Make my father proud. It was a hideously twisted statement, just tossed in there dreamily, as if Draco was utterly lost in memory and didn't even realise how sad and wrong what he said was. Hermione fought back tears as she stared at Draco's blank grey eyes set in their bruised hollows, thinking of him lying helpless on the Manor's cold floors and trying not to scream, so he could make the man who was severing his hand proud. She felt sick. So terribly sick.