like a Goliath next to Elliot, despite the fact that Elliot was pretty tall himself.

Eventually I'd pass out and stop breathing, which is what I wanted soon. "Draco have you been working out? Your techinque for torture and that wip is really top notch. It's giving me chills. I love it." I tried wriggling my eyebrows at him but had no idea if they were working or not. Draco had a creepy smile on his face and he leaned in closer. "Maybe I'll go back to earth and start asking your little bastard where her witchy mother is and I'll be sure to fuck her too."

“She sat up to see Draco sitting in a chair in the corner, his deep emerald eyes, roaming over her. Madchen looked down to see she was only in a t-shirt, and she panicked. “How, how?” “I changed you into that,” he walked over to her and knelt down by the bed. Madchen instinctively pulled the covers to her chin. Drago reached out to her, but she shied away from him.Undeterred, he sat on the bed with her,slowly reaching again, and caressing her face. “So, beautiful,” he whispered,”You passed out on the ride home, no doubt from all the yelling.You have never taken up for yourself, have you?”

In the next image, a King with hazel eyes and his dragon matches as well. I also notice a Latin inscription written around the frames, it’s the same as on the royal family crest but unfortunately, I do not know how to read it. ‘Quamdiu tales esse potes. Cum autem terminos tuos sentio agi. Quum senseris tibi evigilare faciatis intra rem, et tamen non audiam. Princeps autem Draco excitavit.’ What could this mean? Did they have pets that were paired with them at birth maybe? Or is this something else?

As for himself, he is left alone in this cruel world, with various problems that never cease to haunt his gloomy life. “Finally I found you guys...” Aiden and Calistha reflexively turned their heads when they heard a voice that was so familiar to their ears. From a distance Malfoy was grinning a little as he walked briskly towards Aiden carrying a wooden box filled with intricate carvings on it. After lightly patting Aiden's shoulder, Malfoy immediately approached Calistha and knelt beside her while placing the wooden box he was carrying on the ground. "How did you get here, Malfoy?" asked Calistha softly.

The second man walked calmly toward Alice, then bowed briefly while his cold blue eyes stared at her. "Good evening, printsessa." I was grateful they weren't speaking Russian again. And it seems they haven't realized I'm here too. My gaze returned to the first man, his strange black eyes filled with hatred as he looked at Alice. Why strange? Because his irises looked permanently dilated. It took me a moment to realize these two were Draco Malfoy's friends from before. "Where's Eirik?" Alice asked, her hand still gripping the katana in her right hand.

He flipped one open, scanning the lines of text, but his eyes weren’t really reading. Every few moments, his gaze drifted toward the couch—toward her. And each time, he told himself it meant nothing. That it was just habit. Instinct. But his jaw tightened anyway. Elena knelt on the rug, watching Draco’s small hands move with careful concentration. He had drawn a house first—crooked but detailed, with a little chimney puffing smoke. Now he was adding people. “That’s you,” he said, pointing to a stick figure with long hair. “And that’s me.”