Hermione tried to focus on the girls, the exits, the sharp cutlery — anything but the horrendous display of masculinity and sexuality. Or the way Draco's hand stayed in her curls, threading and twisting softly. Warrington had begun to run his hands over his girl's hips and stomach, and Hermione saw a sliver of her knickers as her dress slid up. One of the girls passing out fruit and sweets smiled demurely every time a wandering hand squeezed her backside or drifted up the side of her thigh. Marcus Flint's lips traveled along Penelope's neck in between conversation with his friends, and Susan Bones looked as if she might be sick as Goyle turned her to straddle him in the chair.

Hermione felt acid in her throat, burning away at her lungs. If this is what happened in public, she couldn't even imagine what the private affairs consisted of. Not even the slow rub of Draco's thumb behind her ear could distract her from the tightness in her chest.

The boys were talking over each other, louder and louder. She felt Draco laugh when Nott made a joke, bellow when Pucey dared Flint to chug the rest of his bottle, chuckle when Blaise went to grab more wine. As her eyes followed Blaise out, they landed on Goyle pushing on Susan's shoulders, urging her down to her knees.

She gasped, choking on the air. No one batted an eye. One more glance showed Susan's shaking fingers unbuckling Goyle's trousers, her face pale but resigned.

She couldn't breathe. This was their fate now — reduced to whores at a pure-blood party, serving their food and wine and smiling while they were groped and raped. Her eyes blurred as tears sprung. She understood now why Ginny couldn't "play nice," despite what it must have cost her.

Draco's hand moved to the back of her neck, sensing the tension in her body, the change in her breathing. Disgust and guilt dripped into her veins like poison, sickened to think that she felt safe with him while the rest of them were forced into this.

She felt him freeze the moment he discovered what had disturbed her.

"Really, Goyle?" Draco hissed, cutting through the noise and laughter. Hermione jumped with the sound of it against her ear. "Not at the dinner table."

Several of the boys chuckled as realization dawned, leaning over the table to watch.

"Wanted dessert," Goyle muttered, head tilting and eyes rolling back, his wine glass clutched in his hand.

"You know that's for the other room, Greg," Flint said disapprovingly.

His free hand reached down, grabbing Susan's hair. "Almost done."

Hermione bit back the bile rising, shaking her skin and twisting around her like ink. She still couldn't breathe. Even with Draco's hand on her neck, telling her to be calm, she couldn't drown out the sounds as Susan gurgled and choked.

"Wonder if Bones gives it as good as Weasley did."

Her eye twitched. Her shallow breath felt like ice in her chest.