"Yeah, fuck off, good fucking job," he yells shirtily at the Snatcher he'd said was there, his hand still moving over Hermione's body, his mouth back at her ear. She flinches when he speaks close enough that his face must be pressed to the bars, much as her head is yanked painfully back against them. "I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. He's going – he's nearly..." Malfoy's hand squeezes her left breast now and she whimpers in fear and disgust, and he apologises again, in stumbling, faltering whispers as he tugs and grabs just enough to cause pain that makes her sob a gasp or let out a moan. Very realistic, she thinks muzzily, and it has to be doesn't it, to fool the Snatcher. A sob rattles out of her.