Draco’s head pounded in time to the fist on his bedroom door. He was halfway to it, robe hanging open, when the first patrolman burst through, wand drawn. Groggy, confused, but not stupid, Draco put his hands up and sank to his knees. They wrenched his arms behind his back, his shoulders unusually stiff. An errant, unvoiced question ran through his mind: what had he done last night to make his body hurt this way?