𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

DRACO awaited the arrival of an old friend.

Granger said barely anything about the man visiting—only that he was an old friend of his, somebody he used to know.

Draco was desperate to know something more, collecting all the scrapes of hints Granger had been dropping and scattering around the place and stringing them together.

So far, he had nothing. Not even the man's name, and he was growing more and more anxious from thinking about it.

Granger had conjured up robes and shoes for him—the first thing he's gotten to wear that wasn't pajamas or loungewear.

The attire was completely black, all the way down to his socks and shoes. He didn't fuss over it though—he was far too nervous to worry about his outfit.

Draco stared at himself in the mirror once he had changed, he couldn't help but. He looked smart—incredibly smart, as though he were a business man. He admired himself. He had his hair combed back neatly, only he found himself getting aggravated over the two loose strands which dangled over his forehead, ending just below his eyebrow.

"You look..." Draco whirled at the sound of Granger's soft voice. He couldn't tell from her expression if she was about to compliment or insult him. Confliction was written all over her face. He raised a prompting brow at her, his hands shoving themselves into his pockets. Her eyes travelled up and down his body twice—thrice, before clocking onto his. "Dashing." She finally finished.

Draco's lip tugged upwards. "Thank you."

Her eyes lingered on his torso, and then up to his lips. He watched as she eyed him, his heart pounding destructively within the cage of his chest.

Without looking at him, Granger stepped away, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a wand. She aimed it towards the center of the room and muttered a cantation.

A small, circular table appeared within a few seconds and she hurried past him and began to push the chair next to his nightstand away, stilling in front of the table. She then conjured another chair, facing opposite to the first.

Draco took a seat at the edge of his bed and watched her work, and stood once she was done.

There was a silence stretched between them as her gaze got caught on his torso once again, before briefly making a stop at his lips, and then back up to his eyes.

"Well," A cold, unfamiliar voice drawled. Draco's eyes fell on the tall man standing in the door frame, same with Granger's. "When I received the invite from Healer Abbott, I hadn't known accepting it would mean I would have to see you."

Granger adjusted her stance, then breathed. "Zabini."

"Hello, Mudblood."

"You're not allowed to call me that anymore." She spoke fearlessly, her chin tilted in an intimidating manner. "Minister Shacklebolt confirmed it—it's illegal."

"I don't see him here, do you?" The man taunted, stepping into the room as he pushed off the frame he leaned against. He maintained a distance while staring her down, however she did not flinch.

"All it takes is flick of my wand to send him my patronus and he'll be here in minutes." Granger warned him—threatened him, followed by a devilishly innocent smile. "So watch what leaves your mouth."

Draco wished he was looking directly at her, his veins warmed and his heart stopped just thinking about it. 

Zabini didn't budge in the slightest, chuckling to himself as he shook his head, lowering his gaze. And then glanced back up, choosing to ignore Granger's words, and instead saying, "You look the same. Except your hair—it's not a wild mess, I'm surprised you managed to tame it enough to gather it in a bun."