"I don't see that we have a choice but to play it that way with – me, um, wanting you, and hope that maybe...maybe he lets me have you?" Malfoy says awkwardly, pink flush darkening to red, and Hermione recoils from the thought of being perceived as some kind of – of Mudblood sex slave, but it seems like the only workable solution at this point. A small hope, where before there was none. It'll have to do, she supposes, stomach turning at the thought of what might happen if Malfoy couldn't convince Voldemort to let him have her. Then Malfoy tenses and snaps her out of horrible imaginings, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. He propels her backwards, into the small space between the bed and the chest of drawers, and she is too startled to resist at first.