"She's mine." It's his voice, cutting the air filled with deadly intent. She hears it slice through the fog and pain of her half-conscious state, and her swollen eyes force open. Hope and painfully sharp relief overwhelm her, and her breath catches in a sob in her chest. Malfoy stands in the cell door, mostly visible past the man who has been trying to get her knickers off, who scrambles up off her, kneeling between her thighs. Malfoy's wand is in his hand, and he breathes hard and rasping as if he ran all the way down here, his shoulders heaving and fringe falling messy over his eyes. He looks like he wants to murder every single one of the men – he looks like he could, without a single bit of trouble. Her chest feels tight and taut, her heart leaping with hope hope hope.