𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

DRACO'S worst fear had been acted out.

His head laid heavily on the soft, silky surface he couldn't recall. His eyes were sealed shut and he struggled to perform the simplest tasks.

He knew this far too well—he had returned to his coma.

Only this time, his hearing had been drowned out from the blood that rushed through his ears and the weight his neck had to carry.

He believed he had been making good progress with his recovery. He was able to function like a human being should, the only thing missing were the remaining blanks in his memories.

Now, he had lost all of hope and ever returning to the way he was before, as though all the hard work he had pushed himself and the healers around him to do was nothing but a waste.

He would never see Granger again.

His shoulders sank at that realization and his heart began to crack. His soul felt overbearing and trapped within him.

Draco planned on telling her everything. The way there wasn't a time when she wasn't taking over his subconscious, how every little quirk and detail she portrayed are what defined her individuality and he had been enjoying learning each and every one of them and been dreaming about all the further ones he had yet to conquer. 

He knew her better than anyone, and yet he still had plenty more to understand about her. She was imperfect and full of flaws, but it was those qualities that drew him closer to her.

Every feature she wore with beauty—continuously held an elegant updo pinned above the nape of her neck with two braids embedded around the crown of her head. Her brown eyes that always crinkled when she was happy, similar ones from the corner of her mouth, her unique splatter of freckles underneath her eyes and pathing all the way across the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks full of rose and delight. 

She was the most beautiful woman Draco had ever seen, and even though he was restricted, he wouldn't want to divert his eyes to look at anyone else. She was more than enough for him.

But now that opportunity of seeing her and having his heart glow in warmth had been snatched away from him, only to be left with a large, open void inside his soul.

The thought of never seeing her again devastated him—lonely with the scar of a broken heart.

And then he did something he never imagined he held the ability to do...again—he tore his eyes apart and found himself met with a painted white ceiling.

The thought of Granger forced him awake with such strength.

He practiced blinking slowly, a snapping sound coming from his lashes each time he did so. He repeated the motion over and over until it was normal.

Draco let his head roll across the pillow, his sight falling onto his wrists wrapped in white bandages, coating over the black singes and numeral blisters and scars that marked his escape, his slender fingers being the only skin of his doings that went unaffected.

He propped himself onto his elbows, wincing as he did so as the pressure on his feet increased where they also suffered the burns from the scented candle.

His chin tipped to his chest as they snapped about his surroundings. First down at himself, noticing how his attire had changed from those pajamas that drenched of sweat and filth to a fresh and clean hospital gown. Then around the room—the same as it was before, only this time an empty chair pulled beside the edge of the bed. 

Someone had been waiting here.

The door crackled a little, and drew the blonde man's attention. And in that exact moment, she stepped through the frame of the door.