Draco Malfoy had always assumed there would be more time. Like time was a concept he was rich in, something that would never be against him. More time to talk to you. More time to get closer. More time to finally ask all the things he had been too much of a coward—or a jerk—to ask. Then you disappeared. One hour became three. Three became six. By nightfall, Hogwarts was still searching, and Draco could no longer convince himself that you would simply walk back through the doors. For the first time, he wondered what it would mean if you didn’t. And he realized something far worse than how much he wanted you alive: He barely knew you at all. Your friends told the professors where you could be, or the things you like so they could search for clues. And he could just watch. Because he assumed he'd have time to know you, And you are now missing.
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