disclaimer: nothing belongs to me, sadly everything is owned by j.k rowling - even scabior. sorry girls.
Hermione could feel her heart pounding underneath her shirt. Each beat louder than the next, ringing in her eardrums until she was dizzy and in danger of vomiting over the pristine floor of Malfoy Manor. She tried to keep conscious, to take in the immediate threat of the situation around her. The throbbing of her heart made her ache but she pushed it to the back of her mind, pushed everything there - the blood that seeped from her forehead and into her brown corkscrew curls, the feel of Scabior's hand wrapped around her arm, digging in relentlessly and sure to leave a bruise, etched into her skin in colours of black and blue – no, she pushed it away and concentrated on the fact a disfigured Harry was being dragged into the dim light of the chandelier in order to be identified, confirm that they really had captured the famous Harry Potter.
Malfoy took quivering steps towards her friend (whom was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor). Bellatrix Lestrange looked up with an insane glint in her eyes, unaware of how afraid her nephew actually was.
"So, Draco? It is the Potter boy, yes?" she hissed angrily, her overgrown nails digging into Harry's skin. She gave him a slight shake which made Draco recoil, and Hermione was sure his pale sickly skin tone must have matched hers at that exact moment.
"I can't be sure." He almost whispered, his voice timid and afraid. Hermione could barely believe this was the same boy they had encountered in the hallways so many times at Hogwarts, the one who had hexed her and called her Mudblood. He seemed now no more frightening then her next door neighbour's puppy.
It was then Lucius Malfoy stepped into view, curling what he supposed was a comforting hand around Draco's shoulder. He looked vile, as if he hadn't showered or washed in days, and if Hermione was close enough she would've smelt the disgusting scent of firewhiskey on his breath.
"Draco…" his voice came out soft, but had an almost menacing tone to it "if we are the ones, the ones to turn Potter over to the Dark Lord… all will be forgiven."
"'Ere, let's not forget who captured 'im!" came a voice to Hermione's immediate right. Strangely, she did not stir at the loud or booming tone, only stayed very still. Determination coursed through her veins, she would not show fear in the face of these people, and she would not let her captor know how much she feared him.
"Yes, yes!" said Lucius impatiently, waving a dismissing hand at the snatcher. Hermione could hear a low growl, almost animalistic in her ear in the way it formed in his throat. Scabior was so close she could feel his breath radiating against her neck, hear the angry impatient sounds he let out every now and again.
"Draco…" Bellatrix growled, her tone showed she was growing weary of these games. Her dark eyes bore into Draco, causing him to make a snap decision. The youngest deatheater got down onto his knees and raised a shaky hand towards Harry, and for a mere moment Hermione was sure his intention was to cause Harry harm.
Long, pale fingers brushed away the black hair draped over Harry's forehead. Blood coated his skin where he had taken a beating from Greyback and Scabior, but there was the scar – no mistake about it. It was stretched tight across his forehead but most certainly recognisable.
"Harry Potter! At last!" Bellatrix cackled, clapping her hands together in sheer delight. Hermione turned her head and shot Ron a look filled with worry – for Bellatrix would now surely summon Voldemort and the three friends would die at his hands.
Draco rose from his knees and gave Harry what was almost a pitying, apologetic look. Hermione wanted to feel sorry for him, but fierce anger pierced her for giving them away, for having the idea to check for his scar when the other deatheaters had been idiotically oblivious to this key feature beforehand.
Bellatrix's dark laughter played in the background like a soundtrack in the room as she rolled up her sleeve, revealing an ugly snake-like tattoo branded upon her skin. A second finger moved in to harshly press to the aforementioned mark when Lucius closed his fingers around her wrist, instantly ceasing her movement.
"Whatever are you doing, Lucius?" she barked, her heavily lidded eyes staring at him in such an intense manner Hermione almost felt fear for him.
"I shall summon him, Bella. Potter is in my house and therefore under my authority."
"Authority!" she sneered at the taller man "you lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! Take your hands off me this instant!"
"What have you to do with this incident? You did not capture the boy –"
Greyback then stepped into the picture, and reared his big ugly head to interject.
"Mr. Malfoy, I believe it is us who captured Potter, and us who shall be claiming the gold."
Bellatrix attempted to wrench her arm from the tight grasp of her brother-in-law before turning on Greyback.
"I care not of Gold! I only seek the Dark Lord's praise, his approval! Remove your hands from me at once, Lucius!"
The whole scene was too surreal for Hermione, the only thing keeping her grounded was Scabior's hold on her, the intense fear that plagued her and kept her standing upright. She knew any minute now, Bellatrix would break free in a rage and call upon Voldemort. It was at that precise moment Bellatrix did the opposite, she went very still. Surprised at her current calm, Lucius relaxed his hold on her and her hands dropped to her side. In one fluid moment, her crooked wand was removed from her pocket as she advanced on the snatcher holding the sword of Godric Gryffindor.
"Nobody summon the Dark Lord!" she shrieked, her head whipping around to face the others in the room. "We shall all surely die if anyone is foolish enough to do so!"
The young Gryffindor almost felt the temperature in the room drop as everyone froze, consumed with fear. Her eyelids fluttered shut; she could hardly bear to take in any more of this scene. Maybe it was over, maybe Bellatrix's fear of Voldemort finding out they had the sword would be enough to save them. She heard the deatheater screech at the snatcher with the sword and command the prisoners be placed in the cellar. A moment or two later Hermione felt herself being hurled down a flight of concrete stairs, and when she opened her eyes she was next to Harry and Ron – and was witnessing what seemed to be a fight between the group of snatchers.
"If we leave 'em here, she will only take all the praise, and the gold!" Scabior argued viciously, and the mere sight of him made Hermione's bound hands want to reach for the marks he had left of her skin. It was as if they burned at the mere sight of him.
"Scabior is right. I think we should steal off with the boys and the mudblood and turn them over ourselves!" a snatcher almost shouted, getting so carried away Greyback had to quiet him.
"Should we apparate with the three then?" asked yet another snatcher out of Hermione's line of view, and she began to wonder for the first time how many there actually were.
"I'll take the girl." Scabior offered, dragging her to his side. For this, she was grateful – the salivating look Greyback was giving her terrified her to the very core.
Hermione was then crushed very tight to his body, and she looked down into the crook of his neck, for she was not quite as tall as the snatcher and neither did she want to stare into his eyes which were most likely cold and unfeeling. Hermione felt the sensation of being squeezed through a very tight tube before re-appearing in the Forest of Dean, feeling somehow sicker than she did when she was staring in the face of death at Malfoy Manor.
Scabior's hold on her slackened, releasing her, and for the first time she got a good look at him. Hermione was so startled at the face looking back at her, the thought that she could run, just run as far as her legs could carry her didn't even come to mind.
The snatcher was startlingly beautiful, in a way you never expect a servant of Voldemort to be. The eyes focused on her were a curious mixture of grey and blue. Blue flecked with green, she corrected herself. His complexion was fair and pale, and his hair was in disarray – brown with a single red streak running through it. For the first time in a long time the witch was concerned about her appearance. She ran a hand through her hair, matted with blood and she almost thought she saw a smile creep up on his face at her self consciousness. The sight of it, the sheer normalcy of the action made her burst into spontaneous tears.
"Let me go." She choked out, tear tracks running down her face and into her mouth, threatening to choke her. A flicker of pity could be detected across his face – this girl, this friend of Harry Potter. Could she possibly be a threat? An abomination? A mudblood he had been raised to despise? Here she was, standing in front of him, crying and begging for her life.
"Can't do that, sweetheart." Were the words that involuntarily left his mouth. No matter how pathetic or defenceless she was, he would receive a far greater reward for turning her over.
"Please." She begged. "Please let me go."
Hermione could hardly believe she had resorted to begging, but she didn't want to die. She had work to do, Ron and Harry were strong – perhaps they could escape Voldemort's clutches like they had so many times before. She could scour the country, find the other horcruxes, and help bring the dark lord down.
Hermione moved closer to the man, her face almost level with his. She turned her head upwards and stared into those eyes of his, silently pleading. His hand reached upwards to touch her pale skin, wipe the tears away and give her one last moment of solace and comfort. His movement towards her only made the girl her flinch away. This simple action made him feel like a monster, the way a young girl cowered away from his touch. Up close, she was even more beautiful, despite the tortured look in her eyes.
A loud crack echoed from the other side of the forest until it reached his ears, and he knew his fellow snatchers had arrived.
"Hello?" the voice echoed through the trees, and he spun Hermione so he could no longer see her face and held her close, held her captive. It felt wrong, the way he was just going to hand her over – simply for riches and rewards.
"Alonso? I'm here." Scabior yelled. Hermione's tears had leaked silently into her hair now, she was going to die. Die without ever killing Voldemort, without ever finding her parents, without ever having the chance to grow up or fall in love.
"I'm sorry." Scabior whispered, shocking her. "I am. Truly."
Hermione didn't believe a word of it. Not as Voldemort swept in from the darkness and forced to her knees at the hand of a crucio curse. In the hopeless, starless forest the dark lord tortured her as Ron's screams reverberated through the forest aura. Hermione felt a pain so intense that soon she was begging for death.
A voice that didn't sound like her own screamed for mercy, a strangled tortured voice screaming the words kill me, do it. It wasn't a Hermione-esque request, but as she heard her own voice bounce off the floor and tree trunks she knew it belonged to her, and that she would meet death here.
The last thing she saw was the face of her captor, the way Scabior's eyes filled with guilt. Maybe he was sorry, just maybe.
Then the green light engulfed her. She couldn't help but welcome it.