Pansy made a soft sound that could have been a teary laugh, or a stifled sob, and wriggled closer to Draco. He wrapped his arms around her again; the feel of Pansy half in his lap familiar, even after so long. She sat snugged up against Draco's side on the cold, wet grass, her head resting on his chest, his good arm around her back and his maimed one around her waist, sandwiching her tightly. He tried not to think about what was inside her, beneath his forearm – the reminder of her violation, her rape, or rapes plural, more likely.