𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞

DRACO was beginning to lose faith.

It was silly of him to hope that Granger would come searching for him, to save him from his captor he still was unaware the name of.

Granger always manages to follow through, but this time may have been too far for her. He insulted her–triggered her, and he shouldn't have been surprised that she hadn't been looking for him.

That didn't make him feel any less distraught by her absence—he knew that he deserved it.

It was what was called karma, he remembered reading about it in a book once. A while back, before all of this.

It had been days since he roamed freely around the dimly lit streets of wherever he was; he still hadn't caught the name of the village he stumbled across. It bothered him so.

Despite his good intentions, he wished he had stayed put, avoided all of this. However he didn't regret it, not in the slightest—he simply wished he had been more careful, wandering about a place he was uncertain of his safety. Especially during the night.

It was all for her.

Maybe a sliver for himself—but mostly for her. He owed it to her to know the meaning of the word he uttered so recklessly, and as soon as he did, he'd give her an apology so long, he'd allow her to take tea breaks in between.

Anything to win her forgiveness.

Even if she wished his captor would never let him go—he would stay, so long she forgave him. It was all he wanted.

Draco had been following the calendar pinned to the wall ever since the strange woman bought it. He now knew he had been imprisoned for over six days.

It changed automatically, magically enforced. Displaying the date DECEMBER EIGHTEENTH ever so proudly.

Before it all, he wouldn't have cared about any of this, but now, he was clinging onto any kind of vital proof or information he could find–not only to ease his boredom, but in case he needed it if he ever did escape.

He didn't think he ever would—he believed he missed that window days ago.

Draco felt his body tense at the increasing noise of footsteps coming from the other room. It was most likely his captor, but he still possessed the tiniest glimmer of hope within him.

The woman stepped through the frame lightly, and he felt himself deflate—despite the fact he knew the reality.

She clamped her hand over her mouth as she stifled her yawn, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. She then looked at him, her expression blank as honey met silver.

She was wearing a silky nightdress, long and ivory with black lace embroidered at the neckline, over her chest and upper back, connecting to her slinky black straps. She also wore a black, knitted, long cardigan hung loosely over her shoulders, the clothing twice her size for her petite figure. Her matching ivory slippers snapped on the wooden planks as she walked. Her eyes held focus on him as she approached, her hips swaying as they always did.

"Morning," She drawled lazily, her dainty fingers clasping onto the edges of her cardigan and wrapping it tighter around herself, her arms remained folded against her chest. "Sleep well?"

Draco scoffed at her pathetic attempt to hold a conversation, pretending as though everything was normal instead of him being nothing but her prisoner.

"It's impossible to do so." The blonde man said, sarcasm lacing his words. "Being tied to a chair and all. You know, the usual."

She rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic. I quite like being tied to a chair, although sleeping is the furthest from my mind in that scenario." She then smirked.