A "Visit" from Slytherin (5)

"He was testing you," she said, her voice certain and calm. "Trying to pry information out of you, and testing your reaction. The fact that he could pin down your wrist and warn you not to make a fuss means he knew perfectly well what the consequences might be. We need to keep that in mind from now on."

She sounded rational and objective, as though she were analyzing experimental data in Potions. Harry was grateful that she had not pressed him about the things he had left unsaid, because he had not figured them out himself yet.

Ron was still cursing under his breath, while Fred and George stood at the door keeping watch and discussing whether they should go have a "talk" with Malfoy. Neville quietly suggested, "Maybe we should tell Professor McGonagall"—but Harry's thoughts had already drifted away again.

He lowered his head and looked at his right wrist. Where Draco had gripped it, there was not the slightest mark on his skin. No redness, no bruising, nothing at all. Yet he could still feel the touch of that hand—cool, with long fingers and distinct knuckles, not much force but utterly steady, as though he had been locked in place by a blade-less shackle.

He clenched his fist hard. His fingers were strong, his joints flexible; there was nothing wrong with them.

But yesterday, he had been unable to break free.

Maybe it really had been because of his injured left arm. When someone was in severe pain, all the strength in their body could be weakened. Madam Pomfrey had said so too: a bone fracture could trigger a stress reaction, leaving the muscles sore and weak. Yes, that had to be it. His left arm had been broken, and the pain had nearly made him pass