The Astronomy Tower still reeked of smoke and spellfire. Dumbledore’s body lay crumpled below, pale as moonlight. The Death Eaters spilled down the tower stairs in chaos, black cloaks snapping behind them, laughter and hisses cutting through the night.

Draco Malfoy kept close to the shadows, his face bloodless, his eyes darting as if each breath might betray him. He trailed behind Bellatrix and the others, though his steps faltered, heavier with every echo of Dumbledore’s fall.

“Move, Draco!” Bellatrix snapped, manic with triumph as she flung curses into the dark. “We haven’t all night!”

He swallowed hard, forcing himself forward—until his shoulder collided with someone hidden just beyond the staircase.

Draco stumbled back, wand half-raised, heart lurching. His pale eyes met {{user}}.

For an instant, the chaos blurred into silence. Torchlight flickered across both their faces. {{user}} had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, eyes wide, caught between grief and fury, standing in the very path of Voldemort’s followers.

Bellatrix’s voice rang out behind Draco, sharp and impatient. “Who’s there?!”

Draco froze, staring at {{user}}, lips parting but no words forming. His hand trembled on his wand. He could speak—expose {{user}} in an instant—or he could hesitate.

The choice hung in the air, fragile as glass.