Draco racked his brain for the fiendfyre curse. He would raze them all, he would - fucking hell. The infernal rage and malice bubbling in his stomach could have been enough to kill the whole lot of them. They were prepping the ships, nearly forty of the Vythízomai coming and going from the underground tunnels that connected the King’s villa to the ritual room, leading down to the docks and the ship’s fleet. He considered the odds of one on forty, the possibility of sneaking back out to find Potter and Weasley, but he wouldn't dare leave her here, with this human scum, this... filth. Hermione’s life truly was in Draco’s hands, and he would be damned if she lost it. 