FAILSAFE

Chapter Eighteen

Time twisted and warped, a tumultuous whirlpool of moments colliding and merging into a chaotic symphony. The steady ticking of his pulse seemed to reverberate like a relentless clock, each beat counting down to an unknown fate that loomed ominously before him. The thought of Hermione, amidst the battle and without him by her side, filled him with a bone-deep terror that threatened to consume him whole.

Yet, as he stood there, his feet rooted to the ground as if held by invisible chains, Draco warred within. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to stay with Hermione, to shield her from harm at all costs. The overwhelming need to protect her clashed violently against the knowledge of what he had to do.

With each step he took away from Hermione, Draco was unable to shake the immense sense of betrayal that gnawed at his soul. It felt as though he was forsaking everything he held sacred, abandoning her when she needed him the most. But deep within his heart, Draco knew that this was the only way.

The fate of Pansy, of Theo, of everyone he cared about, hung precariously in the balance. He refused to allow his personal desires to cloud his judgement, not when so much was at stake. Forcing himself to move forward, he prayed silently to whatever powers may be listening. That what he had said to Ron was true, that Fred was wrong, that they could alter today's events and not make it worse. He had repeated Ron's own words back to him, words Ron had never uttered to another soul, a secret that bound them then and now.

Draco saw the anxiety in his blue gaze as he recounted the story. Meanwhile, Harry's stare bore into their exchange, a mixture of curiosity and concern swirling in his emerald eyes. Harry argued that it was just a way to split them up, but Ron didn't give in. He was steadfast in his choice and so Harry had left, taking Hermione with him.

It had been painful to watch Hermione leave with Potter, but Draco knew leaving him behind was necessary. They needed time, information, anything that could tip the scales in their favour.

Draco's senses had become an indistinguishable haze since he abandoned Theo in the cold, unforgiving halls. The chill of the stone walls still clung to his fingertips. Yet, in his mind, weeks had passed—weeks filled with fear and the weight of a dreadful knowledge he wished he could unlearn.

Terrified thoughts raced through his head as he ran. He couldn't escape the anxiety that he would arrive too late, that the future he glimpsed in the shadows of the castle walls was an inevitable truth. Weasley had listened, his echoing words both a blessing and a curse. If the events that haunted Draco's mind were indeed unfolding tonight, it meant that Pansy's life was at stake, and Theo would have to witness her death.

Draco replayed the story his brother had shared with him, each detail etched into his mind like a cruel painting. As he raced through the corridors, down the steps, and onto the path leading to the woods, the biting wind tore through his hair, chilling him to the bone. His eyes strained against the darkness, searching desperately for any sign of them, any glimmer of hope among the shadows.

But the fear gnawed at him, threatening to paralyse him. Never before had Draco seen Theo so broken, so hollow, even after enduring years of their fathers' cruelty.

The weight of the world seemed to settle on Draco's shoulders, pressing down with an unrelenting force as he raced against the ticking seconds. Yet, amidst the despair, a flicker of determination burned in the depths of him. The power to change it all lay in reach, the power to prove that he was worthy of the future he envisioned. Draco had that potential within his grasp, and held it in his hands. Draco's love for Hermione was so intense that it transcended time and space. He could do this—would do this. After this was all over, Draco would throw himself at Hermione's mercy, to the mercy of the Ministry, for just a chance at the life he had tasted.