When Draco awoke, he noticed that he was still blinded. Even the tiniest movement hurt. His belly felt like it still had something stuck inside of it, the pain extending through his entire torso. His left arm burned, twice as hard as when the Dark Lord had left his mark on it. A hand placed itself on his forehead, checking his temperature, followed by an unsatisfied "hm". It was nothing but a medical gesture, but he latched onto that warm feeling, and listened to the sounds of the forest. An owl hooted somewhere, pages were turned next to him. He fell back to sleep.

The day Draco had woken up, mere hours before Dumbledore's death, he knew he had been a fool to think he'd be able to go through with Voldemort's plan. The whole day had felt like he was Imperiused — although he wasn't. As if he was outside of his body, observing himself go to the Room of Requirement, observing Bellatrix' gleeful smile as she entered the room. The cold floor of the hallway, the low lights emanating from the candles lining the castle walls — all of it felt fake. And Draco remembered how he had suddenly sprung awake under Dumbledore's blue gaze. How the words, the explanations had stated stumbling out of his mouth, a plea for Dumbledore to save him and his mother. He remembered how for a second, he had felt hope. Hope that he wouldn't have to carry out his task. Hope that he would never be put in front of Voldemort again. Hope that he could, for once, do the right thing. And then they had arrived. Bellatrix and her crew. And Snape. Draco remembered the flash of green light. He remembered the light dying in Dumbledore's eyes, as he fell backwards. Bellatrix' shriek of delight. And that absolute certainty that something irreparable had just happened. Something he would never escape from. The feeling of getting locked up.

Draco woke up several times that night. He listened to the sounds of the forest. Everything was alive around them. Frogs, insects, nocturnal birds. Branches kept cracking and owls kept hooting. A symphony of free beings. And near his blind eyesight, the sound of Granger's breath, still heavy with pain, still hoarse from the shock, the cold, and the screams Bellatrix had drawn from her. Still alive.

There were a few times when Draco heard the sound of Apparition and Disapparition. He stayed immobile, more by necessity than by choice.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"I don't know."

"Should we kill him?"

"I don't think so."

"No. No, we shouldn't."

"How are your wounds by the way?"

"Better."

"He looks bloody awful doesn't he?"

"Why do you think he came with us?"

"It's all part of You-Know-Who's plan. He's using Malfoy against us. He's gonna try to kill us. That's why we need to kill him first."

"I don't -"

"I don't care if Dumbledore would have preached a more peaceful approach."

"No, listen. Look at him. It doesn't seem like that at all."

"Remember Moody. Constant vigilance."

"But the way he ran to us… and taking the knife?"

"This is the guy who killed Dumbledore!"

"Ron, Snape killed Dumbledore. I saw him myself."

"Blimey Harry you know it was Draco who cornered him!"

Like Draco's blindness, his inability to move could have been either spell or physical incapacity. But he didn't mind. The Apparition's 'Pop!' echoed in his dreams. Dreams filled with knives. Filled with snakes. Dumbledore falling through the air. With fragments of conversations. Filled with endless knots of blood-stained hair.

"Renervate."

Draco half-opened his eyes. His face felt heavy and swollen, and his breathing burned his throat. As his vision slowly focused into place, he met Granger's squinted eyes. She looked pale and malnourished, but she held her wand steadily towards him, as if preparing for him to attack at any moment. "Fat chance," Draco thought to himself. He could barely blink, let alone move his body. His eyes felt crusty, his breath foul, and he found himself embarrassed to be seen like this. Behind Granger was the ceiling of a tent. "Where are we?", Draco tried to say, but no words came out of his mouth. He coughed, rolling over to the side. Someone next to Granger sniggered. Weasley.

"Little git doesn't look too proud now, does he?"

"Ron," she answered in a reproachful voice. "He just woke up."

"I'm the one who had to see him naked when we got him changed, I deserve some reparations don't I?"

"Ron!"

Naked? Draco felt his head getting heavier and heavier, and briefly felt like vanishing into the ground.

"Draco?" she asked in a tired voice. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded. He tried getting up, but a deep burn ran through his left arm and through his side. He moaned in pain.

"Did you… Dark Mark… gone?" he whispered.

"It's gone," she said. "But you'll have to rest for a while. We cut it open but it had some kind of burn spell on it… and you took Bellatrix' knife right between the ribs."

Draco gasped, and as he did so, a sharp pain exploded through his side. He moaned again. Weasley made some kind of disgusted sound.

"Look at him, honestly… What the hell was he thinking?"

"We're lucky he followed us, Ron. If it wasn't for him, the knife would have gone straight through Dobby."

"We still can't be sure it's not part of a bigger plan."

Crack.

"Mistress Hermione called Dobby?"

The high-pitched voice of the elf brought some warmth back inside Draco's stomach. It wasn't much, but a familiar voice was everything he needed right now.

"Is master Draco awake?"

"Yeah," answered Ron. "Unfortunately."

Draco re-opened his eyes, and saw Dobby's wide and watery eyes barely an inch away from his face. He jolted, then immediately regretted his movement as the pain flowed in his body.

"Master Draco… You saved Dobby!"

The elf placed his hand on Draco's waist, where Bellatrix' silver knife had entered. Draco instantly felt a numbing sensation go through that area. Elf magic. He blinked a few times and laboriously sat up. Dobby brought a thick pouffe from behind Granger to place behind him. Draco leaned against it, his vision clearer. Weasley was staring at him with angry eyes, while Dobby's sparkled with gratitude. Granger was still pointing her wand at him, but her stance was slightly more relaxed than when he had awoken. Draco looked around. The tent was packed with some old furniture, various magical intruder-repellant instruments, paper bags full of food, random bag packs scattered on the floor, three small mattresses and a makeshift stove. He finally took at look at his left arm. It was fully bandaged, but the bandages were dirty, as if ink had been oozing under them.

"We'll need to change them again soon," she said. "After we destroyed the mark, this ink has been spilling out non-stop. It doesn't seem to have any immediate harmful effects, but you will need to be examined by a real Healer. We had to stab it open. You lost a lot of blood."

Draco slowly started removing the bandage, before getting two wands poking at his throat. Weasley and Granger had leapt towards him, their expression both panicked and fierce.

"What?" asked Draco.

She leaned back, but Weasley stayed where he was.

"If you try anything… like trying to call them or something," he said. "We're killing you on the spot. I'm not joking."

Draco could tell that he was telling the truth. The long-nosed, good-natured Weasley that always seemed to be the clown of the trio had physically changed. Something in his face was somber and anxious, and Draco realised at that moment how they had been affected as much as him by the past year. If Dumbledore's death haunted Draco's every dream and thought, both Weasley and Granger were obviously also haunted by whatever they had recently gone through. Potter wasn't there, unsurprisingly. He surely had more important matters to attend, and couldn't take the risk of Draco seeing him and calling Death Eaters for support.

"Didn't you destroy the Mark?" asked Draco.

"We did," Granger answered. "But it's still very much unclear to us why you'd come with us. We're not taking any chances. And I second Ron. You try anything on us, you're dead."

Draco remembered her screams, as she writhed and cried on the floor of his family's manor. He tried to say something, anything about how he truly wanted them to live, and to help them. About how he was sorry about the way they had all aged beyond their years in the space of a few months and for the pain they had gone through. He wanted to tell them about how desperately unhappy he was, and about how he'd trade his life a thousand times to go back and time and undo his killing. It didn't matter that he hadn't cast the spell himself. He didn't matter that Snape had finished the job. He, Draco, had incapacitated Dumbledore and trapped him. He hadn't cast the spell, but he had effectively killed him. He wanted to tell them about his non-stop nightmares about that year preceding the events Astronomy tower, about the year he spent going mad trying to come up with a plan to save himself and his family by killing Dumbledore. To tell them about his loneliness, about the thoughts of death that had been circling him ever since that night. These thoughts getting ever-closer. These thoughts that had prompted him to hold on to the trio as they Disapparated from the manor. But a mix of pride and inability to talk through those complex feelings made him stay silent. He slowly undid his bandages, and gagged at he saw his arm entirely covered in pink burn blisters, oozing pus and filled with the dark greenish black ink that once constituted the Dark Mark. Adrenaline ran through him as he stared at his own skin, and before he knew it, he puked all over himself. Weasley cried out in disgust, but Granger calmly said "Tergeo", followed by "Scourgify", and the vomit disappeared, only leaving its acrid taste in his mouth. Draco closed his eyes, his face burning in embarrassment and fever.

The duo stared at him in concerned silence.

"Don't worry, master Draco! Master has always had a sensitive stomach, and there is nothing wrong with that!"

Weasley giggled, but Granger remained grave.

"Dobby…" muttered Draco.

"Master Ron, Mistress Hermione, you can take a break outside if you wish. Dobby will take good care of Master Draco."

"We're not worried about him not being taken care of, Dobby," said Weasley. "We're worried about the git turning against us."

Dobby shook his head.

"Master Draco is a complicated boy, Master Ron. He was not always a g-g-… g-ood boy," at those words Dobby briefly inhaled as if he was going to hit himself, "but he would never hurt a fly."

"He killed Dumbledore," Granger sharply said.

A silence fell upon the group, as Dobby's wide eyes filled with tears. Draco locked eyes with her. Somehow, this blunt statement of hers, that he himself could not say out loud, and that his parents had always avoided after it happened, briefly helped him speak his mind.

"I'd kill myself with no hesitation if it could bring him back," he spat. "And you can kill me now if you want to. I don't care. You know what? Do it. It won't bring him back. But maybe it'll make you feel better."

"Master Draco shouldn't say-"

"You want to know why I followed you?" asked Draco.

"Why?" she asked back in the same angry tone.

"Because I just wanted to escape. There's no hidden agenda. And there's no noble cause either. I'm not fighting in this stupid war. On either side."

"But why?"

And again, Draco's words eluded him. He tried to formulate an answer, and only managed to let out a frustrated grunt. He laid back on the floor of the tent, and closed his eyes. As he drifted into sleep, he heard Weasley and Granger heading out, leaving Dobby to watch over him alone. He dreamt of tree branches poking his throat. He dreamt of pus and octopuses, letting out ink as they swallowed him in the Black Lake. He dreamt of locks of brown hair, of Dumbledore falling and sprouting wings, and falling once more. Of Granger's blood forming a shiny red circle around her fragile body as Bellatrix screamed and screamed, and screamed again.