"Do we have to run farther?" she asked, gasping, her lungs screaming for air. The effect of the Polyjuice had yet to wear off, so Hermione still looked like that woman from Grimapple. At the same time, Draco's appearance was still that of the man, the husband.

"Don't tell me you're tired, Granger," he answered. The corners of his mouth rose in his usual grin, as he slowed down in order to wait for her. His smirk, however, faded and he lowered his head as she took off her jumper, exposing her arm. The Polyjuice was masking it, but Draco knew that behind the magic layer there was an ugly scar. He, though, pretty much loved the way she accepted it, in spite of all the pain, and accepted herself. Unlike her, Draco pretty much hated himself all the time. He hated himself for the wrong choices he had made, for the wrong things he had done, for the torment.

Raising his head again, he found her uncomfortably close, staring deeply in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

He had to think for a while before answering. Physically, he felt nothing wrong. However, something was still biting pieces of him and chewing them loudly. It was regret. Draco shook his head, telling himself that he had already apologized for everything and that should have eased his soul a bit. The feeling was weird. And Hermione Granger, in front of him, gentle and pretty as she ran for her life, bright and brilliant as salvation itself, wasn't helping.

She repeated his question.

"Don't tell me you're now worrying about me, Granger." Draco tried to laugh the tension away, but it wasn't really working. Her only response was a low sigh, as she turned around on her heels and continued her way, leaving him behind to follow.

He could barely keep up with him and asked her to slow down. He asked her once. He asked her twice, then three, four and more and more times,  but it was just like she wasn't there to listen.  Far, far away, her sillhouette was just a blur, the darkness in a human-like shape. Then she just disappeared.

Draco continued. He had already given up chasing her. They didn't have time for whatever weird game she had in mind. Besides, she should have known better of their need to move as fast as they could. "Granger, where are you? If this is some wicked game-" A hissing in the bushes next to him interruptedhis sentence.

Before he knew it a huge snake appeared before him. He couldn't be sure, but thought it looked like Nagini. It couldn't have possibly been Nagini. Had it, then the Dark Lord... the Dark Lord... was... there... as well. And that was the end of it. A blue-ish silhouette somewhere behind the snake confirmed his fears.

He knew his options. The first one was to die. The second one was to lie that he had been kidnapped and forced to go somewhere with the mudblood witch. But that thought terrorized him more than Voldemort himself. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to even think of that word. He wished he hadn't known the word. Death by Voldemort's killing curse seemed a better alternative than losing his second chance. He had a chance of not living in the darkness, like all Death Eaters were, like his parents were, and he couldn't miss it. Hermione was that chance.

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, but closed it almost immediately without saying anything. His face didn't have a very specific expression, but the quick and angry movements, coming towards Draco, raising his wand, those things gave away that he wasn't in a very good mood.

Then somebody screamed. Then somebody laughed. That laugh sounded like the screen of two metal pieces scratching as they were put together, in such an original sound, so that Draco instantly knew who it belonged to. "Aunt Bellatrix..."

The Lestrange woman grinned as she bit into something. Sparks coming out from the Dark Lord's wand shone over the witch and over her victim - none other than Hermione Granger. Bellatrix was biting into the girl's neck.

Draco cursed under his breath. He couldn't think clearly; the hissing, the laughter, her cries for help, they were overwhelming. Voldemort was just before and he was leaning over, his cold eyes piercing him. He put his hand on his shoulder and... patted it.

It felt just like he was congratulating him. Voldemort was congratulating him for bringing the mudblood in a trap. Voldemort was congratulating him for taking care of the mudblood. Voldemort was congratulating him for finishing the mudblood off. Draco looked again at Hermione. Bellatrix was gone and she was down, green sparks still around her, green sparks coming from his wand.

But he could still hear the cries for help and the laughter and the hissing and the fear itching at the back of his head. They were so real and so was the relief on his face. He could see his reflection in Voldemort's eyes. The platinum hair was greasy and his cheeks were a light shade of pink, his usual smirk covering half of his face.

But that didn't fit. It took him a while to realize. The cries, the laughter and the hissing were so real, so real that they had to be impossible. Granger wasn't one random damsel in distress; she would have made her way out of that situation, with a spell or by smart-talking her way out. And Nagini and Voldemort, they weren't there. And his face... his face wasn't supposed to be there. It took him a while to realize that the Polyjuice couldn't have worn off.

"It is... It is a...", he  said as he woke up.