Please, she tries to gasp. Please. But she can't breathe. Can't...can't speak. She tries to get up, but something strikes the backs of her knees and she goes down again, bare knees slamming into the hardwood floor. She would cry out at the pain, only she can't get the breath to. Her head feels hot and swollen, ears too full, and pulse sluggish but consuming – thump...thump...thump...thump. Tears streak her cheeks and inside her head she begs as she sputters wordless. Then the leash goes slack, and she slumps to a pile at Malfoy's feet, choking and gasping and sobbing, fingertips clutching and scrabbling at the ground as her nose runs and her tears drip and she drools and sputters. "And I want to control the bitch, body and soul," Malfoy finishes, satisfaction dark in his voice, and Hermione reminds herself that he's just trying to be convincing, because it is their lives at stake, always their lives are in his hands and he has to be convincing. She knows that he is only acting – she trusts him, damnit, but always, always in her dazed panic it gets so hard to separate fact from fiction.