A hand at her shoulder pushed her forward, knife still held firmly at her throat by the other. She was directed silently to an ornate chair near the couch, where she sat with little complaint, worried eyes on the three men near Theo's desk. Blaise's mouth was moving, but nothing could be heard. His throat was straining. He must be yelling, she thought dimly. Theo's hands were pressed up against what looked like an invisible barrier. This confused her momentarily. If that was magic, she would feel it. She would be hurting. But she felt nothing at all. Draco was looking at her intensely, eyes on the knife in dangerous territory. More quickly than she could comprehend, thick ropes were wrapped around her middle, securing her to the chair. The knife, at least, was no longer pressed against her trachea and so she risked speaking as the wielder worked silently behind her.