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YOUR POINT OF VIEW
                          
"He despises you just as much as we all do."
                          
I don't remember much about that day, or the following ones after that. But I do remember that. 
                          
His words the only ones occupying my mind during my day's, and my nights. 
                          
I wanted to cry that night, but I couldn't. 
                          
It made me remember Sirius, and the way I couldn't cry when he died, either. Which didn't make my already crumbling mental health any better, really. 
                          
So, the days passed, and they dragged on, and on, like you'd expect them to when you're trapped in a room with nothing to do but pity yourself, and wonder how much everyone else would, too. 
                          
The only interactions I had were with who they always were with; the house-elves. I've stopped saying thank you after a week of realising it scared them more than it did them any good. 
                          
After all, they didn't want Voldemort to think they were forming some sort of alliance with me. 
                          
So, I was rather surprised when one of them brought me what they always did; a light soup, two pieces of bread and a glass of water for lunch, though, to the side of the tray, I spotted two already unwrapped pieces of fudge. 
                          
And to that, even though my brows were furrowed in confusion, even though I couldn't even begin to imagine why it was there, I thanked her. 
                          
And she bowed her head slightly before hurrying out of the room without another word. 
                          
A change in the dull, almost deadly routine was good. Oh, so very good. I realised when my mind suddenly started to function. When I began to try and figure out why there were suddenly sweets on my tray. It was almost like a spark that was lit deep within me. 
                          
Maybe they were laced with poison, was a quick thought that ravelled through my brain before devouring the first piece. At this point, what difference did it really make? 
                          
Bellatrix was right. Carving useless wounds into my arm was a different kind of torture. And while the pain inflicted during the Cruciatus curse surely wasn't even close to compare to it, it lasted much longer. 
                          
Lasted till now, even. The scabbing scars sometimes itching, keeping me up at night. And her words only made it worse. 
                          
"Oh my- you're not surprised, are you?"
                          
Merlin, fuck overthinking. 
                          
Maybe it wasn't just their words planting that little seed in my head. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't done anything, that he just stood there and watched, that he hadn't checked up once since. 
                          
I had to quickly remind myself that all of those were good things, if we wanted our plan to work. 
                          
Did we even have a plan? Was it our plan? Or am I just playing along perfectly in Draco's? 
                          
I groaned loudly, shaking my head furiously as I got out of bed to pace around the room, uneasy. 
                          
"I'm going insane in here," I whispered to myself, aggravated that I was even talking to myself in the first place. 
                          
But it wasn't the first time I thought it. 
                          
Sometimes I saw him, too. Out of the corner of my eye, always briefly and never completely, fully. 
                          
I imagined he peeked through the little crack in the door when the house elves brought me food. Though, whenever I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I'd open them, he'd still be there, he wasn't. 
                          
Of course he wasn't. Like I said, I'm simply going insane; imagining things now. 
                          
I wasn't sure how many days it was after that before the same house elf came again. She looked more uneasy today, stressed and nervous, even. 
                          
Though, like they always did, she walked up to the bed, placed the tray on the nightstand and took the old one in return. Only once she removed the cloche, revealing my dinner, the routine changed once more.
                          
I gasped softly at the sight, completely ignoring the food, and instead focused on the small book the plate was balancing on. 
                          
I tilted my head, a curious glimmer in my eyes as I looked back and forth between her and the tray. 
                          
"What-?" I asked quietly, a confused look on my face. My question was interrupted before I could even ask it. 
                          
"It is not from Larbey, miss. It is not," She said, and then she disappeared. 
                          
I felt eyes on us, and the thought alone that someone might be watching this unfold scared me. That someone saw what Larbey brought me, and punished the kind house elf for it. 
                          
Though, just as I looked up, the door shut. I listened closely. For yelling, screaming, scolding; but couldn't hear a thing, and decided, once more, it was just my mind playing tricks on me. 
                          
I sighed, not sure if out of relief or confusion as my eyes darted back over to the nightstand. I immediately went to lift the plate, sliding the book out from under before setting the plate back down. 
                          
The food was almost the same every single time. It could wait. This was not; could not. 
                          
I examined the book, my brows pulled down, and small lines forming on my forehead as I did so. 
                          
"The tales of Beedle the Bard," It read on the spine as well as on the cover. It was a washed-out green, golden ornaments framing the black and gold illustration on the cover. 
                          
I looked at it for a while, chest rising and falling heavily before I even opened it. 
                          
The first page was empty, and the second one was supposed to be, too. And for a moment, I thought it was. But then I noticed words scribbled in the far right corner of it. 
                          
The ink so fresh it smeared a little onto the opposite page. 
                          
"It used to be my favourite. It'll get you through the last week." 
                          
It wasn't signed, of course it wouldn't be, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was Draco's handwriting; Draco's words I just read. 
                          
A soft smile found itself on my lips, reading the few words over and over again. Excitement forming within me at the thought that, maybe, we did have a plan.
                          
A plan we executed so perfectly, for a while I lost myself in the lies of it; thinking he really didn't care, wondering if he really did despise me. 
                          
I sighed again, this time definitely one of relief, as I fell back into the bed, clutching the book tightly against my chest. I closed my eyes for a moment, relaxing my entire body for what felt like the first time in weeks. 
                          
But then, just as quickly as relief came over me, I sat back up straight, eyes widened. 
                          
The last week? 
                          
Was it already getting close to September? Was my sense of time off by that much? It couldn't be, could it? 
                          
We couldn't just go back to Hogwarts like nothing had happened; like Voldemort hadn't taken over every single part of the Wizarding World. 
                          
And then, a horrifying thought crept into the back of my mind. 
                          
What if he's taken Hogwarts, too? 
                          
A/N: So glad everyone enjoyed Draco's pov!! You guys were absolutely way too kind to me and ily all. 
                          
Draco is being a little stalker; cute. <3