The last of her dream snags and claws at Hermione as she sucks in a steadying breath and pulls her knees up, buries her face in her hands. Malfoy's body heavy on her bloodied, battered one, a harsh pain radiating through her insides as he thrusts rough into her, again and again, all hard, sharp desperation. God. She hugs around her middle tightly and folds forward over the bars of her arms, staring at her bare feet atop the twisted blankets. She gulps as her stomach twists, and sour bile rises acrid in the back of her throat. Malfoy's presence is barely reassuring, considering the content of Hermione's nightmares.