Draco was desperately glad for whatever rush of adrenalin had slowed the world around him to a snail's pace - it was the only thing that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could do this. He needed to destroy the Dark Lord. He needed to destroy the ring on his finger: but with what?! The basilisk fangs were powder on the floor and of no use to anyone. His eyes snapped to the sorting hat where it lay limp and inert at Harry’s feet where he had dropped it.