Malfoy looks like he wants to say something when he straightens, but his lips move stutteringly without anything coming out, and then he ducks his head and shoves his hand rough through his fringe, pushing it back. He makes a hesitant half-step toward her after another few heartbeats pass. Hermione flinches back on instinct, feeling so horrifically exposed and violated; naked and cold and trembling, with his cum sliding down her thighs, pinked with blood from the abrasions she can feel so acutely. She doesn't trust him now; her mind is fuzzed with concussion and shock, and her body remembers only the trauma he has just inflicted on it. She stares at him from behind strings of her lank hair with shoulders hunched and arms hugging herself – a beaten dog expecting a blow. Her breath sucks in and out, and the beginnings of wild, horrified sobs build in her chest.