And then on the third meal – day? Hermione doesn't know for sure – after Malfoy's last visit, the guards do a thorough search of the cell and find her this time, huddled in her corner under the filthy, stinking rags and the cloak Malfoy left her, dehydrated again and half-conscious. Her luck – such as it is – has run out. They laugh, and drag her out into the middle of the cell by her upper arms and hair, and throw her hard onto the ground. They aren't Death Eaters, but merely Snatchers – minions, peons, not that it matters at all because they are no less likely to rape and kill her. The shock of hitting the stone judders up her arms from her palms as she catches herself, and her right knee hits an uneven up-jut of broken stone floor bruisingly hard. She yelps at the pain, voice raw and cracked with thirst.