Her face. Her screaming. Oh God. Her face. Please be okay. Please. Please. Oh God. Draco lay, curled in a ball, at the back of his closet, buried under a pile of clothes, shaking so furiously his teeth were rattling. Hours after the Trio had escaped, after Voldemort's rage-fueled rampage through the Manor, his body still ached from the repeated, powerful, spells used to punish him for his uselessness. The Dark Lord's high-pitched Crucio! echoed in his head almost as loudly as Hermione's screaming had. Bile rose as he fought off another harsh shudder. The sounds of her screaming, the look on her face right before she disappeared with Potter and Weasley... they were going to haunt him for the remainder of his life, he knew.