The Conjunctivitis had made vision difficult, and the Petrificus Totalus made movement impossible.

She could still feel very well, though. She would have shivered, if she could have, at the chill drafts firming her exposed flesh.

Draco was a shifting shadow of blonde and black against the dull brown of the Great Hall. "You punched me once, here. Long ago." Something long and smooth stroked her cheek.

"There's the question of what to do with you. Father said I shouldn't dirty myself with you. He recommended giving you to the servants. Mother suggested the stables."

By the time he had finished, all she could see was brown again.

"Of course, I wouldn't do something that crude. You might be a mudblood, but I? I'm a gentleman."

She felt his breath on the nape of her neck. Lean flesh pressed against her from behind. Something slim and warm slid forward, teasing at the edge of her secret places.

Oh Circe, please, please let it be his wand.