Her first mistake was going to the gatherers when they were attacked. There were protocols in place for Healers to tend to the wounded, but more than half of the Healers were on a separate mission and she knew in her gut that they needed every able wand to aid their injured comrades.
"You're going to be fine," she murmured, kneeling over a sweating Dean Thomas as his body shook with tremors. She didn't have to ask to know that he was suffering from the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse, mercilessly applied on the makeshift battlefields that were dotting the region. "Almost all patched up, then I'll get you back with the others, alright?"
Dean jerked his head in what might have been a nod.
All around the fallen workers, baskets of what had meant to be provisions were strewn, and Hermione could not help but spare a thought for all of the food that would go to waste. It was rare that they could risk a trip like this into one of the larger villages to trade for fish and other essential proteins, so she and her fellow fighters typically made do with what they could gather themselves. This ruined trip would mean a lot of unrest within their ranks.
Perhaps it was her lack of attention that was her second mistake. Perhaps it was the way that she let her eyes scan the ground instead of focusing on finishing her task and Disapparating as quickly as possible. In the silent, sightless time to follow, Hermione found herself making a detailed list of every moment she could have turned, every slight sound that could have alerted her sooner. Every instant that could have changed what happened next.
A hand lay on her shoulder.
"Nearly done," she murmured, waving her wand in small circles over the gash that Dean's leg seemed to be sucking back into itself.
The hand closed on her shoulder and jerked her back and up, lurching her unsteadily to her feet. Instincts raring far to late, Hermione jabbed an elbow back into her assailant's stomach only to be roughly grabbed by another. She shot off a disarming spell, not having time to aim before her vision went black and her limbs snapped to her sides.
It would have been more merciful if she had been unconscious, but Hermione remained fully aware as she lay on the ground. She heard her friends screaming, shouting for each other as a second wave of the battle raged. She cursed herself for not seeing the danger, for putting her friends in this situation- for putting herself in this situation. The guilty voice in her head scolded her, knowing that she was too valuable to be captured, especially with Ron…
With him gone.
It was torture, being incapacitated but aware. Hermione strained her ears as the sounds of fighting softened, and eventually ceased. She was shocked to then hear laughter, the sounds of joking amongst her attackers.
"-too easy," one was saying as he came into earshot. "I already told Jeanie I wouldn't make it back for dinner."
"Jeanie'll make enough for two anyway, mate," laughed a second man, "you know that. Let's get them back and you can send her a note. Broad'll be thrilled."
Dinner. She was laying next to the body of one of her friends, who- was Dean still alive? Hermione willed her body to turn, to lean even a bit closer to Dean's, to feel his breathing form next to hers, but no movement came- and these men were laughing about the fact they would make it home for dinner.
"Can't wait 'til the General gets a hold of this lot," said a third, gruff voice. "Can't imagine they'll be of much use."
"Eh, you know Malfoy-"
"General Malfoy," corrected the gruff man.
"-he'll find some use for them," continued the youngest man, not sounding like he cared too terribly much about their fates. "Alright, so lock and load the women, dump the men?"
Hermione's stomach gave another lurch.
"The General wants us to start tidying up," said Gruff Man, a frown clear in his voice. "Doesn't want us leaving a mess."
"Well that's terribly polite," said Young Man with a laugh.
"Something about not letting them mourn right or something," replied Gruff Man brusquely. "Anyway, we need to bring the women back to the castle and then build a pyre for this lot."
The other two groaned.
"I thought we were wrapping up early," grumbled Dinner Man. "Got me all excited for nothing."
"I'll start with this lot," continued Gruff Man, as if he hadn't heard the complaint. "You two work on the men, then bring those two. Check in with the General when you're through."
A few moments later, there was a sharp crack, followed by an extended moment of silence. Then Hermione heard more grumbling from who she assumed was the Young Man and the Dinner Man.
"Doesn't want them to get to mourn now," muttered the Dinner Man, barely audible over the sound of something heavy being dragged through the grass. Hermione did her best to not think about what that something might be. "Wants us to build a pyre for their dead."
"And Randolph gets to just go right back!" said the Young Man, as something- again, not thinking about it, not thinking about it- made a sickening plop. "Bet he's got a nice piece of something waiting at home for him."
There were a few minutes broken up by nothing but sounds that Hermione tried to block out of her head. Then suddenly, the noises ended.
"I'm getting dinner with Jeanine," said Dinner Man, "fuck Randolph and his new rules. C'mon, let's get these two back to the castle."
"What about the bodies?" asked the Young Man.
Hermione could almost hear the shrug as the Dinner Man spoke. "They're just bodies," he said, "let the Muggle-lovers have them." A bit softer, he added, "They should bury their dead anyway."
Hermione was hauled awkwardly to her feet, where she swayed unsteadily, unable to center her weight without control of her body. Part of her mind wondered which other women she was being taken to the castle with- it was easier than wondering which of the men they would be leaving behind. The lingering positive spirit she desperately clung to prayed that some of them were wounded but lived on.
The uncomfortable pressure of Apparition closed in around her, and for a moment there was the odd sense of nothingness before the air around her shifted. There was an ambient sense of warmth, more comfortable than the brisk wind of the abandoned battleground, and something almost perfumed in the air.
There wasn't time for Hermione to place the nearly familiar scent, however. The binding charms had broken with the Apparition, which meant that she was not traveling with their original caster. Hermione attempted to steady herself, but it was disconcerting as she was still unable to see and was thus unable to tell which way she was in relation to her captor.
A chuckle.
"Nowhere for you to scamper off to," said the Dinner Man. His hand touched her arm, not releasing her from his firm grip when she automatically flinched away from his contact. "I wouldn't waste the energy, were it me. C'mon, I'm to get you dropped off. Don't move or I'll poke your eye out."
Hermione bristled at the odd threat, only making sense of his words a moment later as she felt the tip of his wand land on her forehead. The veil of darkness lifted from her face and she blinked rapidly, taking in the chamber around her. The walls were made of ancient-looking stone, and if the afternoon's light wasn't still pouring through the large glass panes lining the entrance hall, the only light would have come from the masses of candles hanging from the walls.
"Welcome to Hogwarts Castle."
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Hogwarts Castle. The words sent a burst of panic through Hermione, no matter how brave she wanted to be, no matter how hard she fought against it. She knew that she was not a fighter- that was, after all, why she had had no place on the battlefield this morning, even as an emergency Healer.
No, Hermione Granger's place was back in the Black Phoenix camp, warded and invisible on a Scottish hillside that even she wasn't confident she could locate on her own. She had spent more than half of her life fighting a war that most of the world didn't realize was occurring alongside the other Muggleborns, Half-Bloods, and sympathizers who made up the Revolution. (There had been various attempts at giving themselves a name to inspire fear from their enemy and strength among their own ranks, but after the Silver Centaur camp was located after a few loose words in a pub, this idea was ultimately scrapped. Those who mattered knew who they were.)
Hermione had heard the name Lord Voldemort for the first time when she was eleven years old. In normal circumstances, she had been informed, that was the age at which she would have begun her magical education. Instead, a fearsome Scottish witch had appeared in her living room, causing her mum to drop her birthday cake and her father to cry out and brandish the cake slicer like it would do any good against the intruder.
She had told the Grangers about Hermione's gift, the explanation for the strange events that had surrounded her throughout her childhood. They wanted more explanation than Minerva was willing to give, and needed more time than the witch said they had to spare. At midnight, her name would appear in a book possessed by the enemy, wizards she described using sweeping terms like "dark" and "demented." Hermione knew now that it was a more nuanced situation than that.
Her parents had agreed to relinquish custody of her in a tearful affair that Hermione was glad had faded into one of those fuzzy childhood memories she could hardly bring to focus now that she was grown. Minerva had allowed Hermione to grab a few knick-knacks from her room before sending her along with another witch to be brought to camp. Hermione didn't find out for another few years that Minerva took that time to wipe her parents' memories in an effort to protect them should the enemy come looking for their daughter.
The eleven year old could not fully understand the need to leave her family, but her newfound gifts had become almost an addiction. She was lured with the promise of training, with stronger abilities, with powers of Transfiguration and flight, of winged horses and invisibility. At twenty-three, Hermione was now quite adept at meeting a Muggleborn child who was of the age to join them and figuring out what lures to present them with to provide the proper enticement. Some days it sickened her. Most days, she knew she had no choice. The moment their name appeared in the enchanted book held in Hogwarts Castle, Voldemort's army would be able to track them down and take the child as their own. From a purely logistical standpoint, their magical potential was too valuable to waste.
She was fifteen when she found out about the prophecy. But today, standing inside this thrice-cursed castle for the first time, she did not want to think about that, of all things.
Dinner Man led Hermione through the labyrinth of corridors and staircases- moving staircases, she was shocked to discover- to a large room containing racks of dresses and one middle-aged witch wearing deep purple and a stern frown.
"Just the one more?" said the witch, looking Hermione over appraisingly.
"Should be," said the Dinner Man. "You'll take her from here?"
"Why, are you in a hurry, Simmons?" asked the witch, lifting a plucked brow at him.
Dinner Man- Simmons, Hermione corrected mentally- chuckled and shrugged sheepishly.
"Figured I'd head back to the village, spend the night with Jeanie," he admitted. "Today didn't take too long, gotta take the time while I can."
The witch's countenance softened and she nodded.
"I'll clean her up and get her assignment," she said. "Get going, you."
Simmons didn't need telling twice. With a wide grin, he scampered from the room, leaving Hermione alone with the older woman.
"My name is Madame Malkin," said the witch, her voice firm but not unkind. "I outfit the castle's servants and assorted occupants."
"Servants," Hermione echoed, hardly aware that the word had slipped from her lips.
"And assorted occupants," repeated Madam Malkin, her lips twitching as she recognized the irony in her statement. "There are assignment uniforms for each position. I'll be dressing you for tonight and bringing you to one of the captains to be assigned to something more permanent."
Hermione felt her heartbeat speeding up again. She knew that she couldn't trust anyone in this castle, but she had so many questions and simply had to start somewhere.
"Assignments," she said softly, knowing she must sound daft, repeating the other woman again. "What do we… They only brought the women," she said flatly, deciding to cut to the chase.
Madam Malkin nodded, her lips flattening.
"There are various positions throughout the castle," said the woman, "depending on your strengths and what is needed. We do not believe in wasting talented individuals."
"I'm a-"
"Not your magic," interrupted Madam Malkin. "There's plenty of work to be done here that won't involve that."
She began rifling through a rack of clothing as she continued to speak, sounding as if she was reciting a list of talking points from memory.
"I don't know what you may have been told about how things are run here," said Madam Malkin, "but there will be plenty to keep you occupied during your stay. Your tasks will be overseen depending on your station, but there shouldn't be a need to keep you under lock and key. You were taken today with one of the gathering groups, were you not? The raid by Plummont?"
Hermione nodded mutely.
"Precisely. The low-risk prisoners are given a fair amount of flexibility in the castle." Madam Malkin smiled kindly at Hermione, and she realized that the witch was trying to extend her some comfort in this bizarre situation. "The building is warded against your escape, and there are further enchantments worked into your wardrobe, depending again on your station. They aren't designed to hurt you, just… keep you here."
After pulling a dress from the rack, Madam Malkin moved to a second station where an assortment of odd necklaces were displayed. Looking them over thoughtfully, she continued.
"So long as you do what you're told, you should be fine," the woman continued, pulling a necklace away from the others and placing it on top of the dress in her arms. "Put these on and I'll take you downstairs to get situated."
Under the older witch's watchful gaze, Hermione stripped off her grass-streaked Muggle attire, leaving it in a graceless pile on the floor. She had found it easier to spend her days in comfortable jeans instead of robes, except on the rare occasions she was able to enter one of the villages and gather intelligence for her camp. Heat rising to her cheeks, she removed her sweaty trainers and socks, leaving them next to her discarded clothing.
The dress Madam Malkin had given her was simple, made of something that felt both soft and sturdy. The fabric was royal blue and had none of the ornaments Madam Malkin herself bore- Hermione recognized a few of the crests about the witch's breast from what they had learned of how Lord Voldemort had organized his ranks, but others were foreign to her. The necklace she had been given was a thick silver chain adorned with a single flat disk hanging at the base of Hermione's throat. The metal was only cool for a moment before it adjusted to her body temperature. She did everything she could to not think about her new slave collar.
"Very good," said Madam Malkin, watching as Hermione slipped her feet into the plain black flats which she had provided. "You'll have the opportunity to properly clean yourself later- I'm afraid this is the best we can do on short notice."
Hermione took an automatic step back as Madam Malkin drew her wand, but made no further move as it was levied at her. The cool touch of a cleansing charm brushed against her face and neck, then down her arms and legs. It wasn't a replacement for the hot shower Hermione desired, but she realized that she had probably been covered with dirt from her time in the field.
"That'll do for now," said Madam Malkin with a nod. "Come along, let's see who's back from their missions."
Hermione followed Madam Malkin back into the maze that was the castle. They travelled together in silence, and Hermione attempted to pay more attention to her surroundings than she had while walking with the Dinner Man. They passed a few others, to whom Madam Malkin nodded and away from Hermione hurriedly looked. The part of her brain that was panicking over the fact that she had been captured, that she was actually trapped inside of Hogwarts Castle, was doing its best to break free, and she couldn't afford to lose control until she was alone. She ordered that part quiet and trained her eyes on the back of Madam Malkin's perfectly-coiffed head.
Hermione could not tell what made the witch stop at this door when she did. There were banners above many of the countless castle doors. Some bore words announcing the room's purpose, but many only had symbols, like the badges worn by the castle's occupants.
"Ah," said Madam Malkin, "he's in. Well, dear, the Captain will take it from here. I'll see you again once you have your proper assignment." With a soft smile, she added, "Chin up."
Madam Malkin gave the door a series of sharp raps. After a brief moment, a voice from within intoned, "Enter."
The door swung open, and with a directive look from Madam Malkin, Hermione took a deep breath and stepped inside.
This was a far cry from the room she had been in previously. It appeared to be the personal chambers- her mind stalled partway through this thought, coming to a screeching halt as she took in too many things at once. The fine furnishings (bookshelves, wonderfully filled; desk, currently occupied; table, totally obscured with parchment; rugs, one too many to be tasteful), the lighting (more hanging candles, like the rest of the castle, but also ambient light coming from a source she could not place), the oversized paintings (striking colors, striking subjects, goodness those cover so much of the wall) and-
And the enormous bed set against the far wall.
"Well?"
Hermione jumped and immediately cursed herself for it. She had been caught up in taking in the room and had somehow managed to glaze right over the man sitting behind the desk. He was giving her an appraising look, and as she met his eyes, her mouth went dry.
My, how had she managed to overlook him?
The man stood, and she saw that he was a good deal taller than herself. He had the kind of pale skin you only got from spending a good amount of time indoors, and hair so pale that she fleetingly wondered if he was part-vampire. That would be the cherry on the top of my day, now wouldn't it? But he was too striking to be a vampire, and as he approached, she saw that his hair was actually a pale blonde, not white as she had originally thought.
"Ah," said the man, tilting his head slightly, "new girl. Well, might as well get started, then."
Without breaking eye contact, the man lifted his hands to his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift motion.