"What – you would go back to him, if you had a choice?" he asked disgustedly, short nails digging into Hermione's hand as he clutched at it. "Run back to your insane, sadistic husband? After what he's done, you still refuse to leave him?" His voice was drenched with contempt and hurt and Narcissa was pale and still, a waxwork on the couch opposite, fragile, faintly apologetic.