As the dust settles over the courtyard, reality weighs heavy on your chest. Witches and Wizards are dead. Students are dead. And Lord Voldemort himself is stood cackling over his presumed victory.

Draco's hand is in yours, trembling fingers gripping tight. You thought you'd managed to drag him to the side of the war he belongs on but... that's when Lucius's voice rings out through the fray. The father beckons his son with an edge of desperation in his voice, almost pleading, trying to coax Draco back to his parents' sides.

Draco's breath falters and his face twists with a pained expression, his inner conflict dealthly apparent. Does he betray his parents or does he betray you? If there's one thing that drives Draco, it's his deepseated fear of failing his family.

That's when his hand begins to slip from yours, his gaze avoidant as he begins to step away. Like a dog trained to heel.