His hand. Oh Merlin, not his hand. His chin trembles and to his shame, his utter humiliation, tears spill over onto his cheeks. It's going to hurt; it's going to hurt so much, and Draco doesn't know if he can – if he can take it. But he doesn't have a choice. His hand. His eyes flick to it, just able to see it; pale and maimed against the black marble floor, and the thought of having it cut from him is abhorrent. Unbearable.