Hermione raises her arm and swings down, driving the stone into the man's head as hard as she can, which isn't half as hard as she wished it could be, but is still better than nothing. Better than her fists alone. He drops her with a groan – staggering dazed and hopefully concussed – and she lands on her feet and by a miracle they don't go out from under her. But being on her feet hardly helps – the man is only badly dazed, fallen against the bars and groaning – and his two friends are just fine. And Hermione is racked with pain and trapped still, with nowhere to go, and now they're all even angrier. Oh god. Oh Merlin. Maybe she shouldn't have fought. She skitters away from the man she has just brained, her steps unsteady and the world tilting around her, her every muscle seizing with a bone-deep pain from the vicious beating they had given her, and then...