Then Malfoy drags her to her knees, and his cum and traces of her own blood trickle slowly down the inside of her thighs. "She is mine," Malfoy says to the room at large, coated in dried blood like some barbarian, hooking his shorts up over his erection, gripping her hair like she is a trophy as she sways naked on her knees beside him, dazed and lost in the fog of shock. "She is mine." A growl edges his voice and no one argues with him – some clap and cheer, but most just turn away, to lose themselves in whatever depravities and horrors they had been indulging in earlier. Voldemort smiles thinly and waves his hand – apparently indicating that they are free to go, because they do then.