A/n: I should be writing for The Feelings Mutual I know. Problem is i'm a bit stuck. Fear not i'll figure it all out soon. Anyway I found this on my laptop from forever ago, and i completely rewrote it out of boredom.

Disclaimer: Sadly i don't own Harry Potter, if i did Draco and Harry would have ended up together. Point is I don't own the characters they belong to J.K Rowling.

Thanks a bunch to my wonderful beta Slytherinchickk

"Draco," Bellatrix hissed, "tell us, is this Potter?" I couldn't stop staring at the hard wood floor. I knew it was Potter the moment that weasel, mudblood, and him were captured. The other death eaters are just to daft to see it. It was a stupid idea to hex, and hit him in the face to begin with. But his swelling, that was induced by this, is buying him time. Time he's going to need. "Draco," Bellatrix snarled again, this time her irritation showing through her high pitched nasally voice. Bellatrix is my Aunt, but I swear I think she's a mad woman. If the Dark Lord asked her to clean his shoes with her tongue, she'd probably get down on all fours and do so. In fact, I'd bet my life she would. I mean she already kisses the hem of his black robes, which he runs through the muck. So how different is it really? I could tell by her stance she was becoming impatient, and I had to answer soon.

"I-I-I don't know," I stuttered out, trying to make it seem believable that I was oblivious. She shifted on the spot, tightening her grip on the back of Potter's neck.

"How can you not know?" She asked, her beady black eyes growing wide.

"I just don't. I can't get a good look at him with you holding him like that," I answered, hoping she would at least let him go.

"Then by all means," Bellatrix said, releasing him and knocking him to the floor. I leaned down, and looked him directly in the eyes. His bright green eyes were practically swollen shut, and his scar was almost completely unnoticeable.

"Well?" She questioned, gliding her finger over her wand which she kept up her right sleeve. In one swift motion she pulled it and spun it idly between her fingers, a smirk growing upon her pale pinkish lips.

"I can't be sure," I answered. I wasn't sure why I was protecting Potter, but I was. I wasn't even for the dark side anyway. I was forced into it. To be honest, if I had a choice I would have chosen the light side. But the reality of the situation is I don't get a choice. My opinions don't matter, and if I voiced them I'd be murdered on the spot. Baring that in mind, I found it best to keep my mouth shut.

"Look again," Bellatrix said. She was determined to be the one to hand Potter over. I could tell and by the way she was looking at me, she knew I was lying.

"I stand by my answer," I replied firmly.

"Lair," she spat back. How she knew I was lying, I don't think I'll ever fully know. What I do know is she caught me, and if I kept lying I would just be digging my grave. I watched her raise her wand to eye level with me, watching me in dead silence. Yup, definitely a mad woman, to chose the Dark Lord over your own damn family. Granted, my family is anything but functional, but to raise your wand at your own nephew. That's cruel, and low, even for her. She began performing the swish and flick motion and opened her mouth to say what ever curse she was planning on using when I decided I had to save myself.

"It's him," I blurted out, as quickly as possible. I looked down to the floor at him. His eyes flashed with hatred, and betrayal. Had it really been that surprising? We hated each other from day one of Hogwarts, and all of a sudden he thought I would be his savior? Bellatrix let out a cackle of glee, that sounded something like mwahaha, as she turned her stubby wand from me to him.

"Goyle, Crabbe, grab him," she barked. The two men seized him from the ground and took him off into the direction of the Dark Lord's quarters. I gazed at his face, his eyes were open once again, now leaving him with only a bump swollen over his scar. I looked him dead in the eyes, when I noticed something more than betrayal, and hatred. It was something I don't think I ever expected to see in his eyes, fear. Complete and utter fear. He was the Golden Boy. The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One. The one who was supposed to save us all, and kill Voldemort. Yet he was terrified. One would think that if your chosen for something at birth that you would be able to do the task no problem. I guess that isn't the case. His eyes screwed themselves shut as he rounded the corner out of sight. With his eyes shut the look of horror wasn't there, and with it gone I realized what I've done.

I sold the only chance of the light side winning the war, out to Voldemort. I just practically ensured the Dark Lord a victory. I just watched as the Chosen One was carried off to his death, and did nothing about it, to save my own skin. I just bought my ticket for a one way trip to the hell that will be Voldemort's rule, and now I have to live with what I've done.

A/n: So was it worth rewriting? Click the pretty little button at the bottom of the page and let me know!

~QueenOfTheGryffindorks