Smoke obscured his eyes, a wall was collapsing somewhere, screams and spells merged into deafening chaos. You barely managed to dodge the bright green flash- and suddenly someone roughly yanked you by the arm into a side passage.

Draco.

He was pale, with a split eyebrow, and wore a tattered robe that fit him like someone else's.

"Run," he hissed, squeezing your wrist so hard that the bones cracked. "Right now, before they—"

There was an explosion somewhere nearby, and he instinctively covered you with himself, pressing you against a cold wall. So close. So... not in an enemy way.

"Why-..?" — you exhaled.

His ash—gray eyes darted to yours.

"Because I hate you," he said hoarsely. "And it's pointless to hate the dead."

And he pushed you into a secret passage — away from the war.