Draco couldn't do anything except whine at that reprimand, trying to catch his breath, quiet himself, but it's nearly impossible to control himself. All he can do it react, let his body move, cries spilling from his lips and less and less muffled into his arms as he gets louder. The comment about requiring assistance sounds like a threat, and his shoulders shake as he tries to predict what punishment could possibly follow this, but he can't even fathom. And then his air is stolen from him, like his throat is being compressed by invisible fingers.

He can't cry out, and he leans into it, thoughtless, as if he's trying to feel it that much more. He has no control left, unable to hide these broken pieces of himself, and out of anything, it's the part he hates the most. These slivers of himself hidden even further than the nightmares. The strike comes hard, and tears slide down his cheeks from the feel of hard impact on abused, burning cheeks, and there's nothing he can do, no sound on his lips. His body shivers, that arch of his back, his legs quivering as Snape finally begins that sound into the now-still air.