Although armed with his mothers wand, Draco took a leaf out of Theo’s book and decided the most potent way to sever the life from his aunts eyes would be the same way she sliced through the skin of his soulbond. He wrenched the blade from her hand just as the witch attempted to plunge it into Hermione's chest, having pulled a new one from a sheath in her side. He flipped it easily in his open palm and thrust it straight back into her stomach, aiming for her kidney. Her eyes widened in fear at the look of indifference masking his features. He didn't even bother occluding, this memory wouldn't scar him like the rest of his time in the manor. This was a happy memory, potentially one he could use to brandish a patronus. His bond was alive and fighting for his freedom, his aunt was bleeding to death and his friends were at his side, destroying every last ounce of darkness left in the manor. This was the feeling of retribution, of irony and satisfaction. Here, with the knife in his palm stabbing into one of the last remaining witches in the Black family line Draco felt nothing except accomplishment that they were removing more soldiers from Voldemort's battlefield.