Seven Minutes | dramione

Prolouge

"Draco! Get up here now!"

It was the voice of his father, Lucius Malfoy. Once a committed Death Eater, Lucius now spent every moment trying not to displease the Dark Lord even further. He took any opportunity that could put the Malfoys back into Lord Voldemort's good graces.

So when Draco heard his father's voice, anxious and excited and terrified all wrapped into one, he knew another opportunity had arisen. Without thinking, he dropped the plate in front of Thomas and raced back up to the Drawing Room.

His father was standing with his mother and Bellatrix. His parents were shaking nervously, their pale faces scared and excited. Bellatrix was smiling that demented, unhinged smile of hers. She was looking at a group that had just entered.

Draco turned. It was a group of snatchers, holding three teenagers hostage. Draco recognized Greyback, but the rest of the snatchers were strangers to him. Draco turned his attention to the three teenagers instead.

The one in the middle was fairly tall, and fairly built. He looked about the same age as Draco. The boy had black hair, hanging limp and messy over his heavily distorted face. It looked like his face had exploded. It was swollen and unrecognizable, as if he had just come from a whopping.

The Slytherin stared for a moment. No, he thought, shivers running up his spine. Even distorted, Draco could recognize that face anywhere.

Damn it Potter.

He looked at the one on the left.

Even with nine months of separation, terribly messy clothes, and his ginger hair falling past his chin, Draco would be a fool not to recognize Ronald Weasley. The Gryffindor glared at him, spitting a piece of hair out of his mouth.

So if the first was probably Potter, and the second was Weasley, that meant that the third was.....

Draco almost blacked out.

This could not be happening, this has to be a nightmare.

It took an eternity for Draco to turn and look at the final one. He was hoping that they'd all disappear, that he wouldn't have to look at her.

But they didn't disappear. This nightmare was real.

So Draco turned, and stared into the face of Hermione Granger.

Their last meeting flashed through his mind. The guilt on his face, the tears on hers. The anger in her voice and the regret in his.

Choices.

Draco looked at Hermione Granger for the first time in nine months. Her hair was longer, pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her clothes were torn and dirty. Her face was smudged with dirt. There was a cut above her eyes.

Those beautiful brown eyes that he loved so much.

Those eyes looked up and met his.

Draco didn't see the love or hate from their last meeting. All Draco saw was pleading eyes.

She was pleading for their lives.

Draco almost broke on the spot.

"Well, Draco," his father said nervously. "Look who has stumbled across our path."

Draco stood still. He moved his eyes back to his father.

The golden trio was going to die, here in his house. He was going to see her die, right before his eyes.

He couldn't let that happen.

Draco met his father's eye. In his most confused voice, he responded. "Who?"