She swallows hard and presses at the spell, unable to breathe. It doesn’t help so she thinks it, as loudly and as clearly as she can, that she can’t breathe. A moment later her body jars with impact, a splash of pain, and she’s gasping for air, kneeling before the Dark Lord. For a long few breaths she whimpers, too afraid to make herself get up, some-Gryffindor-she-is (Harry would already be up, already recovering, and she shudders at the fear clawing at her belly).