Draco stood at the back of the group clustered inside a secret passage, Hermione’s back in front of him, the leather hanging in little more than rags, pungent brown potion smearing the deep gashes. That had been fucking horrible having to apply it; feeling her tense and shake under his hand, the whimpers of pain she tried to stifle. Draco never wanted to have to do that again. Fucking Goyle. Draco was going to murder him if he ever saw him again.