"Move, bitch," Malfoy snaps at her in a harsh undertone and shoves at her side with his shin as the others return to conversation about things more important than she. Hermione complies immediately now, scrambling fast on her sore, bruising knees as Malfoy tugs at the leash. She crawls after him like a dog, and there are several more jeers and laughs as she passes by those seated at the table as she crawls in Malfoy's wake. A hand slaps her bared buttocks and she flinches, but keeps her eyes on the floor. A shoe shoves at her side, another presses down on her back, a hand drags sharp nails down her flank, a foot prods at one exposed breast, and still Malfoy keeps dragging her along. Finally, he sits, and the leash goes slack. "Heel," he snaps, and Hermione shudders and settles beside his chair at his feet, on her knees with her head bowed, pressing up against his leg for comfort. She doesn't bother to hide that; she figures that if Malfoy had really broken her, she would be just as likely to seek some kind of comfort from him.