Hermione was loosely surrounded by Death Eaters, sagging onto her knees on the floor, only held up by a hand fisting her braid, her head dragged back slightly and her eyes glazed over, a witch holding a wand to her head. Blood dripped down her chin, her face was already swelling and bruising from the blows she'd taken, and her arms hung limp at her sides and twitched and shivered with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Her eyes rolled to him, one already swollen half closed, and she sputtered blood when she tried to speak, the sound a desperate croak.