His hand covered hers where it lay against the silvery scars that threaded across his chest and stomach. “You’re welcome to clean up, and I’ll find something to transfigure for you to wear.” Draco’s smile quirked a hint higher. “While your current look is attractive, you might find it chilly this morning. And yes, we likely should go see just what they’ve done to the house.” In a moment, when he felt more comfortable standing up. In the meantime, though, he turned her hand, looking at where her fingers covered his skin. “Harry. Sixth year,” he said with a rueful expression. “There are days when I suspect one could trace my history through the marks on my skin.”