"But I do remember screaming, and screaming. And begging and begging and...and...I would have done anything for it to stop. Anything." The admission tore from Draco's throat like he was ashamed of it, of what it meant, and Hermione's lips trembled and it was her turn to squeeze his fingers reassuringly. "And...and then it was over, and the Dark Lord mended the wound just enough that I wouldn't die, and then they just...left me there. In a puddle of blood and..." He didn't finish that sentence, his cheeks a humiliated pink despite his blood loss, and Hermione knew what he had been going to add. She had wet herself during the torture at the Manor, and the feeling of degradation, mortification, had been oddly overwhelming.