They have a large jar of topical healing potion that Malfoy stole from a house he had taken part in raiding a short time ago, old clean cloths, and multiple rolls of soft, elastic bandaging. Hermione gathers it all up inside a large bowl and takes it back out to the main room, kneeling at Malfoy's side and laying down her supplies. The bowl she fills with water and chills until ice begins to creep over the surface, and dips a cloth into, laying it over his thigh so it gently soaks the trouser material adhering to Malfoy's wounds. His unhurt hand balls into a fist, and he tips his head back – tendons standing out stark on his neck, jaw clenched and eyes shut. "Belt," he gasps, and she swears inwardly and fumbles around for it, doubling it over and placing it in his mouth for him to bite down on. It seems to take forever to remove the last shreds of blackened cloth from the bubbled, weeping flesh, while Malfoy makes strangled noises of misery and tears seep from beneath his eyelids. Hermione doesn't know how he remains so still and stoic.