"Thanks." Swiftly she unbuckles the collar around her throat, and cuts the laces to her corset with a sigh of mingled pain and relief. The lines of boning are bruised into her flesh, the fabric seams leaving indented red marks. She strips without a care, aware that Malfoy had averted his eyes when she'd shoved down her knickers – not that she would care if he hadn't. Heedless of the blood spatter on her skin, Hermione throws on the clothes she'd left in a heap on the bed before they'd gone down to see Voldemort, what feels like a lifetime ago; a soft tee-shirt and a pair of Malfoy's thin grey pyjama trousers magically altered to fit her better. Her hands tremble nearly as badly as his are.