Draco buried his head against his knees and distracted himself with thoughts of more prosaic things. He listed his complaints in his mind. He wished like hell that the dirt floor wasn’t quite so hard; his arse was half numb, and where it wasn’t numb it was sore. He felt like there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache. He was hungry again. His body’s ghostly memory of fingers burnt and itched like mad. But of course, Draco couldn’t scratch what wasn’t there.