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Tuesday was stressful and reckless. I couldn’t concentrate in classes—I was too worried about Draco. Hermione noticed my distraction and offered to copy out her Transfiguration notes for me. I appreciated the thought, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to work on the two foot essay McGonagall had assigned with or without them.

The hours seemed to drag by, and I was afraid that if the rest of the week passed this slowly then I would go insane with worry by the time Draco came back on Thursday.

I spent the long, lonely hours after dinner staring out the window that overlooked the quidditch pitch. It was still raining out; much like it had been all afternoon. I wondered vaguely if it was raining where Draco was. Then again, it most like was.

I longed to be there with him, to comfort him if and when he needed it. I missed him, missed his warmth when he slept next to me at night. I was so sick of worrying already, and only a day had passed. If things continued on like this, I wasn’t sure if I’d make it through the rest of the week.

Two more days, I thought. Just two more days and then he’ll be back. He’ll be just fine, you’ll see. As comforting as these words sounded, they didn’t take away the thick knot of fear that had settled into my heart.

I looked down at my hands, running my fingers unconsciously over the bare place where Draco’s ring had rested the night before. I almost wished I’d kept it with me. It felt so odd not having it, like part of me was missing. I didn’t like that feeling at all.


“Harry, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” It was the third time Ginny had asked me that in the past half hour.

“He’s just worried,” Hermione answered for me. She patted my arm from across the table. “I’m sure he’ll be alright, Harry. Dumbledore wouldn’t have sent him if it wasn’t safe.”

I nodded, knowing she was probably right, but it did nothing to banish the sense of dread that grew stronger every moment. Lucias Malfoy was ruthless, that much I knew. Draco had told me countless times about the arguments he’d had with his father, about the punishments he’d received for disobeying… I didn’t think someone like Snape would be able to stop him from getting what he wanted—and that was what scared me the most.

“Come on, mate!” Dean exclaimed, pushing my still-full plate closer to me. “You have to eat something.”

“Yeah, or Draco will think we starved you!” Seamus added, nudging me in the side.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled, pushing the plate away again and resting my head in my arms on top of the table. I watched Ginny and Dean exchange worried glances before Ron shoved his way onto the bench between the girls.

“Morning!” he said quickly, filling his plate with everything he could reach. He glanced at me as he reached for a piece of toast. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, acting as though I wasn’t there.

“He—” Dean began. Hermione silenced him with a quick look.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” she finished. It wasn’t really a lie—I hadn’t been sleeping well. My nights were haunted by dreams of all the horrible things that could be happening to Draco.

“Oh,” Ron replied, not caring in the least. I sighed and buried my face in my arms. Is it Thursday yet?


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