Draco hated feeling powerless, and he couldn’t be more powerless than he was these days. The one fucking good thing he had, the only hope he had for something good in the future if they survived this fucking war, was Hermione. And now that was uncertain, hanging by a bloody thread. They loved each other, but Draco was a realist. His parents loved each other too, and look at them. Look at where they had ended up.