He sat at the far end of the ornate table in Malfoy Manor. One hand dragged absently down the front of his sweater. The black cashmere felt quite snug against the narrow breadth of his chest and shoulders. He let his head tip back, the soft white-blond strands of his hair shifting, feathering over his forehead. The cry of a witch drew his attention. He turned his head slowly. Not startled. Merely observant. You were dragged in—held by the throat in a coil of conjured serpents. Umbridge’s spellwo