When she resurfaces for air, Hermione can hear a rough, faint sounds carrying in through the crack beneath the door on a cool draught from the bedroom. It takes a moment with her forehead furrowed to recognise the barely audible noise, and when she does her hands curl into fists and she feels cold for a moment despite the heat she soaks in. It is the sound of Malfoy crying, muffled and rough; hitching, dry, sobs. She listens for a moment, sitting motionless in the water, the tips of her bedraggled wet hair dragging in the water, an insistent stinging pain between her legs where the man who cries in the room outside hurt her, against both of their wills. She shuts her eyes.