With her entire body frozen under the body-bind curses, Hermione could only half guess at what the hustle behind her entailed. Now that the magic perimeter had been set she was trapped, her view was obscured by the shiny boots of the snatcher leader at her head. His menacing mastery of the situation lead him to direct his underlings scarcely worrying about the witch prostrate at his feet, leaving her to be tormented by her own morose thoughts and recriminations. If she could have closed her eyes or buried her face into the grass she was collapsed on, it would have been an immeasurable improvement and a small respite to the scene unfolding around her.