The sound of laughing mixed with the angry swearing of the man Hermione had hit, and then there are hands on her, rolling her onto her back, tearing at her clothing – ripping her shirt open and trying to haul her jeans down her legs. She blinks her eyes open, and between the leaping torchlight and the swirling in her head she catches only shattered, nightmarish glimpses, greying out. She begs them in slurred, desperate pleas.