Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Hello my loves :))))
TOTD: Vote or Asya and Draco will be celibate for the rest of the book.
This is a long chapter with lots going on so buckle up.
I've concluded that it's absolutely impossible for me to write 10-14k words in a week, so for my sanity, and to give you all the well-written chapters you deserve, I will not update EXACTLY every week. But updates will still be frequent—you won't wait a month.
SEND MORE TOTD'S I'M DESPERATE!
NOTE: I updated the book's characters so if you want to see who I cast as Pansy, Daphne, and Draco (new), look at my chapter "Characters."
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Draco's POV
"Draco darling." I look up to see the frightening image of Miss. Rosewald storming towards me, forcing my slumped over posture to straighten out. "Are you sure you don't want some tea while you're waiting?" She flips her blonde extensions, sending a hurricane of her potent floral perfume storming in my direction.
I nod, itching the impatience crawling through my hands, now soaked with my nerves, looking down at my wristwatch.
One hour, four minutes and forty-eight seconds.
That's how long I've been decomposing in my seat for. And it's all thanks to Karkaroff.
Could she take any longer? I've waited a long time for a lot of things. But this long for her to decide on what to wear—I'm seconds away from storming back into the change room and dressing her up myself, with the clothes of my choice.
The girl is so indecisive one second she wants me in the change room with her, the next, she doesn't. On top of that, she's been strange lately, and it's confusing the fuck out of me. I hate being confused.
Maybe she's just hungry. Don't girls go crazy when they're not fed? I'll get her something to eat after. That'll put her in a good mood, right?
"Can you tell her to shut up?" I groan with great dismay, looking back at one of Miss. Rosewald's employees crying on the floor near the exit door. "She sounds like a whale."
She follows my line of sight, snickering with amusement. "She's traumatized—" She perks up a brow, looking at me with an underlying meaning. "Thanks to your girl."
"That's Karkaroff for you," I snicker, leaning back, resting my arms on the arms of my chair, feeling a sense of pride and amusement just thinking about it.
She didn't even do anything bad. She only mended her mouth and threatened to cut off her tongue if she kept talking. I quite enjoy her threats, especially when it's towards other people. It's as pleasing as an orgasm—which is something I need to get out of my system soon; I've been suffering for weeks.
