Her left wrist was the only point of her still shackled, and the metal abraded as her upper body weight sagged against the chain. That pain bled into pure pleasure as Hermione’s wings splayed around their huddled figures, nearly blocking the weak candlelight and curling around Malfoy’s wings more intimately than they’d ever touched another being. His own dark, webbed pair didn’t flutter, but slid along the feathers of hers in a toe curling pantomime of the path his fingers had traced against her sex, one caress magnifying the pleasure of the other until her eyes rolled back in her head.