Really, Draco had known that he wouldn't be able to get away with what it was he most wanted to do right now. He had at least expected the attention to shift to him for a moment, and off of Pansy; even a momentary reprieve would be something. However his defiance would have ended, though, he wasn't going to find out. Before he had even decided which curse to use, his wand had left his hand. The disarming charm, at such close range, made it crack and fall to the floor a little ways away.
Draco froze, half-expecting another curse to come his way now that he was wandless, but hardly anyone seemed to have noticed. He couldn't feel relieved about that, though, because nothing had even remotely improved. Pansy's screams were still ringing in his ears, and he could do nothing, nothing at all. And now that he understood the gravity of what he'd almost just done - he hardly even dared move to pick up his broken wand, lest he draw more attention to himself.
With every bit of concentration he had, he opened his hand at his side and attempted to summon it back to him, silently and wandlessly. Much to his surprise, it worked, but the summoning charm weakened the wood even more, and the broken splinters dug into his hand when his fingers closed around it.
Everything felt broken. His wand, his heart, his loyalties. It took everything in him, all of his practice with showing nothing of what he was feeling, to keep everything at bay. How Fletcher was managing it, he couldn't even imagine, but he didn't spare a glance for Pansy's brother. All he could see was Pansy.
Behind his mask, behind his mind's defenses, he had begun to bargain. If Pansy lived, he would find some way to make this a safe world for her again, even if it meant destroying the Dark Lord, which would likely mean his own aunt would be gunning for him. To whatever deity that might be listening, though he didn't believe in any, he sent his silent plea: I'll find a way, come hell or high water - just let her live.