"So, Draco, I will help you remember your respective places – slave and master – by first reversing the roles and letting the Mudblood play at owning you." Hermione freezes, blood running cold because does that mean what she thinks it does? "And you will see that a slave can only ever hate, and a master can only ever hurt, because the Mudblood will illustrate its hate by hurting you in vengeance for what you have done to it up until now, and you will feel the hurt and hate it for that, and remember." No. She can't do that. She can't hurt him. She can't... Hermione trembles on the ground, the lace French knickers she wears itching at her, and the bones of the corset digging into her flesh, the collar around her neck heavy and painful on the developing bruises Malfoy caused before, the feel of it making her want to panic when combined with the suffocating constriction of the corset. She can't.