She’d rushed after him anyway, still begging, threatening and swearing but he’d gone anyway, and she’d been trapped in their bedroom, shivering and internally praying that Harry would be the victor. He’d been gone for hours, and she had paced frantically within their bedroom, attempting again to break the stained-glass window, not even bothering to call to the guard or beg for help, knowing he’d ignore her. All she’d been able to think of was her friends and wonder if any of them would survive. She had tried to assure herself that Harry had faced Voldemort multiple times and lived, but the haunting certainty that his luck had long since run out would not leave her mind. That, and the very real knowledge that Draco and Voldemort were very different. 