"Malfoy!" she says it breathy and yet forceful, her eyes on his hands, on his crotch, on the waistband of his black cotton jockey shorts. Merlin. She feels disconnected, heady and dazed with adrenaline, fear, and her starvation rations and solitude. "Malfoy, stop." His hands are still frozen at his zipper, with the zip halfway down, but at her stop he drops his hands to his sides and his eyes fix onto hers, steady but so intent.