Just in case someone else is there, watching, she keeps struggling – but less strongly now, sobbing raggedly in terror that she doesn't find hard to fake. It isn't really fake at all. Relieved Hermione might be, but she is still so scared, and she has held the worst of that bone deep, sickening fear bottled up inside her for the last five...six...days. She has lost count. She writhes in Malfoy's grip and sobs it out, and his hand tightens in her hair, wrenching her head back as though to examine her. His eyes are hard, pale marbles pressed into his face, absent of any emotion, and his fringe falls forward over his forehead as he drags at her hair and runs his other hand down to her crotch. He is empty and cold, and terrifying, and it feels like a punch in the stomach.