The assembly of her cage began a slow and gentle rocking as the whole of it was pulled down by the Witch’s magic, lower and lower until eventually, she was close enough to feel the hard floor with cold fingertips. She retracted her arm in favour of keeping the fingers from being trapped, lazily grasping onto the bar as the metal finally contacted the floor with a dull thud. A body on the outside moved closer to the bars until Hermione had the mind to reach forward, lean over, basking beneath the intoxicating aroma of magic and cinnamon that Bellatrix seemed to exude. She sniffed, rolled, shuddered beneath the slow application of an aura that by now was more familiar than her own. With a shuddering breath, she came to her knees and bent low in supplication while her mind attempted to categorize and examine the feelings swimming beneath the top portion of her consciousness.