Pansy doubted she could. Like Hermione had been bound by her ring, she was bound by the mark on her arm. She doubted it would ever fade. And Lord Malfoy had designed it to check her if she dared to act against his order. Bolts of pain so sharp and deep she couldn’t even cry out, or Draco’s Cruciatus was embeded into the magic somehow, waiting to be unleashed like venom in her veins—he himself had warned her about them, had informed her how the same magic was in Hermione’s ring.